The Art of Subtle Movement.

The Art of Subtle Movement.

Making Space in the Body : Exploring New Possibilities Through Movement

What does it mean to make space in the body?

When I talk about space in the body, I mean three things working together.

Space in the joints. Every joint has a certain amount of room to move, shaped by the bones, the ligaments and the muscles around it.

Space between the tissues. Muscles, tendons and fascia are arranged in layers, and easy movement depends on those layers sliding over one another. When they glide well, movement feels light. When they don’t, it feels stiff and effortful. In one ultrasound study, people with long-term lower back pain had noticeably less sliding between these layers than people without pain.

Space in the nervous system. This is the one we tend to overlook. Research suggests that much of what we gain from stretching is the nervous system becoming more comfortable with the sensation of stretch, rather than the muscle itself getting longer. It’s why the same stretch can feel stuck one day and easy the next.

So flexibility matters, but it is the result of all three. It also explains why we can’t simply force it, because pushing harder can make the body guard against the movement. What helps is moving in a way that gives the nervous system new information: slowly, in small movements, with attention. Can a shoulder move without the neck working harder than it needs to? Can the ribs move freely with the breath? Can the pelvis stay quiet while a leg moves, without the lower back taking over?

Sometimes, doing less, or doing it differently, changes the whole experience.

My own experience of change

I understand something of this from my own experience:

Several years ago, I was hit by a car while cycling. I developed whiplash, and for five years I lived with persistent neck pain. I tried everything I could think of, but nothing made a lasting difference.

Then I went on a movement retreat.

During one of the sessions, we were exploring movements that open the front of the body, paying attention to how the fascial tissues glide in relation to one another and how the front of the body connects to the back. As I moved, I could feel a sense of space and glide through the tissues.

For five years, pain woke me again and again through the night. Each time I would turn my pillows over, trying to find a position that would ease my neck.

That night, I woke as I always did, and lay there waiting for the pain. It wasn’t there. It was the first time in five years.

Three years later, I am still pain-free.

I can’t say precisely what happened physiologically, but I remember the movements I was exploring and the sensations that came with them, and I believe the two are connected. It changed the way I think about what movement can do

It was a light-bulb moment in another sense too. I had thought about running my own retreats for a long time, and people had often encouraged me to. But I had never found a reason that felt true, and I didn’t want to run one simply because it was fashionable, because it seemed like the next step, or to prove something to myself. Then suddenly it all made sense. I wanted to share this way of exploring movement with my clients, and give them the chance to experience something similar for themselves.

I also began to understand the importance of continuity: having time to explore an idea, return to it, notice subtle changes and gradually discover different possibilities.

Now, having run my own retreats, I can see why that moment mattered so much to me. I have witnessed people discovering new possibilities in their movement, sometimes experiencing changes they hadn’t expected. I have seen what can happen when people have the time to explore, revisit and build on what they discover.

I cannot promise that everyone will experience the same changes, or explain every change that occurs. But that experience gave me a reason to explore these ideas more deeply and to share them with others.

And it remains at the heart of why I run my retreats today.

Why movement can change more than the way we move

Over more than twenty years of teaching Pilates, I have become increasingly interested in the relationship between movement, the nervous system and the way we experience ourselves.

Our bodies are not separate from our thoughts, feelings or everyday lives. The nervous system is constantly taking in information from both inside and outside the body, helping us coordinate movement, respond to our surroundings and adapt to changing demands.

When we are under pressure for long periods, we may find ourselves holding tension, breathing shallowly, moving in habitual ways or reacting before we have had a chance to think. We might not even notice these patterns because they have become so familiar.

Movement gives us an opportunity to pay attention.

Sometimes, that means making a movement smaller rather than bigger. Slowing down enough to notice how we are using our shoulders, how freely our ribs move with the breath, or whether we can allow one part of the body to move without unnecessarily tightening another.

It means becoming curious rather than trying to force a result.

As we become more aware of bodily sensations, we can sometimes discover new ways of moving and responding. We may notice tension earlier, find it easier to settle after a stressful moment, or recognise when we need to pause rather than push on.

This awareness of what is happening inside us is known as interoception. It is one part of our capacity to understand and respond to our own bodies.

None of this means that every difficulty in life is caused by physical tension, or that movement can resolve every problem. But the body is an important part of how we experience the world, and learning to listen to it can give us more options.

Sometimes, a little more space in the body can help us find a little more space in the way we live.

Why a retreat is different from your regular Pilates class

People sometimes ask whether two sessions a day might be too much.

The retreat isn’t designed as two separate workouts. It’s a journey. You work with the same teacher all week, and each session builds on the last. The morning and evening sessions have their own character, but they belong together, so we have time to develop a theme rather than rush from one exercise to the next.

There’s no expectation that you work harder, stretch further or achieve a particular result. The intention is to explore movement with curiosity, finding an appropriate challenge and allowing time for the body to respond. Between sessions, there is plenty of time to rest, swim, walk, enjoy a meal or do absolutely nothing. That space matters too.

Over the years, I have seen moments on retreats that have stayed with me. Some people arrive with persistent discomfort and leave feeling lighter, freer in their movement, or simply different from when they arrived. These are individual experiences, and I would never promise a particular outcome. But there is something special about a week with people who have chosen to give themselves this time. People relax in one another’s company. There is laughter, openness and, at times, emotion.

I have seen it happen, and I have felt it myself.

What might you take home with you?

Perhaps you will notice that you move with greater ease, or discover a different way of approaching a familiar movement. Perhaps you will become more aware of when you are holding unnecessary tension, or find that you can pause before reacting. You might return home rested and clearer in your thinking, with a conversation that stays with you, or a new appreciation for the pleasure of doing very little.

There is no single experience that everyone should have. You don’t need a goal, a problem to solve or a particular expectation. You don’t even need to be experienced in Pilates. Whether you move every day or haven’t for a while, you are welcome. All you need is a willingness to give yourself this time.

I think of movement as a way of creating possibilities rather than chasing results. We explore, we notice, we make small adjustments, and we see what becomes available to us.

And perhaps that is the real gift: not becoming a different person, but finding a little more freedom to be the person you already are.

More space to move. More space to feel. More space to think, to create and to enjoy.

That is what I hope you will discover on retreat.