The experience is deeply personal, filtered through the lens of a person’ s perceptions, beliefs, history, and expectations. Take pain, for example. Two people might have the same injury, but their experiences of it— emotionally, mentally, energetically— can be worlds apart. Just like we all know what‘ red’ is, but we can’ t assume we all experience it the same way. Language gives us a shared label, but it doesn’ t guarantee a shared reality.
Example from my practice: So, when someone comes to see me, I don’ t just see a condition— I meet a person having a condition. Their focus is often not the clinical facts of what’ s wrong, but how it feels, what it means, how it limits or frustrates or frightens them. I think of a client who recently came to me after visiting a top neurosurgeon for a complex neurological condition. She didn’ t question his medical expertise— he knew exactly what he was doing— but she left the consultation feeling invisible, as if her condition was acknowledged, but she wasn’ t. He addressed the brain pathology, but not the woman living with it. As a kinesiologist, I don’ t try to compete with a surgeon’ s understanding of anatomy or pathology— that’ s not my lane. Yes, I need a solid working knowledge of the body. Advantage of my approach lies in tuning into the person’ s whole system— their emotions, their energy, their beliefs, their sense of self.
When you’ re studying kinesiology, it’ s easy to assume that if a client presents with condition X, you must use the procedure for that condition. But working with the whole person often means the most relevant procedures aren’ t just those directly linked to the named condition. They’ re the ones that speak to how the person is experiencing the condition: emotionally, physically, energetically.
In this client’ s case, the work we did wasn’ t targeted at her brain, even though her diagnosis was neurological. Yes, I understood the basics of her pathology— but I didn’ t limit myself to brain-focused procedures. I worked with her emotional state, the physical side effects of surgery, the exhaustion, the sense of disconnection. I supported her in processing fear and frustration, rebuilding her appetite, finding motivation, restoring her sense of self. The condition was real, but the experience of it was so much bigger than just the medical facts. That’ s where kinesiology can make a meaningful difference— by recognising and responding to the person as a whole.
Multiple issues. I try not to get lost in lists of symptoms. When someone presents with multiple complaints— achy joints, back pain, indigestion, poor sleep— it can feel like you’ re dealing with four different clients at once: arthritis, lordosis, IBS, and insomnia. It’ s easy for your mind to scatter, to start mentally lining up protocols and procedures for each separate issue. When I catch myself doing that, I come back to the client. I ask:
• How is she experiencing these conditions?
• What does she believe about them?
• What story is she telling herself— and what story is her body telling us?
That’ s the moment kinesiology becomes something more than a body-focused method. It becomes an enquiry— into experience, emotion, belief, and relationship, into the way a symptom shapes someone’ s inner world, and the way their inner world, in turn, shapes their symptoms.
Non-directive rather than authoritative relating to kinesiology clients
In my practice, observation and listening take centre stage. I try not to come in with a set agenda, because when I do, my attention starts tracking the session like a train on rails: are we getting to where I planned? That mindset closes off spontaneity and the ability to listen without judgement or expectations. The more directive I become, the less room there is for the client’ s voice. The session risks becoming something I do to clients, rather than with them.
Being non-directive doesn’ t mean being unprepared— it means being prepared for multiple possibilities. I let the client show me where they want to go. Whether they’ re decisive or hesitant, articulate or shy, those traits inform how we work. Some clients want a firm hand; others want to lead. I adjust my level of guidance based on their personality and preferences. It’ s not a default— it’ s a negotiated dynamic calibrated for best effect.
This is where the distinction between non-directive and authoritative becomes especially relevant. An authoritative approach is when the practitioner takes the lead— giving specific instructions, advising the client on how to improve their life, and directing the course of the therapeutic process. This style is absolutely appropriate for many highly specialised modalities, where healing depends on expert knowledge the client may not have.
But the central principle of kinesiology is different: it’ s a client-led experience. It starts with the idea that each person already holds the insight and capacity to find their unique point of balance— physically, emotionally, and energetically. I see my role as supporting that process, not directing it. I believe the client is the true authority in their own life, and I try to align my professional approach with that principle as closely as I can.
After session practices. That said, there’ s a fine line between supporting and steering. For example, giving clients‘ homework’— like meditations or selfawareness exercises— can easily slip into giving advice, which shifts the dynamic toward a more directive style. And while these take-home tools aren’ t inherently bad( some people genuinely like them), I believe they should be offered sparingly and intentionally. Sometimes, a small practice helps sustain the connection with the session and gives the healing process space to deepen. Other times, it can feel like just another task— or worse, imply that the client isn’ t already whole.
Learning to sense when support is truly helpful and when it becomes noise is part
JATMS | Spring 2025 | 169