Change Archives - Sandra Paolini

AI Runs on Code—What Do You Run On?

by Sandra | Aug 7, 2026 | AI, Change

Even as AI becomes more powerful—and yes, agentic AI included—there’s something I keep thinking about.

AI still needs to be plugged in. You and I don’t.

We walk around every day with an internal energy source that no machine will ever replicate.

Call it life force, electricity, vitality—I’m less interested in the name and more in the fact that most people are barely in touch with it.

And I get it. I wasn’t either—until my own system started lighting up like a power plant gone rogue.

I’ve never discussed this much in public, but my path into energy work began, like many spiritual paths, through suffering. And not the poetic kind.

I’m talking about full-blown panic disorder. The kind that wakes you out of a dead sleep and makes you feel like your body is trying to eject you from this plane of existence.

At the time, it felt like a curse. I recall one of my mentors saying that I’d eventually view this experience as a friend, an ally. I actually wanted to hit her. But she was right.

That intensity—the wild, uncontrollable, nonstop energy that ran through me for years—turned out to be the very thing that opened me to a different kind of intelligence. Not mental, or analytical, but something older and deeper. Something that didn’t need to be “figured out” so much as felt.

Let Me Ask You Something

Have you ever experienced an energy surge in your body that felt overwhelming? Or not enough?

Have you ever wondered what your own system might be capable of—if you actually knew how to listen to it, work with it, or direct it?

From Panic to Power

That experience of uncontainable energy didn’t just lead me to seek relief; it also led me to seek a deeper understanding.

I stopped trying to “fix” the panic and instead began to explore what it might mean to work with that energy. To move with it, listen to it, and let it teach me something deeper than fear.

And that’s when things began to shift.

This exploration became more than personal—it became foundational in how I now work with clients. Not to suppress or analyze energy, but to engage it as a living, responsive intelligence.

The Disconnection Dilemma

It became increasingly clear to me that many people have no concrete connection to how energy moves through their bodies.

When working with clients on mindfulness, I begin by asking them to focus their attention on the tip of their right thumb. Most clients barely stay with this direction for more than a few seconds, reporting that they feel nothing at all.

But when guided to remain with the sensation—to let go of thought and simply direct awareness to that one point—something starts to shift.

They begin to notice tingling. Maybe warmth. A hum of aliveness.

That’s energy. That’s life force.

And most of us are entirely disconnected from it.

Now, I’m not saying you need to sit in a cave and chant for 10 years. However, I am saying that the pace at which we live—and the technology we surround ourselves with—has us operating more like machines than humans.

We’re losing contact with our own fuel source.

And if AI is moving faster and faster, we will need to slow down and reconnect with what’s already inside us.

So Let Me Ask Again

If it’s this hard to stay with a thumb for 30 seconds, what else are we running from?

How does this restlessness—this impulse to check out when nothing happens right away—show up in our mental health, our relationships, our creativity?

What might we find if we learned to stay with ourselves just a little longer?

Want to reconnect with your own internal energy? Start here.

You don’t need an app, a biohack, or the need to optimize anything.

Simply, try one of these:

Right-hand thumb: Place all your attention on the tip of your right-hand thumb. Not your thoughts about it—your attention. Stay with it for at least 60 seconds. Notice any temperature, pressure, tingling, or subtle movement
Humming: Hum a single note for one full breath. Then another. Then another. Pay attention to where in your body the vibration lands. Chest? Face? Skull? Don’t change it—just feel it.
Slow breathing: Breathe slowly through your nose for two minutes. Eyes closed. Mouth closed. Let your attention rest on the sensation of breath at the nostrils or in the belly—wherever it calls you.
Gravity scan: Lie on your back and feel your body against the floor. Start with your heels. Then feel your calves, hips, shoulders, and head. Let gravity hold you. Don’t fix. Don’t analyze. Just feel.

No agenda. Just attention.

And now, just reflect:

What do you notice when you shift from thinking about energy to experiencing it directly?

What parts of you come alive when you stay a little longer than is comfortable?

Can you notice the urge to move on before the sensation has fully registered?

Can you feel when thought kicks in to label, judge, or explain what’s happening?

Sound Is One Doorway For Connecting to Energy

Sound is one of the simplest and most potent ways to reconnect with your own energy.

It bypasses the intellect, cuts straight through mental noise, and meets your body where it is: vibrating, pulsing, listening.

Even a single tone can shift your inner state—if you let it resonate, not just hear it.

Of course, sound is just one doorway.

The field of energy work is vast, and in upcoming newsletters I’ll be sharing more from the living yogic traditions I’ve studied and practiced for decades—tools that are ancient, precise, and surprisingly practical for modern life.

But for now, I want to return to sound—and offer two examples that profoundly shaped my own relationship to energy and vibration.

A Note on Toning and the Power of Group Practice

Years ago, I took a year-long intensive course at the California Institute of Integral Studies with Grammy-nominated sound healer Silvia Nakkach. That experience changed my relationship with voice, vibration, and what I thought was possible.

We explored everything from sacred chant to soundscapes to toning—but it was the toning that completely rewired something for me.

I’m not a singer. But I love to sing. And with toning, something magical happens. When the mind lets go and the body softens, the sound becomes effortless. It’s like the tone is singing you.

And what happens when this occurs in a group? There’s a resonance field that goes way beyond the sum of its parts.

What’s more, there’s research now showing that toning (especially humming) can increase the production of nitric oxide in the body.

Nitric oxide helps regulate blood flow, supports immune function, and plays a crucial role in intercellular communication within the nervous system. Some studies even suggest it can help reduce inflammation and support overall brain and cardiovascular health.

It’s one of the fastest, simplest ways I know to access your energy system and shift your internal state—no app or interface required.

Want to try it?

Sit comfortably and take a slow breath in.
On the exhale, let out a long, steady tone—any note, no right or wrong.
Then do it again. And again.

Keep the tone soft. No pushing. No performing. Let it ride the breath. Let it come from deep inside the body.

If you stay with it, something subtle may begin to shift.

At some point, the tone may begin to emerge on its own—effortless, continuous, as if it’s singing you.

That’s the moment to linger in.
Not to analyze it. To feel it. Let the sound carry your attention deeper—not toward thought, but toward sensation.

Notice what happens when you let the vibration do the work?

Spotlight: John Stuart Reid + Cymatics

One of the most fascinating ways to see energy in action is through the work of sound researcher John Stuart Reid.

