Some things are easier to declutter than others. What's worth carrying and how do we release what isn't? Pilar Brooks works with the kind of clutter that lives in the body. A somatic practitioner, educator, and writer based in Ojai, California, she's been an Everyday Oil friend for nearly a decade. Read on for thoughts on what we carry, how the body holds it, and what releasing actually looks like.
The Body
How would you describe somatic work to someone who has never heard the word somatic?
First, let's break down the word. Soma is the Ancient Greek word for "the body as experienced from within." Somatic work is the practice of relating to, listening to, and learning from your body, not as an object to fix, but as something alive and intelligent.
To me, somatic work is allowing the body to do what nature designed it to do: move, respond, express, rest, protect, connect, and recover. We spend so much of our lives trying to override these rhythms. Somatic work is less about becoming someone new and more about remembering that your body is nature, not separate from it.
We talk about things we're "carrying." From your perspective, where does that weight actually live in the body?
I think we carry what we haven't yet been able to fully understand, feel, or metabolize.
Sometimes we haven't had the relationships, environments, or practices that made it feel safe enough to soften, unfurl, or express ourselves without filtering.
I don't believe we hold onto things because we're broken. I think our bodies are incredibly wise. They hold experiences until we have enough support to meet them with curiosity instead of survival.
When something remains unfinished for a long time, we often begin to feel its weight. It can show up as muscle tension, shallow breathing, digestive issues, headaches, fatigue, chronic pain, or simply feeling like we're carrying more than life asks of us.
What's the relationship between physical clutter and emotional clutter? Do you see that connection show up in your work?
All the time.
I think our clutter often becomes a quiet reflection of our inner landscape. Sometimes a pile of papers is just a pile of papers. Other times it's postponed decisions, identities we're outgrowing, or reminders of something we haven't fully finished with.
I also love looking at the opposite. If someone, or myself, is meticulously organized, I get curious about where there's room for a little more softness, spontaneity, or play.
Nature is beautifully organized, but it's never sterile. There's always a little wildness. I think we need that too.
The Work
When someone comes to you feeling stuck or heavy, what's usually the first thing you help them do?
We slow down.
Before we try to change anything, we become intimate with what's already here.
Sometimes I'll invite someone to show me what their heaviness looks like without using words. If stuckness could only move, what would it do? Would it curl up? Drag? Freeze? Reach?
Then, just as importantly, we remember what feels alive. When was the last time you laughed? Felt awe? Heard a song that opened something in you? Smelled the ocean? Touched a tree? Watched your dog absolutely lose its mind over a stick?
Healing isn't only about making space to metabolize pain. It's also about remembering that joy, beauty, and pleasure belong in the conversation, too.
WE LIKE doing little jumps and letting your arms shake. Can you tell us why that actually works?
Nature moves. We are nature. So we move.
Trees sway. Rivers flow. Birds migrate. Animals shake after a scare. Nothing healthy stays absolutely still for very long. Our bodies are no different.
A little bouncing, shaking, dancing, or walking gives your nervous system another option besides staying braced. Movement reminds the body that the stressful moment has passed and that life is happening here, now.
Sometimes five minutes of movement can shift what five hours of overthinking never could.
What's something people get wrong about releasing or letting go?
This might be an unpopular opinion.
I don't actually think we "let things go." I think our relationship to the experience changes.
Leaves don't force themselves off the tree. Fruit doesn't rush to ripen. Nature doesn't hurry transformation.
When we have enough support, enough honesty, and enough time, our bodies and psyches naturally compost experience. The charge softens. We still remember, but we no longer have to carry it in the same way. That's very different from trying to convince ourselves we're "over it."
The Practice
Is there a simple practice someone could try today, on their own, to start moving something through?
Go outside. Turn your tech off and leave your phone behind.
Stand barefoot in the grass. Put your hands in the dirt. Sit beneath a tree. Let the sun touch your face. Swim in cold water. Listen for birds before you listen to your thoughts.
Start by remembering that you're nature too. Your nervous system has been in relationship with the wind, the earth, water, fire, and changing seasons far longer than it has with modern life.
What does your own daily reset look like?
It's beautifully ordinary, actually, because an embodied life is quite simple.
I dance in the kitchen with my family. Practice yoga. Hike. If I can, I slip into my favorite rivers or the ocean and let the water cleanse me.
I oil my skin (Everyday Oil's Mainstay has been my loyal companion for nearly a decade), tidy my home, gather flowers from the garden, light incense, make tea, and spend a few quiet moments at one of the little altars in my house.
None of these rituals are about escaping life, maximizing productivity, or forcing myself to feel a certain way. They're how I remember that I'm not here to master life. I'm here to be in relationship with it.
**********
Pilar Brooks, MA, SEP is an educator, graduate-level teacher, somatic practitioner, psychedelic facilitator, psychosomatic mentor, and writer exploring the relationship between body, psyche, ritual, and the natural world. Drawing from depth psychology, nervous system science, studies with indigenous cultures, and years of accompanying people through profound life transitions, she helps others cultivate a more intimate relationship with themselves and the numinous through embodied practice. Based in Ojai, California, Pilar teaches, writes, mentors, and believes that healing begins by remembering we are not separate from nature. We are nature.
