Landing in Presence: Reclaiming the Body in a Disembodied World

Author: Bianca Moeschinger

May 2025

So often we speak of being present. Of landing in the moment. Of coming home to ourselves.

But how often does that truly happen?

For many of us, being in the body—in the now—is a rare occurrence. Most of the time, we’re in motion: mentally travelling to the past, projecting into the future, looping through what-ifs, should-haves, and imagined scenarios. Our minds become travellers—moving not only through time but across dimensions of truth, illusion, memory, and fantasy.

Meanwhile, our bodies are anchored in real time.
Breathing.
Beating.
Digesting.

Trying to manage a flood of chemistry and command signals from a mind that’s often elsewhere.

And so, what becomes real—what becomes physical—is only what lands. Only the parts of us that return from the mental, emotional, or energetic wandering and take shape in form. The breath we remember to take. The tear we allow to fall. The impulse we honour instead of override.

Why say all this?

Because this is what I do every day. My work—whether in emotional release bodywork or therapeutic space-holding—is essentially this: I hold someone’s hand long enough for them to find their way back to themselves. I create a pause. A space. A mirror. A moment.

Sometimes that moment comes through a single breath. Sometimes it takes months. And sometimes, that moment never comes at all—because the person has wandered so far out of themselves, their nervous system no longer recognises the path home.

But when it does come… it is nothing short of a homecoming.

In a recent podcast, I spoke about the phrase “hurt people hurt people.” And while it’s true, there’s something deeper: hurt people also hurt themselves. Not always in visible ways. But in the ways they disconnect. The ways they silence their own needs. The ways they lose themselves in external influence, stimulation, or chaos—or the way they have forgotten how to listen to the quiet words of their inner self.

Sometimes, we travel so far out of ourselves, we forget the way back. And tragically, some never return.

The soul has its own light. Its own pulse of life. But it competes. It competes with a world overflowing with impressions, distractions, seductions. And while some of those stimulations are life-giving—colour, scent, taste, touch, sensuality—others offer an artificial high. A surface-level turn-on that mimics pleasure but leaves no nourishment.

So how do we know the difference?

Artificial pleasure is like sugar—fast, sweet, stimulating. It gives us a high, a quick hit, a fleeting sense of satisfaction. It lights us up, but only temporarily. It doesn’t settle in the body. It doesn’t land. It doesn’t nourish.

True pleasure, by contrast, is spice—warm, slow, full-bodied. It turns on every cell. It rises through the breath, melts through the belly, and sings in the skin. It doesn’t rush. It lingers. It fills. It sustains.

One leaves us seeking more. The other reminds us we already have enough.

For me, this is where psychosomatic awareness comes in. The body, in its wisdom, never lies. If something expands me, grounds me, nourishes me—I feel it in my belly, my breath, my chest. It doesn’t leave me depleted. It doesn’t rely on constant consumption. It lands.

But when something is artificial—when it’s driven by avoidance, addiction, or unmet need—it may light me up momentarily… but it never lands.

And so I ask myself:

• Did I return to myself in that moment?

• Did it bring me home?

• Or did it just help me forget?

More recently, I worked with a client who, from the outside, seemed like she was functioning normally. If you saw her at a café or in a meeting, you’d never suspect the truth. But the moment she lay on my massage table, covered in blankets, safe and still, she began to shake. She began to cry—not like an adult trying to compose herself—but like a baby in a cradle, untethered, overwhelmed, longing to be soothed.

Her breath was fast—like sprinting inside her own body. I stayed with her. Quietly. Holding the base of her spine as she slowly began to settle. I felt the sprint slow to a jog, the jog to a walk, the walk to a soft stillness. Her body shifted, jutted, trembled. Then softened.

And when her stomach began to digest, I knew she had landed.

She had arrived in herself.

She wasn’t broken. She didn’t need fixing. She simply needed to be witnessed—fully. With no expectation. With no agenda. Because she had just travelled through layers of herself. Through unconscious fear, frozen memory, unspoken grief. And now… she was home.

I was the witness. She was the experience.

This blog, like many I write, doesn’t arrive with a final answer.
Its purpose is to offer a reflection. A prompt. A pause.

To remind us all that the body is waiting. That presence is possible.
That landing is not a one-time act, but a practice.

And that even when we have forgotten the path, it’s still there—within reach.

Because the body remembers.
The soul remembers.

And like a bird returning to its nest after a long flight, we land—tired, open, and finally, home.

 Go to my podcast here - Under the Silence

#Presence #Embodiment #PsychosomaticTherapy #BiancaMoeschinger #EmotionalHealing #BodyWisdom #LandingInTheBody #NervousSystemHealing #TraumaRecovery #AuthenticLiving #ComingHomeToSelf