Reid created the Cymascope, a device that makes sound visible. It works by sending sound frequencies through a thin membrane or surface—sometimes with water, sometimes with fine particles—and revealing the geometric patterns that form in response.

These patterns often resemble mandalas, reminding us that sound doesn’t just move through space—it organizes it.

In other words, energy isn’t random. It has structure. Intelligence. Form.

Some of Reid’s research suggests that specific frequencies might even support healing at the cellular level. This isn’t fringe, it’s grounded in wave physics.

If you’re curious, check out cymascope.com or look up “John Stuart Reid cymatics” on YouTube. The visuals speak for themselves.

And as you explore, consider:

What, if anything, would you do differently if you knew your body could be impacted by sound? (Imagine how anger or harsh words might affect you… compared to the impact of compassion, resonance, or even silence.)

If sound waves leave your body when you speak, how might they affect the people around you—especially when you’re in a heightened emotional state?

If sound can shape matter… how are your own words and tones shaping your body?

What kind of energy are you sending into the space around you—especially when you’re rushed, reactive, or emotionally charged?

Could this be why words, in ancient times, were called spells?

What’s Coming Next

Sound gives us one glimpse. But the internal energy system is vast—and this is just the beginning.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing more about:

Subtle-body practices from the yogic traditions I’ve studied
How breath, awareness, and intention can unlock creative energy
Why your “nervous system regulation plan” might be too small
The difference between sensation, intuition, and reactivity

If you’ve been feeling stuck, depleted, or disconnected…Or if you’ve started to suspect that your real power isn’t coming from your head—You’re not wrong.

Reflection for the Week

What if your energy isn’t something to “manage” or “hack”—but something alive that’s been waiting for you to notice?

What happens when you stop trying to make it happen and just feel what’s already there?

Closing Invitation

If you’re feeling disconnected, depleted, or like your nervous system is in a constant state of arousal… you’re not alone.

But there’s a reason you’re still here.

And there’s a power in you that doesn’t run on algorithms or updates. Let’s get to know it again.

Want more?

This newsletter is just the beginning.

If you want a deeper exploration of what your internal energy system can really do, and how to reconnect with it in real, embodied ways…

Sign up below for the newsletter and get more in-depth content, practices, and access to what I don’t share anywhere else.

Beyond Fixing: What Happens When You Stop Trying to Heal and Start Listening

by Sandra | Aug 7, 2026 | Change, Mind-Body-Energy Technology, Psychotherapy, YOGA

Last week’s post—What Therapy Misses—was my most-read post to date. It seems to have touched something that many people quietly question but don’t say out loud.

Not because therapy doesn’t help. But because we know, deep down, that healing is supposed to be something more. More honest. More alive. More connected to who we really are.

In that post, I wrote about how modern therapy, even at its best, often falls short, keeping us focused on the mind, dwelling on wounds, or chasing symptom relief.

And while the idea of “soul work” has entered the conversation as a deeper alternative, it has also begun to feel diluted.

“Soul work” is becoming a buzzword.

Psychotherapy has rebranded itself—from symptom-focused treatment to trauma-informed healing and meaning-centered growth.

But beneath the new language, there’s still often a subtle undercurrent: There is something within you that needs to be worked on, improved, or fixed.

What I’m interested in now is something older than therapy, and deeper than rebranded transformation.

What I’m after is recalibration—a complete re-attunement of the system.

And that word might not mean what you think it does.

Recalibration isn’t a mindset shift.

It’s not a mental pivot or a new set of affirmations.

Recalibration, in the way I’m learning and living it, is a subtle process. It’s energetic. It’s physiological. And it often happens without any cognitive story at all.

When practicing, I sometimes notice a wave of emotion, usually sadness or joy, rising up in the body with no name, no label, and no memory attached. Just movement. Just energy.

If I didn’t know how to feel into those tiny shifts, I’d miss them. And I used to.

But the more I study subtle-body yoga and work with energy through slow, gentle movement, the more attuned I’ve become to these internal currents that aren’t trying to fix me.

They’re trying to show me who I am.

This is not the yoga you see on Instagram.

I’m currently in a year-long immersive training rooted in subtle body practices.

These aren’t postures for flexibility or fitness. There are no mirrors.

In fact, my teacher remarked that it is strange how many yoga studios are lined with mirrors.

Mirrors create comparison. They train the mind to judge.

But true yoga is introceptive. It teaches you to be yourself, not just perform.

In fact, Yoga postures were initially designed to prepare the body for meditation, not to tone the muscles. And not just “mindfulness”, but rather the kind of meditation that expands consciousness into something vaster, cosmic, universal, alive.

That’s the kind of work I’m exploring now.

The deeper paradigm shift

This shift I’m describing goes back before therapy was invented—before diagnosis codes, before symptom checklists, before CBT and trauma-informed anything.

It’s not that those things don’t serve a purpose. It’s just that they can’t touch the places I’m talking about.

Because the work I’m pointing to happens beneath your thought patterns.

It moves through the body’s structure, and reshapes your system in ways you may not notice until weeks—or years—later.

This is what ancient systems like tantra, yoga, and shamanism were designed for

They weren’t about pathology. They were about consciousness. They were about learning to work with the life force itself.

That’s what I mean by recalibration.

What if there’s nothing to fix?

What if the anxiety, depression, or trauma you’re “working on” isn’t the thing that needs attention?

But instead, the energy beneath it and the habitual tone, posture, speed, and breath that keep you stuck in stagnation?

This is where I work now. Not with pathology, but with patterned energy.

Not with the false self, but with the sensory-motor feedback loop that tells the truth before your mind has time to translate it into a narrative.

This is slow work. Gentle work.

It doesn’t shout, and it can’t be forced.

And that, I’ve realized, is why it’s so rare.

True force isn’t what you think.

One of my teachers, quoting the Tao, often says: “The force that is forced is not the true force.”

That has become a kind of koan for me.

We live in a culture of force:

Push harder. Hack your habits. Optimize your nervous system. Perform healing like a checklist.

But that’s not how real change happens.

Real change moves slowly. Like water. Like breath. Like consciousness itself.

From bio-rhythm to universal rhythm

The kind of energy work I’m describing is a step in that direction.

It teaches you to sense the pulse of your own system—your hormonal cycles, sleep-wake rhythms, heart rate, and breath.

