Relational experiencing as embodied physiotherapy
[appreciation]
burgeoning warmth runs
like a river to the heart
dam walls surrender
For the last four years I have been weaving Hakomi (Hakomi mindful somatic psychotherapy) into my work as a physiotherapist, developing a way of being that meets our bodies relationally and somatically.
My original intention was to up-skill to embrace the pressing need to hold the nuance of embodied trauma, uncertainty, and complexity in a way that resourced and dignified both my clients and me.
However, what unfolded was a deep transformation of my personhood and a recognition of the inherent power of presence.
Honouring what I had always felt, yet not fully known—something needed, yet often invisible and unavailable within physiotherapy learning environments.
[lonely]
when a gaping hole
is not just a gaping hole,
is when it is loved
Having broadened my lens through a masters in wellbeing and embedded a trauma-informed approach into my work, I had a wider, intellectual understanding that supported those in my care.
And yet, despite the expansion, a distance remained.
Intellectual words could bounce off, miss completely, and float adrift. Questions could stimulate thinking yet stop us from deepening into the body's responses. Rational explanations could make some sense yet remain at odds with the experience, at times insufficient and bland.
It felt like we were in a broader field, yet exploring barren land—unsatisfied, searching for nourishment.
We needed depth in a way that disrupted the traditionally organised-cognitive-pathoanatomical-hierarchical system we inhabited. There was so much being missed in nonverbal communication, our bodies the source of unseen intelligence.
My experience in the client seat of Hakomi is where this clarity first emerged. What once felt like a void, now cradled in the quiet of a deeper knowing, began to unfold in its own time.
[unmasking]
knowing film-like glaze
ensheathing life's delight, melts
in pools of meeting
Placing myself in the Hakomi client seat was the moment I gave my relationship with physiotherapy a lifeline, allowing a cord that reconnected me back to my essence.
The traditional way of being in a system that prioritised speed, efficiency, reduction, and compliance could not fulfil any of my needs, and left me feeling chronically undernourished.
I felt it in my body, the pull to keep moving, ticking boxes, yet something inside was starved, whispers of doubt growing with each passing day. The faster I worked, the less I felt connected to myself, and the more I wondered if there was something I was missing.
The reality of modern-day physiotherapy as a production line means we are not taught to meet each person as a human first. To survive we become deftly skilled at avoiding depth, while the patient's personhood, and our own, are neglected and abandoned.
In the midst of revelation, confusion swirled; the cracks widened as if holding space for the parts of me I hadn't yet met, each piece searching for home.
[fragmented]
splintered parts confused;
discombobulated, yet
know they need a home
I could only work in this way for so long. The giving up of our humanity was contrary to my values and at odds with the importance of deeply meeting the other.
I remember when I had an inkling of the relational, yet the very thought that it might matter brought forward a mix of shame, guilt, and confusion.
How could I explore this within a paradigm that fears the unknown, suppressing its emergence?
Another part of me remembers when I felt hot, pointy rage, not realising yet that my anger was telling me the relational was there yet hidden from plain sight.
How could I possibly let my rage be seen to unearth its wisdom?
It felt like I was witnessing a growing awareness of the home my body was seeking.
[protection]
between mountain peaks
there is a solace that keeps
loneliness hidden
And then I remember the moment when honouring honesty became more important than shielding what was inside and invisible.
It came with a burning tightness of risk in my throat that begged me to retreat. Slowly touching what felt corrosive somehow shifted its bite; a softening relished its newfound existence.
Turning towards it, I found myself asking,
... how might I be in the world when I trust what is most important?
This inquiry settled me into the guided process of exploring my own internal landscape, and an embodied understanding of the Hakomi principles deepened my learning.
Mindfulness, nonviolence, and presence created the space needed to navigate the complexities of body and mind, while the honouring of organicity, unity, and mind-body integration invited me to trust the body’s wisdom and uncover the unconscious patterns shaping my experience.
As the walls that once shielded began to soften, a gentleness emerged. In this space, I could simply be.
[held]
not yet fully formed
yet opening for grace and
love to meet its weight
The Hakomi method explores our internal experience in mindful awareness as it plays out in the moment. The intention is to discover how we organise around our experiences, gently uncovering our unconscious blueprints that shape present day experiences.
It's an experiential process that evokes a powerful felt sense that we follow. The body is seen as a map to the psyche, its intelligence knowing things about the source of unwanted behaviour and attitudes that are not in our conscious awareness.
The body's habitual patterns become subtle yet powerful indicators that allow pathways to access and reveal deeply held beliefs about us and the way we meet the world.
Holding tender wisdom, these patterns are met with loving presence, acknowledged and welcomed as they are. This attunement creates fertile ground to provide an experience that was needed but missed.
And in that stillness, I felt it—what I had been waiting for—not a resolution, but a full-bodied meeting of vulnerability and care, unfurling in its own pace.
