There’s a version of EMDR that can feel like standing alone in the storm. You’re asked to go back into the memory, the worst of it, and ride it through. The intention is good—get to the other side—but too often it’s one part of you dragging the rest of you behind, while another part is quietly (or loudly) saying, “not safe.” That’s when EMDR starts to feel forced. That’s when things stall, sabotage, or shut down.
But what if EMDR could feel different?
What if the first step wasn’t going back into the pain, but pausing here, now? Slowing down enough to notice who’s with us inside. Not just the part that says “I’m ready” but also the one that says “I can’t bear this again.” The skeptical voice. The protector. The child who still feels very small. The part that’s exhausted from holding it all. Every one of them has a place by the fire. Every one of them matters. And nothing moves until all are included.
This is EMDR from a relational standpoint. It’s not about technique first—it’s about connection. A therapist sits with you as a steady presence. They don’t rush, they don’t push, and they don’t look away when pain surfaces. Their groundedness helps anchor you here, in the now, while your system explores what feels possible. The bilateral stimulation becomes less about pushing something through and more about holding enough safety that your body can follow its own movement.
When all of you is on board, the work unfolds differently. There’s no need for clever interweaves or pulling you out of loops—because there are no loops. Movement happens because nothing inside is being dragged. The pace belongs to you. To every part of you.
This isn’t about endurance or proving strength. It’s about permission. It’s about cultivating a felt sense of safety in relationship—so that when reprocessing begins, it’s not one part forcing the others. It’s the whole of you saying yes, supported and witnessed by someone who won’t look away.
That’s when EMDR does what it’s meant to do. Not by force. By gathering. By staying long enough for all of you to come along.
For clients who’ve experienced EMDR that felt forced: your system wasn’t wrong. The part of you that said no was wise, not broken. It was protecting what still needed to be heard and honored. If you’ve felt unsafe, unfinished, or like you failed—it wasn’t failure. It was your system saying, “not yet.” That part of you deserves the same care and listening as the one who wanted to move forward.
And for therapists who’ve felt uncomfortable with EMDR’s structure, or the lack of relationship in the way it’s often taught—there is space for you too. EMDR doesn’t have to be mechanical. It can be a deeply relational process where connection, attunement, and presence guide the way. When you slow down and listen, EMDR shifts from being a technique you apply to a journey you accompany.
This is the EMDR I believe in. The one that honors all of you. The one that doesn’t rush. The one that trusts that when every part feels safe enough, healing will move on its own.
Embracing Shadows, Illuminating Hope,
Chelsey Fjeldheim, LCSW
Empowering Souls on the Path of Healing
Copyright © 2025 Chelsey Fjeldheim, Courage Speaks Counseling
