The Untethered Body

Thoughts on Letting Go, Training for Peace, and Hearing Yourself Again

There’s this moment in The Untethered Soul where Singer says,
“You are not the voice of the mind. You are the one who hears it.”
And I remember stopping—physically stopping—when I read that.

Because that voice in your head?
The one narrating every second of your day, judging your reflection, obsessing over the food you ate or didn’t eat, questioning if you’re doing enough, if you are enough...
That voice is loud.
And we forget—we really forget—that it’s not you.
You’re the one hearing it. You’re not the noise.

That landed.
In a way that so much of this "self-help" stuff doesn’t.
It was a reminder I didn’t know I needed.

Because I’ve spent years training—training my body, training my mind, training other women to do the same.
And even still, I forget sometimes that this work isn't just about building strength.
It’s about creating space.
Space between the thought and the truth.
Between the reaction and the choice.
Between who you’ve been—and who you’re becoming.

Jiu Jitsu taught me that lesson in a whole new language.
If you’ve ever trained, you know—space isn’t optional.
It’s vital.
It’s everything.

When you’re trapped in a bad position, panicking, gasping, trying to muscle your way out—what you really need is space.
Space to breathe.
Space to move.
Space to make a better decision.

And sometimes you don’t even have to win the exchange—you just need one inch.
A little shift of the hips. A hand inside the collar. A breath to calm your nervous system before the scramble.
Space gives you options.
It gives you clarity.
It keeps you from tapping to panic.

It’s the same in life.
The same in food.
The same in every moment you’re tempted to react instead of respond.

When I step under the barbell, I meet that voice.
When I sit down to eat intentionally, I meet that voice.
When I skip a session or fall short of my own expectations, I definitely meet that voice.

But what training has taught me—what the mat keeps teaching me—is that I don’t have to obey it.
I can pause.
I can shift.
I can make space.

And then I can move.

That’s the muscle I’m really trying to build.

Because we think the work is about control.
The perfect plan. The macros. The reps. The routine.
But the real work? It’s the space we create to come back to ourselves.
To say: I see what’s happening… and I’m choosing something better.

That’s the difference between discipline and punishment.
Between presence and panic.
Between tapping out and rising up.

Let go.
That’s what Singer says.
Let the experience move through you.
Don’t cling. Don’t avoid. Don’t armor up so hard you can’t feel anything.
Just be with it. And then let it go.

And I think—
What would happen if more women approached their training this way?
If food wasn’t punishment or proof?
If strength wasn’t something we chase to fix what's broken—but something we cultivate to feel whole again?

What if we stopped trying to outwork the chaos and started creating space to move through it?

That’s what Rebel is really about.
It’s not just strength and macros and cut week plans.
It’s this radical return to center.
This practice of presence.
This willingness to witness what’s happening inside without getting swallowed by it.

You can be the observer.
You can make space.
And from that space—
You can breathe.
You can move.
You can choose.

And that, to me, is what real strength looks like.

Not just lifting heavy.
Not just fueling with intention.
But staying soft enough to hear the truth, and steady enough to act on it.

We’re not just building stronger athletes.
We’re raising more conscious humans.
On the mat, in the gym, at the dinner table, and in the quiet moments where the voice creeps in.

You are not the voice.
You are the one who hears it.

And every time you make space—you prove you’re still in the fight.