Not to manipulate them. But to know them. To move with them. To work with what arises. To be fully present with anxiety, depression, grief, or numbness, rather than armored against it.

Over time, this opens the door to something far bigger:

A different experience of being alive. A different experience of being you.

Rewiring without force

This isn’t a process that can be rushed. You can’t hack it. You can’t force it.

And that’s a problem in the West, where force is the cultural default:Push through. Suck it up. Fix yourself. Be productive.

But the parasympathetic nervous system—the one responsible for healing—doesn’t respond to force.

It responds to safety. Gentleness. Kindness. The soft undercurrent of presence that says, You don’t have to fight anymore.

“The force that is forced is not the true force.”

True force is inner intelligence.
It’s the quiet instinct that knows what to do—when you stop trying so hard.

This is the work This kind of attention transforms your relationship with everything:

What you eat.
What you watch.
Who you spend time with.
How you sleep.
How you heal.

It provides you with real sensory, lived, and embodied data to work with. And it rewires the system, not by bypassing discomfort but by reorganizing how it moves through.

You don’t need to wait for the perfect practice.

You don’t need to understand it all cognitively.

You can start right now, right here.
With your body. With your life.

The tantric path is not a concept.

In an interesting way, this practice is a form of tantra.

Not the watered-down kind that lives on Instagram, but the real deal that sees your life as the mechanism of enlightenment.

Your body as the entry point into something vaster.

Your nervous system as the teacher.

When you understand that, you stop trying to fix yourself. And you start learning how to live.

This is also where the edge is

There’s something I haven’t fully spoken about—something I’ve felt for years but kept tucked beneath the surface of my “acceptable” work.

Many years ago, I studied hands-on energy work. It was the first time I began to sense different forms of energy emanating not only from other people, but also within myself.

That experience stayed with me.

Since then, I’ve been working to cultivate this awareness through my hands, through stillness, through attention.

I’ve used it to ease pain in my own body. To listen. To attune. To recalibrate.

Now I’m exploring something even more subtle—how energy expresses itself through the organs, blood, hormones, and breath.

I’m learning to distinguish forms, frequencies, and pulses. Not through theory. Through contact.

The truth is:

I think this might be the real work.
The kind of work that doesn’t fit into a license, a method, or a step-by-step action plan.

The kind that requires a different kind of authority—one that comes from your own direct contact with reality.

And yes—it scares me.
Not because it feels unstable.But because it feels true.And that truth might be asking me to step into something far more intimate and exposed than anything I’ve shared before.

And yet, with the time I have left on this planet, I want to go toward it. Not away from it.

I want to say more. Explore more. Create spaces where this kind of energy can be felt, tracked, worked with—without apology or translation.

Not just for me.
For anyone who feels it too and doesn’t have a name for it.

What about you?

• Have you ever felt a subtle shift in your body that changed everything?
• Have you ever worked with your energy in a way that surprised you?
• Have you ever stopped trying to fix yourself—and felt something real emerge?

I’m here for that conversation. Not the polished one. The real one.

Let me know if this speaks to you.

And if it does, I’d love to hear what you’re experimenting with—what’s shifting in your world, even if you can’t quite name it yet.

This is the work.
This is the future.
And it’s already happening.

Want to experience this for yourself?

As a long-time student of Yoga Nidra, I’ve found it to be one of the most powerful entry points into this level of subtle-body work.

It’s not about relaxation—it’s about reattunement.

If you’d like to experience it directly, I’m offering a free full-length Yoga Nidra audio practice to anyone who signs up for my newsletter.

Subscribe here to receive it.

This is a simple practice, but it can open a very different kind of doorway.

Insights Are Overrated

by Sandra | Sep 18, 2025 | Change, Mind-Body-Energy Technology, Tibetan MInd-Training, Yoga Nidra

Why Work With Me? (An Honest Inquiry)

Lately, I’ve been sitting with a question that I think every practitioner, therapist, coach, or guide ought to ask themselves from time to time:

Why should anyone work with me?

It’s not a marketing question. It’s deeper than that. It’s about trust. If I’m asking you to step into this work with me, why me?

What do I bring that matters?

The first thing that came to me, as I sat with this question, was boundless optimism.

I sincerely trust in the ability of every human being to change, to thrive, and to discover things about themselves that truly alter their lives.

But here’s the paradox: alongside that optimism, I carry a healthy respect—even reverence—for the protective patterns that keep us stuck.

These defenses are not flaws. They’re the armor we unconsciously built in childhood just to survive. For some, the challenges were enormous. And the armoring runs deep.

So yes, I trust your capacity to change. But I also know from experience how stubborn the body and mind can be in holding on to old protections.

I could better refer to myself as a skeptical optimist. I’ve worked with people where change took years. I had a client once—let’s call him “Mark”—who told me after eight years together: “I think I finally understand what you’ve been pointing to all this time.”

Eight years.

That’s how long it took for something to land. And yet—it did land. That’s why I never give up on anyone who shows up, doesn’t give up on themselves, and genuinely wants to change.

Let me pause and ask you:

When you think about change, do you lean more toward hope or toward doubt? And what happens when those two live side by side?

Generally, even when something does land, it often doesn’t lead to action.

Just because someone gains insight doesn’t mean they’re able to use it.

Insight Isn’t Enough

You can know why you are the way you are.

You can understand why you think, react, and speak the way you do.

You can trace your trauma back to childhood events.

You can talk about it endlessly.

But that doesn’t mean you know how to change.

In fact, some people get stuck in their stories. Their insight becomes a kind of social currency—something that explains why they can’t act, why others need to tiptoe around them, and why thriving isn’t possible.

Have you ever noticed yourself repeating the same story or insight over and over—and yet nothing really changes?

That’s one of the main reasons I’ve moved away from talk-based therapy—because talking rarely gets past the armor that lives in the body, in the breath, in the nervous system.

Theories, Assumptions & Tools That Make Sense… at Least to Me.

I’m intensely interested in the theoretical perspectives behind different approaches to change. And although my core interventions are rooted in a refined version of ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy), I continue to study other ideas and methodologies to deepen and enhance my work.

When it comes to tools, approaches, and methodologies, I’ve become very particular over time.

I don’t tend to integrate something just because it’s popular or came up in a training. I need to spend real time with it—working with it in my own life, seeing how it functions over time, and noticing where it leads.

What I bring into client work reflects that.

These are not techniques pulled off a shelf. They’re things I’ve tested, lived with, and refined—things that have shown themselves to matter, again and again.

