There are some days that seem to carry a particular kind of energy from the moment they begin.
Yesterday was one of those days.
My morning began with a beautiful community catch-up at The Yoga Shala & Wellness—connecting, sharing, laughing, and being surrounded by people who remind me of the power of gathering. There is something I deeply value about community: the opportunity to come together without needing to have everything figured out.
To share where we are, to listen to where someone else is, and to be reminded that we are not moving through this human experience alone.
From there, I headed into my mid-morning run for day 3 of my #100daysofrunning challenge.
My run took me from Bar Beach, past Dixon Park, and along to Merewether Beach—a place that has always felt like home to me in its own beautiful blend of sand and sea.
There is something about moving my body alongside the ocean that feels deeply regulating and familiar:
Bare feet meeting sand.
Hands meeting ocean water.
Sunshine above me and a smile within me.
The rhythm of my body moving through space, aligned with the waves and my breath.
It felt like the perfect beginning to a day that would later invite others to reconnect with their own bodies. After my run, I had a nourishing lunch before preparing to facilitate something that has been sitting very close to my heart, Wild Wisdom + Sacred Rage Release.
What an honour it was to create andhold this workshop:
🌀 An honour to create and prepare the space.
🌀 An honour to intentionally choose the music, practices, transitions, and invitations.
🌀 An honour to witness the women who walked through the door, willing to meet themselves in a little more depth.
Before anyone arrived, I spent time consciously preparing the space. I don’t believe that creating a container is simply about what happens once everyone is in the room.
It begins long before the first person arrives:
The energy we bring and the intention we hold.
The music we choose and the way we arrange the room.
The words we use and the permission we give.
The quiet awareness that each person arriving brings an entire life with them—their stories, relationships, responsibilities, joys, grief, history, hopes, nervous systems, emotions, and wildness.
Rather than creating a space where anyone needed to perform or produce a particular outcome, my intention was to invite curiosity. Curiosity about our bodies, our emotions, what might want to move, what might want to be expressed, and what our own inner wisdom might have to say. The playlist was intentionally chosen.
Every song had a reason for being there—some invited us inward, some invited movement or expression, some brought us into our bodies, some helped us soften, and some simply reminded us that joy, pleasure, and aliveness are also part of this work.
Writing this from the facilitators perspective is deeply meaningful because I have also been the participant.
I have sat in many spaces where someone else held the container, surrendered into practices without knowing what might emerge, and felt my body speak in ways my mind couldn’t immediately translate. Yesterday, while facilitating, there was a quiet, sacred remembering of my own journey.
Our rage, anger, frustration, grief, sadness, overwhelm, disappointment, and desire have been misunderstood for generations.
We are often taught that some emotions are acceptable while others are inconvenient—that happiness is welcome, but anger is “too much”; that grief should be private and frustration swallowed; that we should keep the peace, be agreeable, and not take up too much space.
Somewhere along the way, many of us become skilled at disconnecting from what we feel.
We push it down, move on, distract ourselves, overwork, overthink, numb out, stay busy, smile, and say, “I’m fine.”
Emotions don’t disappear just because we refuse to feel them. Sometimes they simply find somewhere else to live:
🌀 Physical tension, exhaustion, or resentment.
🌀 Disconnection, numbness, or overwhelm.
🌀 A tight chest, locked jaw, knots in the stomach, clenched fists, or shallow breath.
🌀 A nervous system that remains on high alert long after the original moment has passed.
The body speaks through sensation, and often, sensation is the very first language available to us.
One of the core intentions behind Sacred Rage Release is not to become our emotions, but to create enough space to witness them.
There is a profound difference between consciously expressing an emotion and being completely consumed by it and suppressing what is wanting to arise:
We can feel anger without becoming anger.
We can experience grief without allowing it to become our entire identity.
We can acknowledge frustration without directing it towards another person.
We can feel rage without needing to react from it.
Expression doesn’t have to mean acting out. It can mean giving something a safe, conscious place to exist through a sound, a breath, a movement, a shake, a dance, a journal entry, a boundary, or a moment of stillness.
Release looks, sounds, and feels different for everyone.
The release for one person may be loud, while the response of another is almost imperceptible. Someone may cry, another may laugh, someone else may feel completely still, and another may simply notice their breath deepen. All of these experiences are valid and are part of the bountifulness of being human.
Rage is rarely what it first appears to be.
Beneath rage, there is often grief, pain, betrayal, powerlessness, fear, a crossed boundary, an ignored need, or a truth that wasn’t allowed to be spoken.
When we slow down enough to listen beneath the surface, there is so much information waiting for us:
Anger offers clarity.
Grief reveals what we love.
Frustration illuminates an unmet need.
Rage reveals a boundary that has been crossed or a standard that has been ignored.
Instead of asking, “How do I get rid of this feeling?” we can ask, “What is this feeling trying to show me?”
That question changes everything as it creates space between ourselves and the emotion—we aren’t denying it, nor are we drowning in it.
We are listening.
Our bodies carry stories that our conscious minds have learned to move past: a tight shoulder, a locked jaw, a stomach that knots when a particular subject comes up, or a sudden urge to withdraw. These sensations aren’t something to fear or immediately fix; they are invitations into curiosity:
What am I noticing?
Where do I feel it?
What happens if I breathe here?
What changes when I stop trying to make this sensation disappear?
This is body intelligence on full display.
When we begin to listen, we discover information that isn’t available through thinking alone.
