The story you are about to read is absolutely my truth, as far as I recall it, and as I’ve told it more than 20 times since September of 2022.

To say the least, this year was tumultuous for me. I was seeking training as a Cognomovement practitioner to help heal myself, get deeper into my own nervous system regulation, and deep dive (no pun intended here) into my subconscious patterns—patterns that no doubt were holding me back, keeping me small, and not serving my highest good. However, I’ll let you, the reader, decide if you think, in this case, these patterns were resourceful or not.

I was not exposed to swimming pools as a child. I didn’t grow up going on beach vacations or experiencing lakes. My mother had a severe fear of water due to a near-drowning experience as a young girl, and my father simply didn’t make the effort to expose us to swimming experiences. I had just turned 38 years old and held the belief that I could not swim. My skills included some decent back floating, a little doggy paddling, and—due to years of neurological health issues—one side of my throat didn’t work properly. Let me elaborate.

My Throat Didn’t Swallow Properly

Earlier that summer, I dove off a diving board (a very brave act for someone who “can’t swim”) with the intention of back paddling my way to the side. I hadn’t been in a pool for quite a while, and to my surprise, water had come in through my nose and somehow made its way into my lungs. I was choking and couldn’t even call for help. My daughter’s boyfriend saw me struggling and jumped in to save me. I was okay in the end—I choked and probably should’ve gone to the emergency room, but by all accounts, I recovered overnight.

Not a great experience, but certainly eye-opening—and one more thing to cement the pattern that “I cannot swim” into my brain.

So why, one might ask, would a person be willing to risk snorkeling in the ocean at La Jolla on the last day she had in San Diego, with a friend she just met at Cognomovement training?

My body said, “Why not?”
My brain said, “You’ll probably die.” Not just once, but many times.

I remember the long walk down to the beach, the heat beating down, and the total newness of the experience hitting me as if I was in some kind of rebellious dream, against my own reality or maybe my own wellbeing. When the tour guide asked if there was anyone who didn’t know how to swim, I raised my hand along with a couple of older women who didn’t speak English and looked as out of place on this beach as I did. The guide kind of laughed a little, surprised I had raised my hand. My brain was getting loud at this point.

This was REAL.
What the hell was I doing?
What would my kids think if I died?

Hmm… maybe I should turn back.

The non-English-speaking women did, as we backed up with flippers and snorkel masks on toward the beach. The waves rose and dropped and picked me up into the vast ocean. My brain was screaming at me, but my body was cool as a cucumber.

As I let the waves take me out, I realized the flippers provided some buoyancy. I wasn’t sinking—as long as I kept my feet moving. (It would’ve been awesome for someone to share that tidbit!) I kept my feet moving. My mask was on, and I figured as long as I didn’t do anything too daring or crazy, my slight choking-hazard of a throat might allow me to breathe. Again, one could question my sanity here.

But what happened next?
My first face-down, feet-a-flippin’ view was this swarm of yellowtail fish that I could almost touch.
Followed by a flash of neon-blue damselfish darting in and out of coral, then a kelp forest waving like it was welcoming me home. The light pierced through the water in shafts, like I had entered some kind of sacred underwater temple.

It was breathtaking—but not in the choking and dying kind of way.

I was okay.
I mean… I was swimming???

My brain got quieter now, and my body took over—with movement and grace and inner knowing that all was well. There was a rhythm to this, and I began to surrender to it. The fear-mongering my brain was so expert at was growing quieter as there was such peace and thrill in this new experience. 

This was hands down the most adventurous thing I’d done in life up to this point.
And I did it on my own.

After four days of Cognomovement training, something had most certainly shifted in my nervous system.
My warning systems—or old patterns—were disabled enough to let me try something new and wonderful.

It took me some months after this experience to understand what had actually happened.
Here’s my theory:
We all know how to swim.

In fact, babies introduced to water inherently start to move and swim.
I didn’t get to swim as a baby.
My brain was much older and set with beliefs, fearful patterns, and experiences that wrote my story as solid as if it was sketched in stone: I can’t swim.
And I believed it—until my body showed me something more real.

Now, to be fair, I am NOT saying you should do intensive Cognomovement and then go do something wild.
That’s up to you.
And I’m certainly not saying Cognomovement inspires insanity.

What I am saying is that our subconscious “knowing” is often very different from the brain’s story and version of reality. Cognomovement helped me rewire and break down so many of my threat responses (remember the RAS—reticular activating system from this post), that I was able to make a more conscious and free decision. The old limits of these stories no longer had the power to dictate my life.

I always knew how to swim.
Life just never gave me the opportunity to show myself.

Cognomovement has been instrumental in waking up my innate gifts, creative abilities, inspiring me to take chances, and be bigger. Without exaggeration, I owe the effects of this modality most of the good things I have and enjoy in my life at this point. I’m forever grateful the Universe brought it into my life exactly when it did.

Thank you, Bill and Liz, for your trainings and ongoing support.
And a special thanks to my wonderful friend Colby, who invited me to this snorkeling experience and reminded me I could swim.

What the RAS Has to Do with It

The Reticular Activating System (RAS) is the brain’s internal spotlight—it’s the system responsible for scanning your environment and filtering what you focus on. Its job is to keep you safe by highlighting potential threats or relevant information based on your past experiences, beliefs, and internal state.

If you’ve ever bought a red car and suddenly noticed red cars everywhere—that’s your RAS in action.

So…when your RAS has been trained to look for danger, failure, or proof that you can’t do something (like swim), it will continue to confirm that narrative. It keeps looping the story, reinforcing the fear response, and downregulating your sense of possibility to keep you safe!

✨ How Cognomovement Helps

What I didn’t realize before was that Cognomovement can retrain the RAS.

By engaging the brain and body through eye movement, cross-lateral motion, and intentional focus, you begin sending new signals to the nervous system. You’re not just saying, “I’m safe,” you’re proving it somatically.

And when the RAS starts to register that something new is safe and emotionally rewarding—like learning, movement, or even swimming—it updates its filters.

Suddenly, the danger radar quiets.
Curiosity rises.
New options emerge.

Instead of reacting from fear, the nervous system becomes available for growth.
That’s what happened to me in the water. And that’s what can happen in any area of your life.

 Ready to experience the shift for yourself?
Join the next 30-Day Cognomovement Challenge and discover how these science-backed techniques can help you calm your nervous system, sharpen your focus, and rewire what’s holding you back.

Want to see how this works for you personally?
Book a private Cognomovement session and experience firsthand how quickly your brain and body can shift: Schedule your session