I’m also very selective about who I study with.

I look closely at their background, how long they’ve been doing the work, and how they themselves continue to grow.

I’ve been lucky to study with teachers who are refining their craft over decades—and I’ve stuck with them for years because I value that kind of depth.

One of the frameworks I’ve consistently valued is ACT—Acceptance and Commitment Therapy.

I had the opportunity to study with its originator, Steven Hayes, and what stayed with me was his humility and honesty.

He’s spoken openly about his own experiences with anxiety and how they influenced his thinking—not in a dramatic “origin story” kind of way, but with clarity and integrity.

That tone of grounded realism runs through the ACT model itself.

Its six core processes align closely with many of the spiritual and philosophical traditions I’ve studied, especially in how they emphasize awareness, acceptance, and committed action.

It’s one of the few psychological frameworks I’ve worked with that feels open, flexible, and compatible with deeper inquiry.

But like most modern therapeutic models, ACT still leaves out one crucial dimension: the body.

So when we work together, I’m not offering a menu of quick fixes. What I bring are grounded, well-worn practices that I continue to live with and learn from.

Let me ask you:

When’s the last time you committed to testing a practice long enough to know what it really does?

My Turning Point

I didn’t get here by being calm, balanced, or wise from the start.

I came here through debilitating panic attacks and anxiety that made me feel like I was losing my life.

For years, I fought against it. I treated my symptoms as enemies—something to fix, something ruining me.

At the time, I was living and working in Japan. I hadn’t begun the therapy path yet. Still, I already had a master’s degree in psychology—with an emphasis in experimental psychology—so I had plenty of background to recognize what was happening.

I knew it was panic disorder. I had a name for it. I even had a toolkit of interventions.

And none of it helped.

What finally began to make a difference wasn’t anything from a textbook. It was discovering the work of Pema Chödrön and Tibetan Buddhism—a completely different way of understanding the mind, suffering, and the path to freedom.

It wasn’t about techniques or managing symptoms.

It was a paradigm shift on every level—one that helped me begin to view anxiety not as a problem to fix, but as an ally and a teacher.

I began to see it differently. My panic wasn’t just the enemy. It was also the teacher.

It was the doorway that pushed me onto a path I never would have chosen otherwise: a path into the body, into yoga, into sound, into the deeper dimensions of being.

Have you ever had something you thought was destroying you—only to later realize it was shaping you?

Later on, when I discovered ACT and heard Steven Hayes speak about his own experiences with anxiety, it helped me put language to something I had already lived.

It confirmed what I had come to understand firsthand: that change doesn’t come from analyzing or defeating your symptoms—it comes from turning toward them with a different kind of presence.

Where the Mind Can’t Reach

What ACT gave me was language and permission to turn toward my inner experience with curiosity instead of fear.

What Pema Chödrön and Tibetan Buddhism offered was a complete reframing of suffering—not as something to fix, but as a path to insight and compassion.

But neither ACT nor Buddhism—not even the most nuanced psychological frameworks—brought me fully into the body.

They pointed there.

They circled it.

But they didn’t take me into the living, breathing fabric of sensation and tissue, where so much of our patterning actually lives.

That’s what eventually pulled me deeper into embodied practice.

I’ve been practicing yoga in one form or another since I was eighteen. Like most people, my relationship to the practice has had seasons—intense periods of study, long stretches of neglect, unexpected returns.

But over the last six years, my commitment to daily practice has become non-negotiable.

I actually wake up looking forward to my time on the mat.

Not because I “should,” but because these practices have changed me—again and again.

What’s helped anchor this into a daily rhythm is a deepening understanding of subtle-body yoga, tantric energy structures, and sensory awareness—all practices that work at the level where our defenses live, and where they can begin to soften.

This isn’t about poses or “fitness yoga.”

It’s about tuning into fascia, nervous system, tissue, and energy—the subtler architecture of the body where change begins before the mind can explain it.

When I say I work with the body, I mean I help people bypass the endless loops of analysis and drop into the direct experience of what’s actually happening.

This is where insight becomes embodied. This is where momentum can finally build.

A First Glimpse of That Work

Sometimes in the very first session, I’ll guide someone into a simple chair practice. Feet on the ground. Back upright. Nothing fancy.

I’ll invite them to soften the lower body—to let it grow heavy, to feel the weight of their hips, the support of the chair, the connection to the earth.

And at the same time, I’ll guide them to lengthen upward through the spine, to lift gently through the crown, to expand into a sense of lightness and spaciousness above.

Then I’ll point out what’s happening:

Your body is holding two seemingly opposite states at once. Grounded and relaxed below. Tall and lifted above.

Effortless heaviness. Effortless expansion.

And here’s where something clicks—because if the body can hold that kind of paradox with ease, so can the mind.

That realization, when felt directly, plants a seed.

A new possibility enters: maybe you don’t have to choose between opposites.

Perhaps you don’t need to fight one part of yourself to strengthen another.

Try It Now.

If you’re reading this and you’re curious, you can try it right now.

No deep meditation required.

Just sit comfortably in your chair. Let your feet connect to the floor. Soften your thighs. Let your belly go. Let the chair hold your weight.

Now gently lift through your spine. Let the top of your head rise slightly upward, as if there’s a string pulling you up toward the ceiling—not with force, but with space.

Take a breath.

Let the lower body grow heavier. Let the upper body rise.

And just notice.

What happens when you stop trying to fix yourself—and instead feel what it’s like to be supported below and lifted above at the same time?

That’s the kind of paradox the body already knows how to hold. The mind can learn to follow.

What I Don’t Offer

I don’t have answers for you.

I don’t believe in gurus or formulas.

I don’t trust any “five easy steps to transformation.”

If you’ve ever signed up for one of those programs, you know how it goes: the steps don’t work, and suddenly it’s your fault. You didn’t do them right. You weren’t “committed” enough. Or—you guessed it—you didn’t buy the advanced upgrade.

That’s not how real change works.

These days, the proliferation of social media “experts” selling healing, coaching, or spiritual mastery is off the charts.

Scroll for five minutes and you’ll find algorithm-fed authority figures—many of whom are just repackaging recycled ideas, and some of whom may not even be real people.

They promise quick fixes and optimized lives. If you look closer, most of them are built on the same unspoken premise:

There’s something wrong with you—and they have the answer.

