If you live in a hypermobile body, chances are you’ve been told one of two things: “Wow, you’re so flexible!” or “You just need to get stronger.”

But the lived reality of hypermobility is often much more complex. Yes, your joints may move more than most—but that extra mobility can come with a hidden cost: pain, fatigue, instability, and a nervous system on high alert.

If movement practices often leave you more exhausted than energized, or if touch feels like both a balm and a boundary issue, you’re not alone. And this is where Myofascial Release (MFR) can offer something different—something that meets your body where it is, rather than pushing it to perform.

Let’s explore how this gentle, grounded practice can support hypermobile bodies in finding ease, stability, and a deeper sense of home.

The Tent with Stretchy Ropes: Understanding Fascia and Hypermobility

Imagine your body as a tent. The poles are your bones, and the ropes are your connective tissues—your fascia, tendons, and ligaments. In most tents, the ropes are firm enough to hold everything in place. But in a hypermobile body, the ropes are extra stretchy. They look like they’re doing their job, but the tent sways more than it should. The wind rattles it. The structure is always trying to correct itself.

This is what hypermobility feels like from the inside: the body constantly micro-adjusting for a lack of internal tension. Muscles overwork to compensate. Fascia—the body’s connective web—tightens defensively, not because it’s inherently stiff, but because it’s trying to hold you together.

Enter: Myofascial Release.

What Is Myofascial Release, Really?

MFR is a gentle, sustained touch technique that works with your fascia to release patterns of tension and compression. It doesn’t stretch or force. It listens.

It’s more like unraveling a tangled ball of yarn than pulling on a stuck zip. Slow, intentional, and deeply receptive.

And for hypermobile bodies, that gentleness is not just preferred—it’s essential.

How MFR Supports Hypermobility

1. Softening the Grip of Compensatory Tension

While your joints may move easily, your fascia often tells a different story. It can bind, bunch, or brace, trying to stabilize what feels ungrounded. MFR helps release this hidden holding—like giving the tent ropes a moment to breathe and reorganize, rather than yanking on them harder.

2. Awakening Body Awareness (Proprioception)

One challenge of hypermobility is poor proprioception—your body’s internal GPS. You may not feel where your limbs are in space until they hurt. MFR increases sensory feedback through the fascia, helping your nervous system map the body more clearly. Over time, this helps build a felt sense of “where I am” and “what’s enough.”

3. Resetting the Nervous System

Many people with hypermobility also live with a hyper-responsive nervous system. Whether linked to conditions like Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), autism, ADHD, or chronic stress, your body may live in a state of subtle (or not-so-subtle) alert.

The slow, sustained nature of MFR speaks directly to the parasympathetic nervous system—the part of you that says, “It’s okay. You can rest now.”

This is especially important because true healing doesn’t happen in fight-or-flight—it happens in safety.

4. Rebalancing Muscle Engagement

When the body lacks joint stability, muscles often overcompensate. This can create chronic tightness and fatigue, even in the absence of traditional “strength.”

MFR helps reduce this over-recruitment, freeing up the body to find new, more efficient patterns of support—without forcing anything.

It’s Not About “Fixing”—It’s About Listening

Myofascial Release doesn’t aim to “tighten up” your tissues or “correct” your range of motion.

Instead, it creates a space of conversation between your body and your mind—where you can feel safe enough to let go of what’s no longer serving you.

It’s not a quick fix. But it can be a powerful shift.

For many hypermobile people, MFR becomes a way of being with the body, not battling it. A way of tending to the deeper story your fascia has been holding—often quietly, often for years.

Final Thoughts: A Different Kind of Strength

True strength for a hypermobile body doesn’t always come from resistance bands and core drills (though those have their place too). Sometimes, it comes from learning to feel. To soften. To come home to your own skin without fear.

Myofascial Release offers a pathway toward that kind of strength—one that begins with listening, and ends with embodiment.

Is it time to leave?
Yes.
To leave what?
All the fears,
The control,
The need to know,
The need to plan.
It’s time to leave all the distrust you have learned of Me and to come back Home to Center.
To the place you Know Me.
To where it’s Still.
To where you do not doubt or need to change.
To where you are free.
It’s time to leave behind the horror you have learned.
It’s time to leave behind the disillusionment.
It’s time to claim the magic.
The hope.
The joy.
The love.
It’s time to reclaim Me.
It’s time to reclaim you.
I am here.
I am here.
I Am Here.

