There are things my mind hasn’t always been able to explain, but my body has never forgotten.

Long before I had the words, my body was already holding the story. I felt it in tight hips, sciatic pain, shallow breath, a clenched jaw, restless legs, heavy shoulders, anxiety, panic attacks. I moved through life carrying experiences that were never fully processed, never fully released. And without even realising it, I learned how to live with them, to normalise them, to accept them as just “how things are.”

But the body always knows when something is unfinished.

This is where movement became medicine for me.

Not movement driven by punishment, aesthetics, or pushing harder, (well maybe it used to be)  but now, after learning some hard lessons, my movement is grounded in listening. In feeling. In slowing down enough to remember who I was before survival mode became my default. Before bracing became normal. Before holding it all together felt necessary.

The Body Speaks First

I’ve learned that trauma, stress, grief, and even joy are stored in the nervous system. The body responds faster than the mind ever could. My heart races before my thoughts catch up. My breath shortens before I realise I’m overwhelmed. My shoulders tense before I can name what I’m holding.

That’s because the body is always scanning for safety.

When I move slowly and consciously, syncing movement with breath, something shifts. The mind, body, and spirit begin to find their natural rhythm again. I start speaking the body’s language not through words, but through sensation.

Yoga. Breath work. Walking. Running. Strength training. Whatever the movement is, when it’s done with awareness, it stops being just physical. It becomes a conversation with the nervous system. And the body responds. That’s where the magic is.

Sometimes with relief.
Sometimes with emotion.
Sometimes with tears that don’t need a story attached.

Why Thinking Isn’t Always Enough

I’ve tried to think my way through healing. To understand it. Analyse it. Rationalise it. It didn’t work.

I once read a quote by Albert Einstein that stayed with me:
“We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.”

You can understand something logically and still feel unsafe in your body. You can know your past and still react as if it’s happening now. That’s because the body operates on sensation and memory, not narrative.

Just over twelve months ago, I went to a retreat facilitated by two psychologists. It open my eyes up to the world of therapy. That weekend was truly transforming. I knew this was my next thing to explore in my journey. I didn't know why, I just had this inner knowing and curiosity to go deeper in getting to know myself and how my brain worked.

Since then, I’ve been working closely with a psychologist, and has genuinely changed my life. Having a safe, consistent space with someone has helped me process the shit I've suppressed, untangle patterns, and meet parts of myself I used to push past. Game changer!

Therapy hasn’t been about fixing me, it’s been about feeling supported enough to be real, to knock down some walls so I can be authentically me, not who I think I should be. It’s given me language to experiences my body already knew, helped me regulate when life felt overwhelming, and reminded me that healing doesn’t have to be done alone. That support has shaped not only how I move through my own healing, but also how I hold space for others.

Side tangent but back to movement..... Movement gently bridges that gap. When movement is approached as medicine, everything changes.

I always begin with intention. Intention is everything. Instead of asking “What should I do?” I ask, “What do I need today?” I'm the type of person that thrives when I'm training for something. I have a training plan to reach a goal and I love it. Back in the day I used to follow the plan to a T. Now, I assess how I'm feeling and modify movements when I need to. 

Some days it looks like strength — feeling powerful, capable, embodied.
Some days it looks like stillness — sitting in meditation, letting what’s been waiting finally surface.
Some days it’s repetitive movement like running — where the rhythm settles my mind and clears the dust.

There is no right way. No perfect practice. There is only return. A return to my true self. My true nature. The essence of who I really am beneath the noise.

Return to breath.
Return to body.
Return to self.

Why I Created Phoenix Movement

Phoenix Movement was born from a simple, deeply personal truth: Somatic healing shouldn’t be a luxury or something only a few people have access to.

So many healing spaces feel out of reach financially, culturally, or emotionally. I wanted to create something different. A space where people don’t need to be “fixed,” flexible, spiritual enough, fit enough, or healed enough to belong. You can move in your PJ's, and not be scared to fart in class. 😂

Phoenix Movement exists to make somatic healing practices accessible to everyone.

Not just in yoga studios or retreat spaces. But in everyday life, in lounge rooms, backyards and garages. In the moments when life feels heavy and you need something real to come back to. It’s a space where movement meets nervous system regulation. Where strength and softness coexist. Where healing doesn’t require force, only presence.

Because the truth is, the body already knows how to heal. It just needs the conditions to feel safe enough to begin. And sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is to move gently, consistently, with intention, and with deep respect for our own rhythm.

That’s how we come home. That’s how we get back up when life knocks us down.

Again and again.
We pivot.
We rise.
We become.

If you feel called to join the Phoenix Movement, trust that pull, it’s an invitation to come home to yourself.

Join the Phoenix Movement

Charlie xo