The story you're about to read is absolutely my truth, as far as I recall it — and as I've told it more than 20 times since September of 2022.
To say the least, this year was tumultuous for me. I was seeking training as a Cognomovement practitioner to help heal myself, get deeper into my own nervous system regulation, and deep dive (no pun intended here) into my subconscious patterns — patterns that no doubt were holding me back, keeping me small, and not serving my highest good. I'll let you, the reader, decide whether these patterns were resourceful or not.
I was not exposed to swimming pools as a child. I didn't grow up going on beach vacations or experiencing lakes. My mother had a severe fear of water due to a near-drowning experience as a young girl, and my father simply didn't make the effort to expose us to swimming. I had just turned 38 years old and held the belief that I could not swim. My skills included some decent back floating, a little doggy paddling, and — due to years of neurological health issues — one side of my throat didn't work properly. Let me elaborate.
My throat didn't swallow properly
Earlier that summer, I dove off a diving board (a very brave act for someone who "can't swim") with the intention of back paddling my way to the side. I hadn't been in a pool for quite a while, and to my surprise, water came in through my nose and somehow made its way into my lungs. I was choking and couldn't even call for help. My daughter's boyfriend saw me struggling and jumped in to save me. I was okay in the end — I choked and probably should've gone to the emergency room, but by all accounts, I recovered overnight.
Not a great experience, but certainly eye-opening — and one more thing to cement the pattern that "I cannot swim" into my brain.
So why, one might ask, would a person be willing to risk snorkeling in the ocean at La Jolla on her last day in San Diego, with a friend she just met at Cognomovement training?
My body said, "Why not?" My brain said, "You'll probably die." Not just once, but many times.
I remember the long walk down to the beach, the heat beating down, and the total newness of the experience hitting me as if I was in some kind of rebellious dream. When the tour guide asked if anyone didn't know how to swim, I raised my hand along with a couple of older women who didn't speak English and looked as out of place on this beach as I did. The guide laughed a little, surprised I'd raised my hand. My brain was getting loud now.
This was REAL. What the hell was I doing? What would my kids think if I died? Hmm… maybe I should turn back.
The non-English-speaking women did turn back, as we backed up with flippers and snorkel masks toward the beach. The waves rose and dropped and picked me up into the vast ocean. My brain was screaming at me, but my body was cool as a cucumber.
As I let the waves take me out, I realized the flippers provided some buoyancy. I wasn't sinking — as long as I kept my feet moving. (It would've been awesome for someone to share that tidbit!) So I kept my feet moving. My mask was on, and I figured as long as I didn't do anything too daring, my slight choking-hazard of a throat might allow me to breathe.
But what happened next?
My first face-down, feet-a-flippin' view was a swarm of yellowtail fish I could almost touch. Followed by a flash of neon-blue damselfish darting in and out of coral, then a kelp forest waving like it was welcoming me home. The light pierced the water in shafts, like I'd entered some kind of sacred underwater temple.
It was breathtaking — but not in the choking-and-dying kind of way.
I was okay. I mean… I was swimming???
My brain got quieter, and my body took over — with movement and grace and an inner knowing that all was well. There was a rhythm to this, and I began to surrender to it. The fear-mongering my brain was so expert at grew quieter as peace and thrill filled this new experience.
This was hands down the most adventurous thing I'd done in life up to that point. And I did it on my own.
After four days of Cognomovement training, something had most certainly shifted in my nervous system. My warning systems — my old patterns — were disabled enough to let me try something new and wonderful.
It took me some months to understand what had actually happened. Here's my theory:
We all know how to swim.
I didn't get to swim as a baby. My brain was much older and set with beliefs, fearful patterns, and experiences that wrote my story as solid as if it were sketched in stone: I can't swim. And I believed it — until my body showed me something more real.
To be fair, I am not saying you should do intensive Cognomovement and then go do something wild. That's up to you. And I'm certainly not saying Cognomovement inspires insanity.
What I am saying is that our subconscious "knowing" is often very different from the brain's story and version of reality. Cognomovement helped me rewire and break down so many of my threat responses (remember the RAS — reticular activating system) that I was able to make a more conscious, free decision. The old limits of these stories no longer had the power to dictate my life.
I always knew how to swim. Life just never gave me the opportunity to show myself.
Cognomovement has been instrumental in waking up my innate gifts and creative abilities, inspiring me to take chances and be bigger. Without exaggeration, I owe most of the good things I have and enjoy in my life to the effects of this modality. I'm forever grateful the Universe brought it into my life exactly when it did.
Thank you, Bill and Liz, for your trainings and ongoing support. And a special thanks to my wonderful friend Colby, who invited me to this snorkeling experience and reminded me I could swim.
What the RAS has to do with it
The Reticular Activating System (RAS) is the brain's internal spotlight — the system responsible for scanning your environment and filtering what you focus on. Its job is to keep you safe by highlighting potential threats or relevant information based on your past experiences, beliefs, and internal state.
If you've ever bought a red car and suddenly noticed red cars everywhere — that's your RAS in action.
So when your RAS has been trained to look for danger, failure, or proof that you can't do something (like swim), it will keep confirming that narrative. It loops the story, reinforces the fear response, and downregulates your sense of possibility — all to keep you safe.
How Cognomovement helps
What I didn't realize before was that Cognomovement can retrain the RAS.
By engaging the brain and body through eye movement, cross-lateral motion, and intentional focus, you begin sending new signals to the nervous system. You're not just saying "I'm safe" — you're proving it somatically.
And when the RAS starts to register that something new is safe and emotionally rewarding — like learning, movement, or even swimming — it updates its filters.
- Suddenly, the danger radar quiets.
- Curiosity rises.
- New options emerge.
Instead of reacting from fear, the nervous system becomes available for growth. That's what happened to me in the water. And that's what can happen in any area of your life.
Written by Helen Parde, LMT — Integrative Health Facilitator and Certified Advanced Cognomovement Practitioner at Whole Body and Sole, Herriman & South Jordan, Utah.