I have always been deeply aware of movement. Not just as exercise, but as a form of self-expression, resilience, and even magic. As a young girl, I ran—fast, strong, and free. I loved the way my body could carry me across distances with ease, how I could stretch, leap, and push my limits. My father, a competitive race car driver, would tell me I was fast, and to my young mind, that meant I was worthy. So, I trained, I played, I competed. I became a sports captain, a long-distance runner, a leader in movement. My body was my power.
But life shifts, as it always does.
When I became a mother, my relationship with my body changed. I didn’t lose touch with it, but I became aware of it in a very different way. My body became a vessel—growing life, birthing my children, feeding them. I marveled at what my body could do, but it no longer felt like my body in the way I had always known it. The body that had once been fit and strong now felt unfamiliar. I had a new kind of strength, but I didn’t feel physically strong.
One day, I decided to reclaim that part of myself. Running had always been my reset button, so I laced up my shoes, expecting my body to remember. But that day, I barely made it 200 meters. I was breathless, weak, and it shook me to my core. I had always believed that movement was something I owned, and in that moment, I realized it could slip away.
Determined, I rebuilt myself. Step by step, I found my rhythm again. I joined a gym, pushing myself until, at 28, I ran my first marathon. That discipline, that return to movement, shaped my path. I trained as a fitness instructor, became a personal trainer, and spent my days coaching others in strength and resilience. And yet, life ebbs and flows, and so does our connection to our bodies.
When my father became ill, my focus shifted, and movement took a backseat. Then I found it again. When illness struck, when injuries sidelined me, when stress consumed me—I lost it, only to reclaim it again and again. Even when my body was at its weakest, I moved in the ways that I could.
Because movement is not just about fitness. It is a form of magic, an intention we set daily. It is how we honor the vessel that carries us through this world.
A Subtle, Silent Loss
One of the things I’ve observed—both in myself during times of illness and in those around me—is how easily movement fades when we stop being conscious of it. As a massage therapist, I see it every day. Aches and pains, stiffness, tension—but beneath it all, a loss of connection to movement.
And it’s happening younger than ever before.
I have children in their early 20s, and I see them—and their friends—sitting down to put their shoes and socks on, the way someone’s grandfather might. I see young adults needing to hold onto door frames as they walk up stairs, or gripping railings to step down a few steps. Movements that were once second nature—squatting, reaching, balancing—have become foreign, abandoned.
Why?
A generation raised on screens, curled into chairs, spending hours motionless. Bodies adapting to stillness instead of movement. And what we don’t use, we lose. Strength, flexibility, balance—these are not just gifts of youth; they are practices, rituals to be nurtured.
We are not meant to fade away into fragility. We are meant to move, to stretch, to dance through life with ease.
Movement as an Intention
I have learned that when we set the intention to move—consciously, with awareness—our bodies respond. Even when I was unwell, I did what I could. And today, my two sacred, non-negotiable practices are walking every day and yoga every day.
• Walking connects me to the earth, keeps my body strong, my mind clear, my heart open.
• Yoga stretches and strengthens, allowing me to feel into my body, to notice what needs care, what needs space, what needs softness.
To support this, I receive regular massages—not just as a luxury, but as a form of deep self-care. It soothes my muscles, restores my energy, and acts as a ritual of gratitude for all the effort I put into my body.
Movement is not about punishment. It is not about pushing through pain. It is about love, about awareness, about setting the intention to move in ways that nourish and sustain us.
A Daily Practice of Conscious Movement
Movement does not need to be intense to be transformative. It needs to be mindful. Small acts, done daily, weave a body that is strong, supple, and capable. Here are some simple ways to bring movement back into your life:
1. Stand to Put on Your Shoes and Socks
If you always sit down, try standing on one leg, balancing as you pull on a sock. Notice how it feels. Is it easy? Does it challenge you? Balance is a practice, not a given.
2. Lengthen Your Stride
Pay attention to how you walk. Are you shuffling? Taking short, hesitant steps? Try lifting your knees a little higher, lengthening your stride. Imagine you are walking with purpose, stepping into your power.
3. Reach Up, Bend Down
Where do you store your most-used items? Are they at waist level for convenience? Place something you use often—a cup, a book, your toothbrush—on a higher shelf or a lower drawer so that you are reaching and bending with intention throughout the day.
4. Sit on the Floor
Western cultures have forgotten the art of floor-sitting, but it is one of the best ways to maintain hip flexibility and core strength. Try sitting cross-legged while eating or reading, even if just for a few minutes a day.
5. Walk Barefoot
Balance starts from the ground up. Spend time walking barefoot, letting your feet engage fully with the earth, strengthening the tiny stabilizing muscles we often neglect.
6. Engage Your Core in Everyday Movements
Instead of using your hands to push yourself up from a chair, try standing with just your legs. When bending down, engage your core, squat instead of hinging from the waist.
7. Stretch, Extend, and Expand
• Reach your arms overhead and feel your body expand.
• Bend forward and touch your toes, lengthening your spine.
• Twist gently from side to side, releasing tension.
• Roll your shoulders, feeling where you are holding tightness.
Your Body is Your Magic—Honor It
Aging does not mean decline. It does not mean becoming stiff, weak, or fragile. It means becoming wiser, more in tune, more aware.
Your body is your magic, your temple, your sacred home. Treat it with reverence. Move it with love.
Every morning, set the intention: Today, I will move with awareness. I will stretch, I will balance, I will walk with purpose. I will honor my body so that it may carry me with ease and strength for many years to come.
Because the goal is not just to live long, but to live well.
So tell me—how have you moved today?
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