They capitalize on the anxiety, loneliness, and disorientation that come with living in an unpredictable, fast-changing world.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that if you just find the right system or method or content creator, you’ll be okay.

But here’s what I’ve seen, again and again:

The real preparation isn’t external.

It’s not about a system. It’s not about doing it “right.”

The real preparation is internal.

That’s where resilience comes from. That’s where alignment begins—through direct self-inquiry, through daily discipline, through practices that connect your mind, body, and energy in a way that actually holds up when life gets hard.

What I Do Offer

I offer tools I’ve lived and tested.

I offer practices that reach where words can’t—deep into the body’s protective patterns.

I offer a partnership rooted in skeptical optimism: deep trust in your capacity to change, paired with deep respect for how hard it is.

And most of all, I offer an invitation: don’t take my word for it. Test it. Experience it. See what you find.

So let me leave you with this question:

If you were to test one small thing today—not believe it, not analyze it, but actually test it—what would you choose?

Get a feel for this with Yoga Nidra

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Sign up for my newsletter to receive the audio and discover how a single guided practice can help you release tension, quiet the mind, and tap into the energy and clarity that usually go unnoticed in daily life.

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Your Habits Are Woven Into Your Body (Not Just Your Mind) Why Talk Therapy Isn’t Enough—And What the Subtle Body Knows

by Sandra | Aug 29, 2025 | Change, Mind-Body-Energy Technology, YOGA

My Turning Point

For years, I lived with anxiety and panic that didn’t respond to any of the usual strategies.

I tried to control it. Work around it. Manage it. Fix it.

And I did what so many of us are told to do: I gathered tools. Techniques. Practices. Therapy. Yoga. Meditation.

But no matter how much I learned, something deeper kept looping underneath it all.

That’s when I started to understand what no one had explained to me clearly: Panic doesn’t care how many tools you have in your back pocket—if you’re still trying to control it, you’re feeding it.

The first real shift came when I stopped trying to override the experience and started turning toward it.

Through Buddhist meditation—especially Pema Chödrön’s teachings—I began to observe the underlying patterns, not just the surface symptoms. That changed everything.

And it opened a door I didn’t expect: the study of subtle energy.

This took me far beyond the kind of yoga I had practiced since I was a teenager.

I began to see that the patterns weren’t just in my thoughts—they were etched into my breath, my tissues, my nervous system, and my sense of self.

Why Talk Therapy Doesn’t Reach the Deepest Patterns

I’m not here to knock therapy. Insight matters. Language matters. Being seen matters.

But there’s a layer that talk therapy doesn’t always reach—especially when the habits you’re trying to change are encoded in your body.

And by “body,” I don’t just mean posture or trauma held in the hips. I mean the subtle body:Breath patterns. Microtensions. The way your diaphragm tightens when you’re not even stressed. The way your jaw clenches when someone says, “You’re too sensitive.”

These aren’t choices. They’re energetic grooves. Therapy can help you name them. But it can’t always help you unwire them.

What Amrit Desai Taught Me About Habit

Recently, I came across a piece by yoga teacher Amrit Desai that resonated deeply.

He reframes habit not as “a thing we do,” but as a repeating energetic pattern—one that lives in the nervous system, the breath, and the body.

“What is commonly called ‘personality,'” he writes, “is often no more than a composite of habituated patterns, organized into a coherent image of self that has been shaped through repetition and reinforced by memory.”

In other words, the self you think you are—the one that reacts, worries, gets stuck, and overcompensates—may just be a survival pattern. A protective identity etched into your tissues.

This hit home. Because I could feel it. And I’d already started noticing what happens when those patterns begin to loosen.

The Body Doesn’t Lie—And Science Backs This Up

We now know that fascia—the connective tissue that wraps every muscle and organ—stores mechanical memory.

It’s not emotional memory in the “body keeps the score” sense, but it’s not far off.

Fascia literally holds your shape, your tension, your breath habits, and your movement defaults. And it adapts over time based on load.

What you repeat—physically, emotionally, even energetically—gets reinforced in the tissues.

This includes:• Shallow, high-chest breathing
• Holding in your belly or shoulders
• Nervous system hypervigilance
• Subtle bracing and guarding patterns that show up in your diaphragm and psoas.

These patterns aren’t random. They are your habits—expressed through the body.
And if you don’t address them there, they don’t dissolve. They just get smarter at hiding.

The Subtle Body Isn’t Woo—It’s the Missing Layer

When we stop trying to force change—and start sensing what’s underneath, something else shows up.

I’m referring to tremors, pulses, heat, vibration, wave-like movements, or the subtle drop in tension that occurs without effort.

This is the subtle body in action—not something mystical, but something felt.

In my own practice, I’ve seen how working at this level:
• Opens up awareness without analysis
• Unwinds patterns I didn’t know were active
• Redirects energy that was trapped in looping defense into something quieter, clearer, and freer

The practice isn’t glamorous. It’s not performative. It’s mostly about noticing what happens between the movements. And trusting what arises when you stop overriding your own system.

The Identity You Think Is “You” Might Be a Habit

This is the part most of us don’t want to hear: The self we identify with—the “me” that reacts, controls, seeks approval, or avoids conflict—might just be a constellation of familiar reactions.

And reactions, by nature, are habits.

Amrit Desai calls this the “false self”—not in a spiritual bypass way, but in a clear energetic sense.

You feel the difference when it’s happening. When you’re caught in the old groove, and when you’re not.

That false self is organized around tension, reactivity, and effort. But your deeper self—what yoga calls Being—moves differently.

A Practice for Reclaiming Energy

Try this—not to fix or force anything, but to start noticing what’s already happening underneath the surface.

• Lie down on the floor.
This isn’t about sitting upright or holding a posture. Lying down gives your body full support—something my current teacher emphasizes again and again. You can’t let go if your system still thinks it’s bracing.

• Turn your attention inward.
Close your eyes and begin to look at the body from the inside—not conceptually, but directly. Let your awareness move toward sensation. Toward what’s felt, not what’s thought.

• Bring your attention to your breath.
Don’t shape it. Don’t correct it. Just notice it as it is.
Is it shallow? Deep? Barely there?
Does it move freely, or get caught somewhere?

• Invite the breath into the lower belly.
Without force, breathe deeper—let the diaphragm move.
Feel the breath fill the space beneath the navel.
Pause for a moment. Then let it go.