I went walking today somewhere I have been walking for over 30 years, and yet today, I discovered a whole new world of pathways and land I had never even seen before. It took a little courage to follow these seemingly new paths, not quite knowing where they’d go, but I also trusted I knew the land well enough to find my way home if need be.
The new paths led me through the most beautiful woods, filled with nothing but resounding silence and birds; no human noise at all. Then I came out onto hills and fields dappled with the light of the magic hour, and I smiled in pure wowness at how a place I know so well could hold so much I never knew was here.
And it got me thinking about my body, about my mind, about my neural pathways… Do I just walk the same ones over and over, not even thinking to look for anywhere new?
And I sat with this for a while and allowed myself to zoom out, borrowing eagle’s view for a few moments and I saw my mind and all its well lit, well commuted pathways, and from my vantage point I saw signposts I’d never seen, leading to darker, quieter, less busy places – spaces the human noise hasn’t touched.
One said “self-belief.” It looked like I’d maybe had a bit of an explore down there once, but it was overgrown and the entrance was blocked by something.
I went down to investigate and saw it was not blocked at all; it was just the path was obscured to my sight by a signpost saying “But do you really believe…?” And I realised I’d nearly always stopped there, choosing to turn back to my well trodden paths in the familiar woods of my mind, rather than daring to say YES and stepping forward.
And I zoomed back out and saw this pattern repeated over and over… These little questions blocking me from exploring and embracing my full self. I wondered who had written the questions?
It was my mind, so surely it must have been me.
What was I trying to protect myself from? Or hide myself away from?
And I thought about this as I kept walking.
And I realised I was scared of getting lost.
Scared that if I stepped out into the unknown, I’d never find my way back.
But as I looked out at the fields, and in at my vast mind, I saw ALL paths lead Home.
And I smiled, and I kept on walking, embracing the mystery within and without…

It felt wrong. Or maybe it was me that felt wrong. I was beyond the point of being able to reliably determine true from false. The days had merged into one long string and I could no longer decipher the differences between them either. And if I could not manage to follow a 7 day repeating pattern how on Earth was I to dive in and face the plethora of lies and truth wreaking havoc within and making me question wrong, right, left, up, down, me, not me? The very idea of having to begin the unravelling was exhausting. And so for a while I rested, and I avoided, and I distracted, and I made do, and I hid, and I pretended. And I told myself this was Wrong too. That all the shoulds that were flying round my cranium like missiles ready to take me out were Right.
That I Should be better,
Should be stronger,
Should be doing more,
Should be coping,
Should be creating,
Should be helping.
And then I saw it, again.
The weaponry.
The attacking.
And at first, I wanted to make that Wrong as well but I realised then I was just adding fuel to an already raging fire.
Maybe the only way through was to stop labelling wrong as wrong and right as right and wrong as right and right as wrong.
Maybe it was all just notes in a song, held together by the silences between, and the not knowing what was coming next, and the loud parts, and the quiet parts, and the spaces, and the nuances.
Maybe I was just in the spaces.
Maybe I didn’t need to have the whole song written out for an orchestra to play. Maybe I was more of an interlude, or more of an original piece, never written down for no one ever knew what was coming next and therefore whatever I was doing was exactly right, because no manuscript could ever contain me and no scale lines could ever predict how I may Be. And I realised maybe that’s the only right way to be.
To be ever unfolding, in the Unknown, not trying, not shoulding, not having a script.
Maybe that’s where the real courage is.
To be able to be unknowing, and unseeing, and unsure. To allow the supposed wrongs to be reclaimed as opportunities for connection and space. All great success is born of failure upon failure upon failure anyway.
Maybe it’s better to be wrong.
Who’d want the confines of having to be right? Those lines are too tight and I was never born to fit.
And I guess right now it doesn’t matter what day of the week it is; why am I trying to hold onto someone else’s idea of how life should be organised anyway? Maybe now is the best time to be wrong, to not fit, to not have to present in any way other than how I am.
Everyone is improvising.
No one knows.
So how can anyone possibly be wrong because right now, there is no right….

Thank you for all the times you held me when I could not hold myself.
Thank you for the lessons you taught me, and continue to teach me through empowering me to be still enough to witness and absorb them.
Thank you for always reminding me things pass and change and that there is beauty even in the darkest of places.
Thank you for being the constant I never knew I needed.
Thank you for your age, and your grace, and your compassion and your ferocious teachings.
You love me enough to throw me to the fire and watch it burn away all I no longer need.
Thank you for the space between spaces.
Thank you for teaching me about danger and fear and how to sit with it long enough that I can see the God in it too.
Thank you for the colours that have inspired so many palettes. The artists may never be original for you are Creation itself, but their attempts to meet you there are exquisite.
Thank you for showing me the passing of time, and death, and how all is a part of the great dance no matter what state the physicality may hold.
Thank you for teaching me of connection through the mycelium and the trees.
Thank you for teaching me to breathe. And to stop. And to be in awe.
Thank you for showing me the meaning of wonder.
Thank you for letting me wander.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.

