One of the first questions I ask in almost every client session is deceptively simple:
What’s going well in your life right now?

It’s not a pleasantry or a polite way to ease in. I ask it with intention, because in a culture that trains us to be vigilant for danger, brokenness, and lack, turning our attention toward what’s already working can be one of the most radical interventions we have.

This question often catches new clients off guard. They pause, sometimes squint, as if scanning their internal landscape for something they hadn’t thought to look for. They were so ready to launch into all the things that are going wrong. Especially when they’re coming in heavy, burdened by the weight of everything that feels tangled and painful, it can be hard to locate even a small pocket of ease. But we’re not looking for perfection—we’re looking for a glimmer. And there is always a glimmer of goodness to be found.

From a nervous system perspective, this reorientation matters. When someone is in a sympathetic, fight-or-flight state, their physiology is wired to scan for threat. The system becomes hypervigilant, narrowly attuned to what’s not working, what’s dangerous, what’s off. And understandably so—this is how we survive life-threatening situations. But the habit of constantly searching for what’s wrong can become deeply entrenched, and before we know it, we’re spiraling in narratives of failure, fear, and insufficiency, feeding them with our attention until they seem to become the only reality there is.

Where our attention goes, our energy flows. And so beginning with what’s working—even something as humble as “I drank water this morning” or “I remembered to text my friend back”—starts to shift the terrain. We interrupt the loop. We remind the system that not everything is broken. We start to let in a little bit of light.

From there, I often ask: Why is that going well? What helped that moment happen? Was there a supportive structure, a choice you made, a spark of connection or clarity that carried you through? This is where we begin to uncover the conditions that support healing—not in theory, but in practice. We gather data not about your pathology, but about your resilience.

This shift might sound simple, but it’s not shallow. In Somatic Experiencing, one of the most foundational practices is to ask: What feels good right now? Not what feels blissful or perfect—but what feels pleasant, safe, grounding, or even just neutral. It could be the feeling of your feet on the ground, or the softness of your clothes against your skin. It could be noticing a beautiful color or texture in the room, or simply recognizing a lack of anything dangerous — like noticing there’s no tiger nearby.

When I first started receiving SE sessions, I found this frustrating, even dismissive. I wanted to dive straight into the “hard stuff”, to understand the wound and fix it. It felt silly and irrelevant to look for what was good. But I’ve since come to understand: starting with what’s working isn’t avoidance — it’s preparation. It builds a strong enough inner scaffolding so we can sustainably hold and process what hurts. It’s the groundwork for healing that actually lasts. Diving into trauma and pain without this sort of resourcing can lead to catharsis that feels satisfying, but without a foundation of safety and an orientation towards goodness, that release can be short-lived and even re-traumatizing.

By orienting to safety, to connection, to the small ways our systems already know how to come back into regulation, we begin to create new neural pathways—not just of thought, but of feeling, of breath, of being.

From the world of hypnosis, I’ve learned another deceptively simple but incredibly effective question: How would you rather feel instead? If, in that moment of anxiety or helplessness, you could wave a magic wand over your brain, what emotional state would you choose instead? This isn’t about pretending the pain doesn’t exist. It’s about remembering that other states are also possible. And the very act of naming what we want to feel—safe, joyful, relaxed, inspired—both interrupts the old pattern and begins to create the conditions for that state to emerge.

That said, there’s a shadow side to this perspective. In many corners of the spiritual and self-help world, there’s an emphasis on manifesting: become the vibration of what you want, focus only on light and love, don’t feed what you don’t want to grow. And while there’s real wisdom in learning how to shift our energy and embody the qualities we long for, these teachings can become dangerous when they’re used to bypass the reality of injustice, pain, grief, or trauma.

When people push away their shadows in the name of staying “high vibe,” they don’t actually heal—they split. The wounds don’t vanish; they simply go underground and start leaking out in distorted ways. We’ve all seen public figures or spiritual influencers who appear luminous and successful, yet their unresolved pain seeps into their relationships, their business practices, their teachings. They may be radiant in many ways, but without integration, that radiance becomes brittle, and often harmful.

