We’ve all heard it—or said it to ourselves:
“It’s just ten minutes.”
“Maybe you’re not disciplined enough.”
“Everyone else can do it—why can’t you?”
Ah yes, meditation—the supposed universal starting point for all things spiritual!
To to be fair, meditation is powerful. However, here is the part we don’t talk about enough: it’s not always the best place to start for everyone.
For many of us, meditation doesn’t begin with peace and clarity.
It begins with… fidgeting.
We sit down with the best intentions. Within minutes, our leg won’t stop shaking, our back suddenly has opinions, our mind is sprinting through tomorrow’s to-do list—and somehow, we are thinking about a random conversation from 2014.
Not exactly enlightenment!
Frustration kicks in.
“Why can’t I just focus?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
What if the problem isn’t your discipline?
What if it’s your nervous system?
The mind and body are not separate departments working independently—they’re more like overly involved roommates! When one is unsettled, the other definitely feels it.
As trauma researcher Bessel van der Kolk puts it:
“Trauma is not just an event that took place in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body.”
In other words, our body remembers—even when our mind is trying to, “just relax.”
If our system is running on fight-or-flight mode, stillness doesn’t feel peaceful—it feels unsafe. Our body is wired to stay alert, not to melt into calm awareness just because we decided it’s “meditation time.”
And this shows up in subtle (and not-so-subtle) ways. Maybe…
· It’s the urge to constantly adjust our posture.
· That tightness in our chest or jaw that wasn’t there a second ago.
· Thoughts that refuse to slow down, no matter how many deep breaths we take.
· It’s shallow breathing, a wave of discomfort, or even sudden sleepiness—like your system is hitting the “abort mission” button.
These aren’t signs that we’re bad at meditation.
Maybe they are signs that our body isn’t ready to be still—yet.
This becomes even clearer in practices like hypnosis and regression therapy, where relaxation isn’t optional—it’s essential. Practitioners often consider difficulty entering these states as “resistance.”
But what if it’s not resistance?
What if it’s protection?
Psychiatrist and Regression therapy pioneer Brian Weiss noticed that patients only entered deeper regression states when they genuinely felt safe. Similarly, hypnotherapist Milton H. Erickson emphasized working with the client’s state, not against it.
Because the body doesn’t respond well to force—especially when it’s trying to keep you safe.
From this lens, what we call resistance might actually be intelligence!
Our system is saying: “Not yet. I don’t feel safe enough to let go.”
Trauma therapist Peter Levine suggests that healing begins when the body is allowed to release stored stress responses—gently, at its own pace.
And this is where things get interesting.
Sometimes, the path to stillness doesn’t start with sitting still.
It starts with movement.
With breath.
With grounding.
With shaking out tension, stretching, walking, or even just noticing how our body feels.
These body-based practices might not look as “spiritual” as meditation, but they’re often what make meditation possible.
Because once the body feels safe, the mind doesn’t have to work so hard to settle.
As Thich Nhat Hanh gently reminded us:
“The body and mind are not two separate entities.”
So if meditation has ever felt like a struggle, it doesn’t mean we’re doing it wrong.
It might just mean we’re starting in the wrong place.
Begin with the body.
Let it unwind. Let it exhale. Let it trust.
And then, almost surprisingly, stillness stops feeling like a battle…
and starts feeling like a doorway.