[astonished]
felt not forgotten
the pain of the paradox
springs life into grief
Exploring my internal experience as it played out in the moment, alongside another paying close attention to what I most needed, cultivated a missing intimacy that I soon realised was an important gap in physiotherapy.
This gap wasn’t just theoretical; it was something I could now feel in my body, an absence that echoed through my practice and my sense of self.
The disconnection crept in, like a thin crack opening wider. In the stillness, sadness settled, heavy and thick. It wasn’t loud, but it weighed on me, pulling my chest down, as though something had been severed, hidden just beyond my reach.
It was a despair that felt bereft; like a part of me had been cut off, hollowed out. An emptiness that seemed to stretch infinitely, as if I had been living in a quiet fog, unable to find my way back to something whole.
I could sense there was something here to be trusted, to show me what was needed.
[clear form]
visibility
is to unveil and discern
quiet agendas
And yet, I could not force, persuade, cajole, or threaten it into being. When I tried, it retreated, slipping out of reach, hiding behind laughter and talking, silliness and stories—a dance of protection to be seen and honoured.
Each movement and evasion spoke of something sensitive and necessary, a boundary safeguarding what had not yet found safety to emerge.
This dance required patience, tenderness, and an attuned presence. In the chair, I felt the quiet steadiness of someone willing to sit with me, not to push through or solve but to wait, to invite, and to let my body know it could take its time.
It can be terrifying, the waiting—knowing what's coming yet not knowing at all. The trust built in those moments became the pathway itself; I noticed a contentment, a freeing of effort; time an absent friend.
What had remained still now surged forward, led not by effort, but by a quiet invitation—an organic unfurling that no longer needed to be controlled.
[follow]
welcome resistance
where the darkness is friendly;
contract and expand
Sensing into the safety, it unfolded, weary as it widened, relief in its collapse. Led by a wise rhythm and stormy care, it became them, and they became whole, as circular waves carried despair toward something else.
What emerged was a different movement, a cheeky enjoyment of sorts; a lightness surfacing from within the depths. Swept along by its current, we witnessed its strength grow in the flow of its unfolding.
And as we moved, something shifted. What had once been a search for answers became an exploration of what was already here, unfolding gently in the background of our awareness.
What was needed wasn’t a resolution but space to feel, to be held without expectation, trusting that transformation would emerge naturally, in its own time.
[what was needed]
met far beyond the
edgeless field, simply to be
unknowing and free
Being met in my despair shifted something deep within me. It revealed the power of presence and the depth of connection possible between practitioner and client—something I had long sensed as essential in physiotherapy but was never fully acknowledged by the world around me.
In that moment, I felt, rather than just understood, that healing wasn’t about fixing; it was about being alongside, fully present with the complexities of experience.
This shift didn’t just change my practice; it gave me the permission I had long needed—to meet others with a presence that holds space for their vulnerability, without the rush to resolve.
As I settled into what was needed, a softening occurred—no longer the rush to solve, but a deepening in my commitment to witness, to listen, and to trust the unfolding.
[lens of love]
discovering soft
pockets of stories yet to
be told, slows me down
As I sat with the quiet space, trusting the process, I realised this wasn’t just about what had been missing, but about what was emerging. It wasn’t a matter of knowing, fixing or solving, but of creating the conditions for something to unfold in its own time, outside of expectation.
And there, in that space, a subtle change occurred—what was needed became clear. Not an answer, not a resolution, but simply to be, fully and without knowing.
More than a change in perspective, it was a felt invitation to trust the process, letting it unfold in its own time.
[deeper ground]
spreading evergreen
intelligence that dares to
be; inherently
Over the past four years, there have been many more transformative moments, where a gentle reverence for my body’s intelligence has served as sweet balm for deep pain, rage, fear, and doubt to surface in their own time.
I noticed these experiences not only as disruptions, but as powerful openings—times when my body, once ignored, finally had the space to express what had long been buried.
In these moments, the wisdom I had held silently within me began to surface in its own rhythm, subtly unravelling the very structures that had kept it hidden.
What has followed, and continues to lead, is a quiet strength, gradually revealing itself—an unspoken felt sense that, in its stillness, commits to disrupting old ways of being and rests in the beauty and relief of simply existing.
[grace]
deep unfolding waves
contain homecoming pain; while
smoothness holds simple
At its core, Hakomi has allowed me to return to the physiotherapy world and meet it anew—this time with haikus, trees waving in the breeze, and a spaciousness that holds both the seen and unseen. It invites me to slow down, to notice what arises in the moment, and to honour the natural rhythm of being.
In this spaciousness, the therapeutic relationship becomes a sacred ground where vulnerability can unfold gently, unhurried, and with reverence for the body’s wisdom. Each interaction feels less like a task to be completed and more like a shared journey—a co-created dance of presence, curiosity, and care.
Hakomi has offered me a new way of being in my work, one that brings a deepened attention to the body and its experiences. It’s a way that trusts in the quiet power of being and allows for transformation to emerge in its own time.
[shall we]
let's weave together
delighting and delving, your
essence is pure form
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