Curious About a Brainspotting Session?

Take a moment to settle into your seat.
Take a breath.

There’s nothing you need to prepare.
Nothing you need to figure out or get right.

I’m glad you’re here.

You begin by telling your story

What you’ve been through.
What you understand now.
What you’ve already worked on.

You’re not completely sure why, but something still feels unresolved.

I’m listening carefully. Not just to what you’re saying, but to how you’re saying it. I notice when your breath changes. The way your body holds itself. The places where something tightens or softens as you speak. When your eyes drift away for a moment, or when they hold a steady gaze.

You’re not doing anything wrong.
All of this tells me something important is present.

Would it be okay to slow us down for a moment?
I don’t want us to miss anything.

Your story matters.

You share that part of you feels like you should be further along by now. That you understand so much, logically. That you’ve done counseling before and it helped. That your faith is important to you and you pray.

And yet your body still braces.
Anxiety and fear still rise.
Trust still feels broken.

You’re tired in a way that words don’t fully capture.

As we sit together, I want you to know this doesn’t mean you’re weak. And it doesn’t mean your faith is lacking.

It means your nervous system learned how to protect you in a season or seasons, when it had to, and it hasn’t yet realized that things are different now. The responses that once helped you cope are still doing their job, even though they no longer serve you in the same way.

Would it be okay to stay with what your body knows?

As you’re talking, your eyes settle in a particular spot. You don’t seem to notice it, but I do. Something in you is drawn there.

There’s no pressure.

What do you notice right now?

You might notice a tightness in your throat.
Or a heaviness in your chest that doesn’t yet have words.
Maybe there’s a sense of dread, sadness, irritation, or fear that surprises you by its intensity.

If it feels okay, we stay with what you choose.
Not to force meaning.
Not to fix.
Just to notice.

There’s no right or wrong here.
There’s no “supposed to.”

You may notice a sensation.
An emotion.
Resistance.
Or a subtle movement in your body, like a tightening or a small shift in posture.

You’re not alone in it. I’m right here with you.

This work is not about forcing memories to surface or pushing you beyond your capacity. We stay within what your system can tolerate today, together and at your pace.

You notice that the feeling grows. It feels unsettling.

Think of the waves of an ocean.

The wave is coming in, and it will go back out.

You don’t have to fight it.
You won’t drown in it.

If it’s okay, we stay together while it moves.

Eventually, you will float.

You may notice the emotion crest, stronger than you expected. Grief. Fear. Anger. A sense of vulnerability that feels exposed. Your body might tense. Your breath might catch.

I stay with you.
I track your breathing.
I notice your capacity.

If it feels like too much, we slow it down.

You’re here. You’re safe. Let’s take this one breath at a time.

You might notice the wave begin to pass. Not because you pushed it away, but because it was allowed to move. The intensity eases. The edges soften. Your body realizes it doesn’t have to stay braced forever.

And there’s often relief in that moment, not dramatic, but real.

As the wave recedes, there’s space.

You might feel tired.
Or lighter.
Or simply quieter inside.

You might wonder if this is how it’s supposed to work.
It is.

There’s nothing you need to change or perform. Your nervous system is doing its own work, with support.

Is it okay to stay curious about what comes next?

Without planning it, you may become aware of a deeper steadiness in the room. A calm that isn’t coming from effort or insight. It’s simply present. Attentive. Kind.

You don’t have to reach for it.
It’s already near.

There is often a quiet realization here that you were never as alone as you once believed. That a compassionate, loving presence has been near you, even in places you thought were unseen, or forgotten.

Nothing is demanded of you in that awareness.
Nothing needs to be explained.

You’re allowed to receive it in your own way.

We don’t analyze it.
We don’t rush past it.

Would it be okay to just notice what it’s like to be here right now?

This is often the moment when something shifts more deeply.

Not through words.
Not through teaching.
But through noticing.

Because your faith is an important part of your life, this may be where you notice God’s nearness in a different way than before. A realization that God’s love is not distant or conditional. That His presence has not been waiting for you to be calmer, stronger, or better. That even in the places you believed were too broken or too painful, you were never abandoned.

You may notice that this love isn’t just something you believe, it’s something you experience. Felt in your body. Settling where fear once lived. Bringing warmth, steadiness, or a sense of being held.

You are simply met.

You don’t have to earn anything here.

A sense of clarity begins to form.

Your thoughts, emotions, body, and faith are no longer pulling in different directions. Not finished. Not perfect. But aligned enough to rest.

This is not about pushing through pain.
It’s about not being alone in it.

And when you are known, something old can begin to loosen. Not all at once. Not dramatically. But enough for your body to remember that safety, love, and connection are possible.

I gently bring us back to the room.

Our time begins to draw toward a close. I notice the way your breathing has changed and the way your body now rests in the chair.

I don’t rush this part.
We take a few moments to help your body settle and feel present again.

Please, notice the chair supporting you.
The floor beneath your feet.
The weight of your body being held without effort.

Can you feel the steadiness underneath you?

You might place your feet more firmly on the ground. You take a slow and deep breath in. Then, let it out gently.

We orient to your surroundings.
The light.
The sounds around you.
The here-and-now.

You’re here.
You’re grounded.
You’re safe.

There’s a quiet knowing as you prepare to leave, that the presence you noticed here does not disappear when the session ends. It goes with you. Not as something you have to hold onto, but as something that remains.

Remember, you can carry this feeling with you—and it also knows how to find you.

We speak briefly about what felt important today. Not everything. Just enough to honor the work your system did. Nothing you noticed was accidental. Your body chose exactly what it was ready to touch.

Healing unfolds in layers.
Wholeness happens over time.

Before we close, I check in with you.

How are you feeling as we wrap up?

Whatever you notice is welcome.

If there’s tenderness, we respect it.
If there’s relief, we let it be.
If there’s uncertainty, we don’t rush to resolve it.

I make sure you feel steady before you leave.

And as we end, I want you to hear this clearly:

You worked hard today.
Your responses make sense.

I’ll see you next session. When you’re ready, we continue.

Closing Invitation

If reading this felt familiar and you recognize yourself in the bracing of your body, the exhaustion, or the quiet longing to feel God’s nearness in the places that still hurt, you’re welcome to reach out. I’d love to hear from you.

Together, and at your pace, we can explore whether this kind of faith-integrated Brainspotting work might be a meaningful next step for you. There is no pressure to open more than your system is ready for. We will listen to your story, your body, and your faith together, one layer at a time.