• Now observe what shifts.
Do you find yourself pushing? Holding? Trying to control the breath?
Or you may realize you don’t know where the lower belly even is.
That’s all information. Stay with it.

• Allow any responses to arise.
Tremors. Sighs. Subtle releases. Tension. Blankness.
Let it come. Let it move. Let it stall.
Let go of needing to explain any of it.

You are not trying to change your breath.You are letting the breath reveal what it has been holding.

This is how the body starts to unwind—not with effort, but with space.

And every moment you spend here is a moment you stop feeding the old habit loops.

Where This Is Leading

The deeper I go into this work, the clearer it becomes: talk-based psychotherapy can only take us so far.

Yes, language matters. Insight helps. But at some point, we have to stop trying to explain our pain and start listening to where it lives.

That’s why I’m currently in a year-long somatic awareness training focused on subtle energy, fascia, and embodied transformation.

It’s deep work—personal, rigorous, and profoundly humbling. And it’s changing how I understand healing.

I’m excited to bring what I’m learning into my work with clients—because what we often call “healing” is really the body remembering how to be whole.

Why This Work Matters—And What’s Changing

The deeper I go into the subtle body, the more I recognize something that extends far beyond my own experience:

What I sensed in my own practice—and observed in others—felt like the early signs of a quiet revolution.

Modern neuroscience and physiology are finally beginning to echo what ancient traditions have always known: real change doesn’t happen just through insight or mindset shifts.

It happens in the body, more specifically, in the fascia, the breath, the nervous system, and the subtle energetic architecture that holds our patterns in place.

The implications are massive.

Because what we’ve often labeled as “obstacles” or “blocks” may not be psychological at all—they’re physiological patterns.

Long-held, unconscious imprints that live in the tissue. And once you start working at this level, the whole paradigm shifts.

Instead of trying to fix yourself, you begin to sense.
Instead of analyzing your patterns, you start to feel where they live.
Instead of years of mental processing, you experience direct release.

This isn’t a quick fix. It takes practice. Discipline. Willingness to show up again and again—not to push, but to listen.

But when you commit to this kind of work, change doesn’t just happen—it unfolds.

Effort becomes awareness.
Discomfort becomes data.
And healing becomes something more profound than symptom relief: it becomes freedom.

Because when you stop identifying with the pattern—and start releasing it—you open the door to a version of yourself you’ve never met.

Not the you shaped by trauma.
Not the you performing wellness routines.
But the one that’s always been here—just waiting for enough space to breathe.

Experience It for Yourself

If you’re curious to experience this kind of work—not just read about it—I’m offering a free full-length Yoga Nidra audio to anyone who signs up for my email list.

It’s not a quick-fix meditation or a feel-good reset.

It’s a guided experience designed to help you enter the subtle body directly—
where the real unwinding begins.

Click here to sign up!

Why I’m Finally Talking About What Therapy Misses

by Sandra | Aug 14, 2025 | Change, Psychotherapy

A few weeks ago, I tried out Seth Godin’s “Mentor Deck”—a stack of 52 idea-cards tied to big thinkers, plus a built-in AI to expand them.

I figured it might help me with workshop ideas. But what cracked open wasn’t a business plan—it was a deeper truth I’d been avoiding.

I realized I’ve been holding back. Not just in public, but even from myself.

I’ve long had doubts about the models that define psychotherapy as it’s practiced today. I’ve shared them in quiet conversations, but not here. Not where it counts.

The real reason? Not a lack of confidence.

Fear.

Fear of saying something that unhooks me from the roles, credentials, and safe zones I’ve worked so hard to earn. Fear of stepping outside the bounds of what my field calls “evidence-based.”

But if I’m here to do soul work—the kind that actually frees people—then I can’t keep hiding behind the frame.

So here it is.

Psychotherapy Lost Its Soul

Psychotherapy didn’t start out as symptom management.

Its early roots—especially in the humanistic and depth traditions—were much closer to soul work. It was about meaning, inner life, and the mysterious unfolding of the self.

But as psychology fought for legitimacy in the U.S., it began mimicking medicine. The logic was simple: if we wanted to be taken seriously, we had to act like doctors.

Enter the medical model—complete with diagnoses, treatment plans, insurance billing codes, and the creeping sense that human pain is something to “fix.”

Over time, therapy got rebranded as mental health care. Emotions became symptoms.

Questions about meaning and consciousness got replaced with outcome measures and symptom checklists.

But here’s the paradox: the research still tells a different story.

The single strongest predictor of successful therapy isn’t the model—it’s the relationship. The alliance. The presence. That thing we can’t quantify. Soul work, sneaking in through the back door.

Even so, the system doubles down on structure, employing managed care, manualized methods, and grant-funded outcomes. All designed to qualify and quantify which models get paid for, how long you’re “allowed” to feel pain, and what a “successful” session looks like.

The soul just got buried under bureaucracy.

Therapy’s Limits: Boxes and Agendas

Let’s zoom in now and look at how this plays out on the ground

Most therapy starts with a problem: you’re anxious, depressed, traumatized. You’re handed a clipboard, checked against a manual, and fitted into a category. Then the “treatment plan” kicks in.

But people aren’t problems to solve. We’re not just thoughts to reframe or bodies to relax. We’re living systems—messy, multilayered, mysterious. And too often, therapy doesn’t make space for that.

Cognitive models like CBT want to challenge and reframe your “distorted” thoughts.

Somatic approaches want to regulate your nervous system. Both can be helpful—but they’re still often built to manage symptoms, not explore the deeper terrain. And behind them sits the same agenda: outcomes, approval, funding, performance.

That’s not where real change lives.

Real change starts with presence. Relationship. The courage to sit in uncertainty without rushing to fix it.

What if we dropped the labels and just met the person in front of us? No diagnosis. No agenda. Just presence, curiosity, and care.

What would you want someone to see in you—without a script?

I’ve spent years sitting with this discomfort—not just with how therapy is structured, but with how we chase tools. Especially the ones that come packaged as solutions.

We reach for techniques that promise breakthroughs, but too often they’re just new labels on old surface-level fixes.

I’ve tried many of them myself, both as a practitioner and a human being.

Some opened something real. Others left me wondering if we were treating the technique like magic instead of meeting the person.

Honoring the Energy Truth Behind the Eye Movement Hype

I’ve hesitated to talk about this publicly, but I think it’s time.

EMDR has become one of the most celebrated trauma therapies out there. It’s structured, research-backed, and widely practiced. I trained in it years ago and tried it for myself.