Throughout our time together, we explored several practices designed to reconnect us with body, breath, sensation, expression, and movement:
Breath of Joy: Bringing breath and movement together to invite aliveness back into the physical frame.
Vocal Activation: Connecting with primal energy and giving sound permission to emerge outside the confines of ordinary conversation.
Intuitive Dance: Stepping away from choreography to let the body move freely—no right way to move, no audience to impress, simply listening to what wants to move.
Conscious Connected Breath & Blooming Beautifully Practice: Creating a deeper relationship with the breath to facilitate an unfolding from within.
Underneath every practice was the same invitation. To come back into the brilliance of your body.
Many of us have been taught to override this intelligence: to ignore hunger, push through exhaustion, dismiss tension, ignore intuition, and keep performing or pleasing until the body is forced to scream because we didn’t listen to its whisper.
When you respect your body, it learns to support you.
The body becomes less of an obstacle to manage and more of a relationship to nurture.
I keep returning to the thought that the greatest expression of balance is not standing without moving; it is trusting that when life moves, we know how to find our way back home.
Life moves.
Bodies move.
Emotions move.
Seasons and identities move.
Balance cannot mean remaining perfectly still.
Balance is the relationship we develop with movement itself:
The ability to notice when we have moved away from ourselves.
The willingness to pause.
The courage to listen.
The wisdom to adjust.
The trust that we can return home, again and again.
Emotions rise, peak, shift, and soften. When an emotion we thought we had already cleared returns to the surface, it doesn’t mean we have gone backwards; it simply means another layer is asking to be witnessed.
This is why somatic bodywork is so profound: we don’t always need words.
Sometimes the body communicates through a dropped shoulder, a deeper breath, a softening jaw, a tear, a sigh, or a moment of deep stillness.
Energy needs permission to exist in unforced, unhurried, and unjudged ways.
There is a difference between release and reaction.
This distinction is vital: conscious expression is not about acting impulsively on every feeling. We don’t need to shout at someone because we are angry, or burn everything down because something inside us is burning.
| Approach |
Mindset |
| Suppression |
“Don’t feel that.” |
| Reaction |
“I have to act on this right now.” |
| Conscious Expression |
“I am willing to listen, feel, and discover what this is showing me.” |
Once the emotion has been met and felt, the next step of the boundary, the conversation, or the choice becomes crystalline.
We aren’t only making space for difficult emotions; we are opening up to the entire spectrum of human experience:
When we give ourselves permission to fully meet and feel our anger, grief, sadness, and overwhelm, we create the spaciousness needed for those heavy emotions to soften and transform into love, joy, pleasure, and pure aliveness.
When we suppress the heavy emotions, our capacity for joy and pleasure becomes restricted, too.
Disconnecting from one part of ourselves disconnects us from all parts.
This work isn’t about becoming better at being angry—it’s about becoming fully available to life.
There is a wildness within us that doesn’t need to be tamed; it deserves to be seen, heard, held, and integrated.
Wildness isn’t chaos—it is the part of us that remembers what it feels like to be fully alive, to move without choreography, and to trust our innate intelligence.
This isn’t a set of rules from the outside; it is the wisdom living within your body that becomes audible when the mental noise gets quiet.
Reclamation is not about becoming someone new.
It is about returning to the forgotten parts of yourself:
🌀 The part that knew how to say no.
🌀 The part that was allowed to be loud and take up space.
🌀 The part that played, danced, and felt deeply.
🌀 The part that trusted her intuition without needing to explain every feeling first.
Rage acts as the doorway.
It illuminates what has been crossed, what has been lost, and what deserves to be reclaimed.
One of the most exquisite moments of the workshop was witnessing the transition from release into softness through our Blooming Beautifully practice—opening the heart and lifting it towards the sun to invite change, growth, and gentle emergence. Rage isn’t the only doorway; sometimes we need somewhere for the fire to move before we can feel the warmth. After the depth, expression, and stillness, we danced—not to escape, but to integrate, to let the body experience aliveness beyond the emotion we had met, and to remember that we are not any single emotion, but the vast space that holds them all.
Moving around the room, I felt the immense privilege of being invited into such intimate space.
As the facilitator I witnessed moments of sound, stillness, tears, laughter, and subtle shifts:
🌀 Breath finally reaching somewhere it hadn’t reached in months or even years.
🌀 Shoulders softening.
🌀 Boundaries becoming clearer.
🌀 Women realising that they are fully allowed and encouraged to take up space.
Standing as the facilitator was not about positioning myself as someone who has “arrived.”
It was about holding space with deep respect while remembering that I am always a student of my own body—still learning, listening, and unfolding.
When the Body Becomes Home
Your brilliant body is your guide.
Your bountiful breath is your anchor.
Your intuition is your inner compass.
Your emotions are not problems to solve; they are messengers, doorways, and invitations.
Let the fire become information.
Your anger doesn’t make you “too much,” your grief doesn’t make you weak, and your joy doesn’t need permission.
There is room for all of it: the fire, the softness, the grief, the pleasure, the rage, the stillness, and the wildness.
Release is not about emptying ourselves of something bad, it is about creating space.
Space to breathe, feel, choose, reclaim, and listen.
Beneath the emotion was never emptiness; there was wisdom, love, and a part of you waiting to come home.
Return, layer by layer, to the parts of yourself that were always there.
The parts that know instinctively, feel fully, move intuitvely, love deeply, speak wisely, and bloom beautifully.
This is where rage, release, and reclamation meet.
This is where we come home.
🌿🔥🤍
With unconditional and untamed love,
Hannah
