Reaction or Response? A Subtle Practice That Changes Everything

One of the biggest challenges we’ve faced over the past few weeks has been…
getting our oldest, Giorgio - who is ten - to do his homework.

A very ordinary situation.
Almost insignificant.

And yet, an extraordinary field of practice.

Because in moments like these, something happens very quickly:
we react… or we respond.

Reacting is often immediate, automatic, charged with emotion.
Responding is something else entirely.

It is about creating space.
A space of awareness.
A space of presence.
A space where relationship remains possible.

As Viktor Frankl writes:

“Between stimulus and response there is a space.
In that space lies our power to choose our response.”

I love this sentence because it captures, in just a few lines, the essence of a lifetime of practice.

Not a practice limited to poses.
But a practice of presence, one that continues in the middle of ordinary life.

And what if, right now, the most important thing we could do were simply this:
come back to ourselves for one minute.

Not to disconnect from the world.
Not to become indifferent.
But to shift our state of awareness.

There is something paradoxical, and deeply practical, about awareness.

The more I recognize what is happening inside me,
the more available I become to what is happening in you.

Turning attention inward, even with eyes open, even mid-conversation, even in the heart of a difficult moment, does not pull us away from the relationship.

On the contrary, it allows us to show up more fully.

Because we begin by acknowledging what is present: sensations, emotions, impulses, inner narratives.

We allow them.
We breathe.
We widen the inner space.

And when we do, something subtle shifts.

Life does not suddenly become easier.
But our response becomes more aligned.

Experiences no longer hit us in the same way,
not because they are smaller,
but because they meet a wider inner landscape.

Most of us have been trained to react.

Quickly.
Automatically.
Defensively.

We see it everywhere:
in traffic,
in the news,
at the supermarket.

And we feel it most strongly in intimate relationships, with partners, children, family, precisely where we think we already know how things “work.”

Reaction is often driven by the ego’s need to protect.

It shows up as judgment:

• “That’s not what you should have said.”

• “You shouldn’t behave this way.”

• “This shouldn’t be happening.”

The nervous system senses threat and moves fast.
The story forms instantly: I am right, the other is wrong.

Reaction seeks control and immediate relief.

And yet, very often, it fuels exactly what we want to calm down.

Let me come back to that situation.

Giorgio is sitting at the table.
His homework is in front of him.
The page is open.
The pencil barely moves.

I’m there too — present, watching, waiting.

I ask once.
Then again.

And very quickly, the reaction appears — almost before I realize it:

“You have to do your homework.”

It isn’t said with anger, at least not at first.
It’s said with urgency.
With the quiet hope that things will finally start moving.

But something has already shifted.

My shoulders tighten.
The breath shortens.
The voice becomes slightly sharper.

In my body, I can feel it clearly:
this is not a response.
It’s a reaction.

If this pattern repeats, tension builds.
The child reacts in return.
He pulls away.
Resistance replaces connection.

Instead of softening, the moment thickens:
more time,
more emotional charge,
more stress on both sides.

Reacting quickly, in moments like this, often means feeding the very loop we wish would end.

A response arises from a completely different place.

It does not come from urgency.
It comes from presence.

A simple clue:
if your breath shortens,
your voice speeds up,
your body tightens,

you are likely reacting, not responding.

A true response is rooted in wisdom.
And this wisdom is deeply human, not abstract.

It includes:

• empathy for yourself,

• empathy for the other,

• acceptance of life’s movement, even when it doesn’t follow your plan.

In Restorative Yoga, we don’t train the body to perform.
We train the nervous system to recognize safety.

And when the body feels safe, space appears.
Not as an idea, but as a physiological reality.

Before responding, pause.
Enter that inner quiet.

Acknowledge the other:
Yes, this is difficult.

Acknowledge yourself:
Yes, I am tired.
Yes, I don’t have much space right now.
Yes, this is human.

This moment, imperfect, uncomfortable, is the practice.

Very often, with the best intentions, we offer solutions when the other person is simply looking for presence.
Learning to recognize this is already wisdom.

One of the clearest differences between reaction and response is this:

A response includes the other person.

It includes the relational field, emotional, psychological, conscious.
It speaks with the other, not about them.

Reaction separates.
It says: me first, you second and you are wrong.

Response arises from a deeper understanding:
we are connected through shared humanity.

Sometimes, the most accurate response sounds like this:

“I’m not in the right space to listen right now.
Can we talk about this in fifteen minutes?”

This is not avoidance.
It is responsibility.
It is relational intelligence.

So how do we cultivate this capacity to respond?

By cultivating presence.
By observing thoughts, sometimes even before they fully form.

Especially the attachment to being right.

Here is a lifelong practice question:
What story am I telling myself about this moment?

We all carry stories:
about who we are,
about who others are,
about how life should unfold.

Very often, stress arises from a simple inner sentence:

“This shouldn’t be happening.”

This is one of the clearest definitions of stress:
wanting to be elsewhere,
wanting reality to be different.

This is where yoga truly lives.

Not when everything flows.
But when things don’t go as planned.

When the posture is uncomfortable.
When the flight is canceled.
When traffic stops.

That is the practice.

Not achieving a shape,
but observing:
How do I relate to discomfort?

Do I force?
Do I pull away?
Or do I stay, listen, and adjust intelligently?

What shows up becomes the teacher.
Difficulty becomes the teacher.

Again and again, it reveals this:
your response to difficulty reflects your level of awareness.

Take one situation from the past two weeks
where you felt the discomfort of not getting what you wanted.

Without fixing anything, simply observe:

• What was the stimulus?

• What was your immediate reaction?

• Was there even a small space for a different response?

• What story were you telling yourself?

Then return to the essential:
one minute.
Here.
Now.

I don’t write these reflections to offer answers.
I write them as reminders.

That somewhere between stimulus and response, there is an opening.

And that returning to it, again and again, may be one of the most radical forms of practice we have.

Not to be perfect.
But to be aligned.
To be free.