But even then, something felt off. It was mechanical. Formulaic. As if we were trying to force a moment, rather than meet it.

Later, I experimented with Brainspotting—same story, different label.

What I’ve come to realize is this: eye movement absolutely has potential—but not the way most of these methods frame it.

Over the past several years, I’ve been exploring subtle yogic practices that work with the eyes, the breath, and the nervous system in deeply individual ways. No scripts. No protocols. Just practice and presence.

When I stay consistent, I notice subtle “glitches” in movement—tight spots where the eyes stick or flicker—and over time, they begin to resolve.

The experience feels like a kind of internal recalibration, as if the lens of awareness itself is coming back into focus. It’s not dramatic. It’s quiet.

When I don’t stay consistent, the whole thing falls apart. The glitches come back. The clarity fades.

It reinforces what I already know: soul work, like any true spiritual practice, requires discipline. Not devotion once in a while, but attention every day.

That’s what bothers me about EMDR and Brainspotting.

It’s not just that they feel flat—it’s that they tether people to a therapist or technique, instead of helping them build a personal practice.

Ancient traditions knew how to work with the eyes, the breath, and the body’s subtle rhythms—not to fix us, but to wake us up.

We keep reinventing what wisdom traditions have already mapped out, then selling it back with a certificate. I think we can do better than that.

What I Look For Before I Buy In

So how do we sort through it all—the models, the methods, the theories—and figure out what’s actually worth following?

Maybe I’m a born iconoclast. But to me, big-picture critical thinking isn’t optional—especially if you’re working as a therapist, healer, or coach.

It’s too easy to get swept up in branded techniques, charismatic personalities, or the next well-marketed breakthrough. And it’s even easier to pass those on to others without realizing we’ve stopped thinking for ourselves.

I don’t buy into anything wholesale. Whether it’s a clinical model, a spiritual path, or a neuroscience breakthrough, I want to know:

Who’s behind it, and what shaped their thinking?
Does their life reflect their teaching, or is it all packaging?
Is this research clean—or conveniently funded?
What happens when I try it on myself, or with others?

If something resonates, I stay with it and test it—slowly, deliberately, across time and context.

I want to see if it holds up under pressure, if it deepens with use, if it works in real human lives—not just in theory or research abstracts.

What the Mentor Deck showed me wasn’t a lack of confidence—it was fear.

The fear of owning a more critical view of the therapeutic methods I was trained in. The fear of fully giving myself to the mind-body-energy technologies I’ve tested, refined, and come to trust.

Letting go of the safety of convention isn’t easy, even when you know it no longer fits.

How do you know when something’s true for you?

Beyond the Tools: Ancient Maps and Living Wisdom

Most therapy models are just too small to address the questions we’re really asking.

For thousands of years, ancient traditions have explored what it means to be conscious, to suffer, to wake up. Buddhism, Vedanta, Taoism, indigenous lineages—they all treated the human being not as a brain with a glitch, but as an unfolding mystery.

They used breath, sound, stillness, and ritual. They paid attention to the subtle, the sacred, the energetic. They knew what science is just starting to remember: that we’re more than a nervous system with a name.

Modern neuroscience is now validating what these traditions taught: that the mind is plastic, that attention shapes experience, and that the body remembers everything. However, the science still falls short of addressing the bigger questions.

Meanwhile, ancient paths continue to point toward wholeness. Toward freedom. Toward remembering who and what we are beneath the patterning.

New Sparks: What Else Might Be True?

The further I go into mind-body-energy work, the more I find myself drawn to ideas that haven’t yet been embraced by conventional science—but might be pointing to the same truths ancient systems have explored for centuries.

If ancient traditions gave us the original maps of consciousness, these newer ideas might be the scattered clues on its outer edges.

They don’t replace the old wisdom—they extend it. Some challenge our current definitions of science itself. But all of them ask us to think bigger about what it means to be human, and to stop pretending we’ve figured it all out.

These are the sparks I’ve been following.

Scalar Energy and the Body – Research by Konstantin Meyl suggests our bodies may be emitting and receiving information in ways we haven’t yet learned to detect. What if healing isn’t just psychological or biochemical—but energetic?
Orch-OR Theory – Proposed by Sir Roger Penrose and Stuart Hameroff, this theory suggests that consciousness may emerge from quantum activity inside our cells—not just from brain circuitry. It’s speculative, but it opens the door: What if awareness is fundamental, not just an emergent glitch?
The Pineal Gland – Ancient traditions called it the “third eye.” Modern science knows it regulates melatonin. Some researchers think it may produce DMT during birth, death, or deep meditation. Could this be a literal gateway to altered states of consciousness?

None of these are conclusions. They’re invitations. Doorways. Reminders that the field of human change is much bigger than therapy allows. And maybe the future of transformation isn’t in new techniques—but in reawakening old knowing.

What’s an idea that made you rethink everything?

Why This Matters

The Mentor Deck didn’t hand me answers. It held up a mirror.

And what I saw was this: I’ve known for a long time that therapy—at least as it’s framed today—isn’t enough. Not for me. Not for many of the people I work with.

But I was afraid to say it out loud. Afraid of being misunderstood. Afraid of being cast out of a field I’ve spent decades in.

But I’m not here to manage symptoms or comply with systems. I’m here to walk with people into the wild unknown of what it means to be alive.

That’s not therapy. That’s soul work.

And I’m finally ready to call it what it is.

The Takeaway

We don’t need more treatment plans. We need more truth.

Therapy has its place—but its frame is too small. What we’re facing now—existential uncertainty, deep disconnection, collective transformation—requires something older, deeper, and more alive than any clinical manual can offer.

It’s time we remember that the real work is sacred.

So here’s my invitation:

What’s a truth you’ve been holding back, afraid it would shake things up?

And what would happen if you let it out?

Take It From the Page to the Body

If you’re ready to slow down long enough to feel something real—beyond the labels, the noise, and the mental overdrive—I’ve created something to support that.

Sign up below and you’ll get a free, full-length Yoga Nidra audio:
a guided practice to help you drop beneath the surface and reconnect with the deeper intelligence already living in your body.

This isn’t just relaxation. It’s a different kind of listening.

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Change Without a Plan: A Pattern, a Leap, and a Cappuccino

by Sandra | Aug 14, 2025 | Change

The Urge to Go: Following That Inner Nudge (Even When It Doesn’t Make Sense)

I’ve been thinking a lot about this pattern I have. The urge to go. The urge to start over. Not to escape—but to explore. To drop myself into the unknown and see who I become inside it.