Seekers of depth –
Where are you?
Hiding in the shadows of the centre of the room
Too soon.
You are needed.
Your low belief systems have been superseded.
Self esteem issues must be deleted.
Purpose completed.
It is time.
The divine in you
Calls.
No more walls.
The world is tumbling.
Soul quakes rumbling.
Pyramids crumbling.
Make way for the new.
Make way for the true.
That love is and I am
And no construct of man
Can ever take away from what Is.
This IS This.
Either side of the tide
Same face town wide
The deep seekers,
The truth keepers,
The relievers.
They wait.
Fears abate.
Seasons change.
And it’s Now.
And Now
And Now.
Arise my child
Be still for a while
Don’t get caught in the smile
Of not enough.
Break free.
Be clean.
Be seen.
Just breathe…

There’s feeling there but I can’t quite touch it. It haunts me. Just out of reach. It threatens my eyes and teeters on the edges of my awareness, but it won’t quite enter.
And so I wait.
And it peers round the corners, seeing if I am still noticing, if I am still willing. And I acknowledge it with an opening from the inside out saying welcome, you are welcome.
And tentatively, it begins to test the waters an venture out from behind its safety net, sticking one limb at a time out, not quite wanting to risk the open space, not trusting it.
And I wait.
I feel it.
It’s closer.
But it isn’t what it first looked like.
Once more what had appeared like one feeling had turned out to be another once allowed to be.
What looked like grief turned itself into gratitude and relief upon closer inspection.
This was the best of both worlds.
I had had enough of the pain, and of the exquisite love. My heart didn’t need to bear it anymore. Not on this visit.
This time I got to bear witness. To share in it. To feel it. But to not be consumed by it.
I always thought I would be.
It was one of those things I thought was a certainty and as with all the other certainties has turned into one of the few things that will never be, at least not in the way I first conceived it.
Maybe that’s the way of all things.
Forever flowing.
Forever changing.
Never solid.
Always moving.
Vibrating to be heard.
Fluxing.
Fluid.
Free.

I rise up from the surface entering the depths of be-ing.
And in the seeing,
I am chaos
Mixed with timing so precise
This life
Filled with spirals and with flames
I proclaim
That my center is my heart
I depart
From these lines
They are no longer mine
For I am thine
In the power and the glory
I abhor thee
This creatrix made of flesh
And in the making of the altar, I tremble and detest
For I am freedom
Not confined to mattered space
I deface
These lines
I replace
These confines
I mark the map with blood
Drawn from the holy mother
The other
This earth who birthed my soul
I am sold
To the life in which I breathe
And in the dark my silence speaks
And I am free to be
I reprieve
For my sanity’s at stake
And in the wake
The waves lift me
The rift shifts me
And I breathe
In the circles of the spheres
I appear
Above the depths of being
I am seeing
This Earth, this life, my blood
Each thud
Of the broken hearted beat
I defeat
And I take another step
I am met
By the light and by the dark
In the wisdom of the hour
I hear the fatal spark
And in the sparking of the latest death
The healer comes to life
And in the coming of the birthing
There endeth all the strife
In the portent of becoming
My spirit is released
And in the silence of the afterbirth
My soul is now at peace.

I am in the belly of the whale, and I do not know where it is taking me.
Any choice in surrender has been taken out of my hands and into the guts of a Divine carrier, encompassing me within its flesh with the warmth and nourishment of the womb of the Mother.
And there is peace here. Despite the deafening noise of the chewing to pieces and digestion and processing of the world around me, there is peace. Amongst all the movement, all the change, all the comings and goings beyond my control and seeming comprehension, there is a stillness.
I am still, and yet I am constantly moving.
Life is taking me through the waves, safely held within its grasp.
And so I await the next rebirth, and the next, and the next.
For it is a never-ending process of birth, death and rebirth.
How will I be born next?
What will have been shed and what will have grown?
What form shall the flight take this time?
For I will fly; be it on the back of the dragon, or through the veins of my being, I will fly. Sailing with the fiery grounding of the breath.
I shall not stay tethered to the lines that seek to hold me, for I am held by the matter of Nature. I have no need for the straight when the waves, the spirals are the driving force, and the net provides the Divine with a playing field within me to dance and swing and clamber and slide and climb upon.
I am held.
From the inside out, I am held.
And so I sit within the confines of the Beast, knowing that just for now, it’s boundaries are the way to greater freedom, accepting the simplicity of my surroundings and grateful for the protection from the bellowing of the world outside.
I do not wish to be low inside, but sometimes going down is the only way to reach the place that catapults us into the next arising.
And I will rise.
For as the phoenix finds life in the ashes, I find the spark within the darkness. I seek the jewel within the blackness that shines with the depth only the darkest night may bring. The exquisite sheen of a stone drenched in the oceanic reaches of Knowing, its beauty fleeting as the Sun fades it back into the Unknowing.
But the secret of the Unknown, the thing we fear most, is its limitless potential. The potency of the lessened limits so strong we fear we may be rendered lifeless by its power. Oh what fallacy this is. The Unknown seeks only to welcome us to its Mystery, for not all can be Known or what would ever be the point? Where would be the joy? Where would be the discovery and the seeking and the glorious anticipation?
Where would be the breaks for the Light to get in?
Where would be the darkness for the colour to become?
Where would be the space for love to fill?
And each separation is a preparation; a void for more to be.
Each time between is an invitation back into the heart of the matter so that we may become again enlivened and enriched as we are birthed back from time within the embrace of the Creator.
So be created.