There’s a well-circulated quote from Carl Jung:

“One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”

And it’s true. We cannot bypass the shadow. The wounded parts of us do not disappear by being ignored or smothered in positivity—they need presence. They need love. Sometimes they need to be held and understood. Sometimes, they simply need to be named and released—offered back to God, or to the earth, to be composted and digested in a field larger than our own.

But I’ve also seen this quote used to justify fixation. As if the only path to healing is through endless examination of pain. As if the more time we spend in the wound — feeling it, processing it, unpacking it — the more healed we will become. And I don’t believe that’s true.

Yes, darkness must be seen. Yes, it must be named.
But then—we must turn toward the light.

The work is not to live in the cave, but to carry its lessons into the day.
Not to center our identities around our trauma, but to remember the wholeness that exists beneath and beyond it.

Some shadows are parts of us, calling out for attention and care. Others are not ours at all—just passing forces that need to be cast out, or simply given back. And part of our healing is learning to discern the difference.

This is why we begin by looking for what’s working.
Not to deny the wound, but to refuse to be defined by it.

Focusing on what’s working is not the same as pretending nothing’s wrong. It’s not about bypassing pain—it’s about resourcing ourselves to face it. It’s one strand of the web. Healing requires both: the courage to look into the shadows and the devotion to return, again and again, to the light.

There’s a parallel here in the Christian tradition. In the Gospels, when Jesus confronts demons, he doesn’t dwell in long conversations with them. He sees them. He names them. And then, with clarity and authority, he casts them out. He doesn’t obsess over the dark. He turns back toward what is Good.

The early church strived towards this orientation as well. In Philippians 4:8, Paul writes:

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

This isn’t a prescription for denial. It’s an invitation to choose where you build your home. To notice what is most worthy of your attention—not because the world isn’t full of brokenness, but because the soul needs beauty to survive. Because what we pay attention to is what we become.

So when we ask what’s working, when we return to what is good and right and true in our own lives, we are not abandoning the world’s pain—we’re creating the conditions to meet it with strength and grace. We’re creating the kingdom of heaven while letting our hearts break with a broken world.

Here’s something you can try, right now, wherever you are.

Start by asking yourself: How do I want to feel? Safe? Connected? Grounded? Abundant? Joyful? Alive?

Once you’ve named the feeling, begin to look for evidence of it in your present moment. Even the smallest drop. Maybe it’s a sense of calm in the soles of your feet. Maybe it’s the soothing rhythm of your breath. Maybe it’s the comfort of your clothes, the gentle sway of trees outside your window, a pleasant color in the space around you, or a feeling of resonant connection with me as you read these words.

Notice what it feels like in your body to connect to this state, even briefly. Let it bloom, if it wants to. Breathe into it, like blowing on the embers of a sleeping fire. And if the state you long for doesn’t feel present in your body or environment, just imagine what it might be like to feel 1% more of it. Let the image become vivid—real enough for your nervous system to start to believe.

This kind of practice gently shifts your state, not through force or willpower, but through redirecting attention. And as your state shifts, so does your perception. Just like when you get a new car and suddenly see that same model everywhere, when you begin to embody a feeling, you start to see the world through its lens. Opportunities that once seemed invisible begin to appear—not because the world has changed, but because you have.

Your system is now primed for the state you’ve chosen. And from that place, you can begin to move differently through the world. You can begin to create something new.

If you’d like to join me in a guided practice for orienting to goodness, you can upgrade your subscription and access the audio recording here.

Focusing on what’s working doesn’t mean ignoring what’s broken.
It means refusing to let brokenness become the only story.
It means anchoring in what is still alive, still sacred, still whole, and allowing that to guide the next step.

This is the path I return to:
The one that remembers beauty without pretending suffering doesn’t exist.
The one that names the wound, but chooses to turn toward the light — again and again and again.

And it's working.