I’ve picked up and moved so many times in my life. Not always wisely. Not always with a plan. I rarely weigh pros and cons and have never done a cost-benefit breakdown. It’s more like a quiet internal yes that bypasses logic completely.

And that’s led to some unexpected outcomes.

I’ve stayed in places way too long. I’ve made decisions that unraveled halfway through. I’ve felt excitement, dread, and full-body panic—sometimes in the same afternoon. And sometimes, following that internal yes has meant facing the slow, agonizing process of having to walk away from relationships, careers, homes, even countries.

There’s a kind of fear that can show up when you live this way. Not just fear of failure or being wrong. But fear of your own pattern. Like—am I doing this again? Am I addicted to newness? Am I trying to outrun something?

Or maybe—am I actually wired for this?

“You are not stuck where you are unless you decide to be.” – Wayne Dyer

These days, I’m technically a digital nomad. But honestly, I’ve been living this way long before that term existed—before remote work was an option, before Wi-Fi was everywhere, before anyone thought you could see clients online as a psychotherapist.

Back then, it wasn’t about flexibility or laptop lifestyle. It was something deeper. Something I couldn’t always explain.

What patterns have you seen in your own decision-making?

Have you ever followed an internal yes, 
even when it didn’t make sense on paper?

From California to Japan: A Pattern Takes Root

I’ve felt this urge for as long as I can remember.

When I was in fifth grade—pre-Internet, pre-anything—I wrote away to the California Chamber of Commerce for relocation materials. I was trying to convince my dad to move us out West. It didn’t work. But I made a quiet vow that I’d get there myself.

And after college, I did. Two suitcases. Five hundred bucks. No plan. Just a feeling.

Moving from the East Coast to California felt big at the time—but an even bigger leap came a few years later when I packed up again and moved to Japan.

It was one of the biggest leaps of my life.

The first time I arrived, I felt something I’ve never forgotten.

On one hand, it felt oddly familiar. On the other, it was like I’d landed on another planet. I couldn’t read a word. I couldn’t speak the language. I couldn’t even find my way out of the underground train station in Tokyo where I got dropped off.

And still… it felt right.

Something about being in a place where I didn’t know the rules lit me up. It made me alert, present, awake. Something about not having the language, the maps, the shared assumptions—it forced me to pay attention in a way I didn’t know I needed.

Have you ever dropped yourself into something completely unfamiliar—
just to see what would happen?

What are some of the joys you’ve discovered in the unknown—
and what fears have followed you there?

From East to West to Something Else Entirely

After building a whole life in Japan, one of the strongest urges I’ve ever had hit me—and it told me it was time to move forward. Not just to another country, but to another way of being.

I left nearly everything behind. Ninety percent of my belongings. A business. A relationship. Deep friendships. A lifestyle I had built from the ground up.

And I came back to the U.S. to pursue something that had been quietly growing in me for years: the desire to be of service in a different way. I became a psychotherapist.

That chapter was its own kind of risk. A different kind of reinvention.

But eventually, the urge hit again.

The digital nomad path wasn’t part of some master plan—it emerged when virtual work became a real possibility. But it also came from something more psychological. I had gotten… comfortable. Too comfortable. And for me, that can be a problem.

Familiarity is tricky. It can seem like peace, like stability. But for some of us, it starts to feel like a slow suffocation. There’s a point where the known becomes a cage. Where routines that once felt grounding start to flatten the spirit.

What has comfort cost you? Have you ever known—
deep down—that it was time to reinvent yourself again?

Sedona: The Dream That Didn’t Fit

That brings me to now.

I’ve been living in Sedona for my first official stint as a digital nomad. It was the place I thought I’d land. Years ago, when I first visited, I was mesmerized. The beauty. The energy. The whole vibe. I thought: Here. This is it.

But after six months, it wasn’t working. The jaw-dropping landscape didn’t translate into a life that felt right. I stayed longer than I should have, hoping it would shift.

It didn’t.

And that became a kind of wake-up call—not because the place let me down, but because I began to see how much expectation had been driving the decision to move there. The idea that a place—or anything external—could somehow fulfill something internal. And like so many times before, I ran into the reality that expectation, especially when it’s unconscious, is often the root of dissatisfaction.

I’ve also come to realize: I’m a project-oriented person. I’ve always poured myself into big efforts—some of them aligned, some of them not. And even after devoting an inordinate amount of time and energy to something I suspected was off track, I’ve learned to walk away. To drop what’s not true. And little by little, to focus more precisely on what actually is.

So now I’m headed to Arkansas.

Why? Because someone I follow on YouTube moved there and made it look delightful. I was initially on my way to Florida, but when I saw that video, I thought, ‘What the hell?’ I’m going to Arkansas.

Have you ever chased something with high hopes—
only to discover it was built on an outdated idea 
of what would fulfill you?

What helps you tell the difference between a project 
that’s still alive—and one that’s ready to be released?

What Are We Really Looking For?

That’s what I keep circling back to. What is this urge?

Is it a quirk? A character flaw? A form of avoidance? Or is it something human?

This drive to seek out the unknown… to place ourselves in unfamiliar territory… to feel life press against us in real time. Is it a developmental impulse? A soul pattern? A kind of internal evolution trying to unfold?

I used to ask, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ Why can’t I just settle down like other people? Now I wonder if maybe that’s the wrong question.

Maybe the better question is: What does a life of continual reorientation teach you?

What do you think this urge for change is really pointing toward—
for you?

What has it taught you that nothing else could?

Your Turn

I wonder—have you ever had the urge to leave it all behind? To change direction midstream? To throw away something that “made sense” to everyone else and start over, just because something deep in you said go?

If so, what did you do? Did you follow it? Ignore it? Did you regret the choice you made?

I’m Not Done Moving

Right now, my car is packed with what I think I need. (Way too much, if I’m being honest.) I’ve got no fixed plan—just a strong gut instinct, a few client sessions I can do remotely, and a deep excitement about long road trips, new towns, and the weird joy of finding a Starbucks in the middle of nowhere… so I can indulge in my guilty pleasure, a cappuccino with four shots.

This is where I’m at.

And this time, I’m not asking what’s wrong with me. I’m just paying attention. Watching the pattern. And wondering what it’s asking me to see.