Connecting to heal
“Waving goodbye to the sun, waving hello to new beginnings” - Photo captured by me in Mylos, Greece
If you’ve chosen to walk the path of liberating your body and mind from trauma, you’ve probably discovered that healing doesn’t happen in isolation. Introspection and solitude are often essential as turning inward gives us the space to reconnect with ourselves, to listen deeply, and to restore a sense of inner safety. Yet healing is not only about mending the bond with the self. It is also about remembering our nature as relational beings.
Introspection is vital, it gives us silence to listen within, to rebuild safety, to reconnect with ourselves. But healing doesn’t end there. Once we’ve touched some ground inside and established a sense of safety, the process naturally asks us to step back into the world and into relationships. And this is where things get tricky.
Because while we are wired for connection, biologically, emotionally, and energetically, the world we live in doesn’t always offer the kind of connection that nourishes. Instead, it floods us with substitutes: calendars packed with commitments, WhatsApp threads that never end, emails and notifications that keep us constantly “in touch.” On the surface, it looks like a connection. In reality, many of us still feel unseen, lonely, or unfulfilled. Some even call it a loneliness epidemic, where surface-level interactions have replaced genuine connection, turning true presence into a rare and radical act.
It almost feels as if we’ve started approaching connection the way we approach productivity: more = better. Success is measured in volume, how many texts, how many friends, how many events, rather than in depth or quality. We collectively mistook the idea that endless messages and full calendars would make us feel whole. But a real connection is about depth, not volume. It is about presence. About safety. About attunement. It is about those moments when the nervous system can finally put down its armour and breathe.
And this isn’t just emotional, it’s biological. From the very beginning of life, we are wired for connection. As infants, survival depends not only on food and shelter, but on the regulating presence of a caregiver. A baby cannot soothe itself; it learns safety through the tone, touch, and breath of another. This process, called co-regulation, is the foundation of nervous system health.
But what happens when that safe presence is inconsistent, unavailable, or chaotic? The body adapts. It learns to self-protect, by shutting down, disconnecting from feelings, or masking needs. Instead of experiencing deeper connection, there is an early felt sense of separation. Over time, these survival strategies, people-pleasing, hyper-independence, approval-seeking, become patterns that once helped us survive but later kept us locked out of real intimacy.
This is often what we are truly trying to heal. Not flaws in our personality, but old patterns woven into the nervous system. And healing doesn’t happen through logic. It happens through felt experience, through the body, through being met differently.
Real connection that heals doesn’t look perfect. It doesn’t mean constant agreement or the absence of conflict. More often, it means there is space for rupture and repair. It looks like:
Feeling safe to be yourself
Not having to perform, entertain, or prove your worth
Feeling seen and heard
Having space for your emotions
Being able to say no without fear of punishment
Feeling more grounded in your body
Sometimes we experience this in intimate relationships, sometimes with a therapist or practitioner, sometimes in nature, or even in groups of strangers where vulnerability opens the door to recognition. Wherever it arises, it is the quality of presence that heals.
If healing requires connection, it’s worth naming the ways disconnection often shows up, subtly but persistently, rooted in old survival strategies:
Saying “I’m fine” when you’re overwhelmed
Not sharing needs for fear of being a burden
Avoiding vulnerability or shutting down during intimacy
Over-identifying with independence: “I don’t need anyone”
Feeling shame when you need support
Always being the caretaker, never the one cared for
The good news is that we can re-learn connection. We can re-pattern our nervous systems and allow new experiences of safety to become reality. Rebuilding connection takes time and has two parts: reconnection with others and reconnection with the self. They often unfold together, but beginning with the self makes everything else easier.
Reconnecting with yourself:
Start with the breath. Notice how it flows. Can you exhale fully without force?
Pay attention to how your body feels in connection: do you tighten or relax?
Offer yourself what you wish you had received from others: kindness, presence, holding.
Remind yourself: “I don’t need to be fixed. I want to be met.”
Reconnecting with others:
Practice honest micro check-ins: “I feel a bit tender today.”
Surround yourself with people who respect your nervous system, not just your intellect.
Repair when rupture happens: “That didn’t land well. Can we talk?”
Choose spaces where you feel safe enough to soften.
And here’s where breathwork comes in. Breathwork can be one of the most profound tools to re-establish connection, because it bypasses mental defenses and brings you directly into the body into the place where truth lives. When we breathe together in a safe space, our nervous systems begin to co-regulate. Breath synchronises. Emotions surface. Walls soften.
This is powerful in individual practice, but especially in groups. People often arrive thinking they are alone in their experience, only to discover resonance, recognition, and shared humanity. The breath becomes the bridge between body and mind, between past and present, between isolation and connection, between self and other.
Healing, then, is not about going it alone until you are “ready.” It is about slowly, gently, learning to let yourself be met in your own body, and in the presence of others.
