Less Force, More Flow
The uncomfortable truth about healing
There’s a phrase I keep coming back to again and again in both my work and my own inner life right now:
Less force. More flow.
It sounds gentle. Peaceful, even. Like a quiet stream or a Yin class when you’re bathed in candlelight. But what I’ve come to realise through my client sessions, and own personal unravelings, is that living this truth is often anything but gentle and actually really bloody hard.
"Less force, more flow" asks us to stop gripping the wheel when we’re terrified of losing direction. It asks us to soften when we’re used to surviving by hardening. It invites us to trust when control has always felt the safer option.
Let’s face it most of us are a bunch of control freaks at the best of times.
Letting go of control is not easy. In fact, it can be deeply uncomfortable.
But discomfort, I’ve learned, is often the doorway to healing.
Where force comes from
Force shows up in so many ways. In the body, it looks like holding a pose with intensity, pushing past your signals. In life, it’s over-scheduling, over-promising, people pleasing and grasping for certainty.
In healing, force shows up as a need to "fix" ourselves and fast!
And it’s all understandable. Force is often born from fear. From the need to feel safe, worthy, in control. It’s not wrong. It’s just… not sustainable. It’s not where the real transformation lives.
In yoga therapy, I often see clients trying to push themselves into healing. "If I just do enough therapy, enough yoga, enough breathwork, I’ll get there."
But true healing doesn’t respond well to pressure. It responds to presence. To deep listening. To allowing space for what’s real and not just what’s desired.
This is where flow comes in.
Not passive. Not weak. But receptive. Responsive. Trusting.
The discomfort of real growth
Here's something I often remind clients of (and myself, when I forget):
Healing doesn’t always feel good. Growth doesn’t always feel like progress.
Sometimes, it feels like complete chaos. Like grief. Like disorientation.
Sometimes it looks like crying during savasana. The need to run to the woods and scream your heart out.
It’s the moment when you finally soften the breath and feel all the things you've been running from. Ask yourself how often do I do this? Or do I distract and keep busy? Do I have avoidance behaviours that come up when I start to feel?
This discomfort doesn’t mean you’re going backwards.
It often means you’re finally meeting yourself.
In yoga philosophy, we speak of the koshas which are the layers of self: body, energy, mind/emotion, wisdom, and bliss. Healing doesn’t just happen in the physical body. It ripples through all these layers. And as one layer releases, the others often stir.
This reminds me of when a client said to me, "I thought feeling better would feel… better."
But instead, she described feeling raw, exposed, uncertain.
That was the moment I knew she was healing. Not because she felt calm and grounded, but because she was no longer numb. She was now feeling. She was in the flow.
What flow actually looks like
Flow, in this context, doesn’t mean everything is easy or smooth. It actually means alignment with truth.
It means moving with what is present, rather than constantly fighting it.
It looks like:
Letting the breath guide the practice, not the ego.
Resting, even when your inner critic says ‘you haven't earned it.’
Letting go of timelines for healing.
Listening to the body's wisdom over the mind's agenda.
Saying, ‘I don't know right now’ and allowing space for the answers to arise.
It might look messy. It might look quiet. It might be painfully slow.
It might mean stepping away from the routine that once gave you structure, to lean into something more intuitive, more alive.
It might mean less doing, and more being.
It means complete patience.
Trusting the unseen
As a yoga therapist, I see the most powerful shifts often happen in the moments where nothing ‘productive’ seems to be happening. A longer exhale. A softened jaw. The courage to feel.
Healing isn’t linear. It’s cyclical. Almost spiral-like. And the path forward often winds through old pain, outdated stories, and surrendered control.
Less force, more flow is not a bypass. It’s a rebellion against the pressure to constantly strive and push.
It’s a deep trust in your body, your process, your deeper knowing.
And maybe that’s the ultimate sign you’re growing:
That you no longer need to grip so tightly.
That you’re willing to be with the discomfort.
That you can soften into the unknown, even when it’s scary.
Because flow isn’t found by forcing the river.
It’s found when you stop paddling upstream and just let the current carry you.
Carly x