Understanding the Difference Between Reaction and Response: Living Your Yoga in Daily Life

As Viktor Frankl writes:

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

I love this quote because, in just a few lines, it expresses the essence of a lifetime of practice.
Not only a practice of postures.
But a practice of presence.
A practice that continues when we step off the mat.

And what if the most important thing we could do right now were simply to come back to ourselves… for one minute?

Not to disconnect from the world.
Not to become indifferent.
But to shift our state of awareness.
To place ourselves inside that space.

Returning to Awareness Without Leaving the Relationship

There is something paradoxical—and yet very concrete—about this:
the more aware I am of my own awareness, the more aware I become of yours.

Turning attention inward—even with eyes open, even in the middle of a conversation, even in the heart of a tense situation—does not pull me away from the person in front of me.
On the contrary, it allows me to be there more fully.

Because I begin by going deeper inside myself:
recognizing what is present, allowing it, opening the door to what may be our deepest truth in that moment—our level of awareness.

And when we remember this, everything else begins to fall back into place.
Not because life becomes perfect.
But because our response to life becomes more aligned.

Things no longer affect us in the same way.
Not because they are easier, but because they meet a wider inner space.

Reaction: The Urgency of the Ego

Very often, we do what we have learned since childhood: we react immediately.

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

And we see it most clearly in intimacy—within family relationships—precisely where we believe we already know who the other person is and how the relationship “works.”
At that point, reaction becomes automatic.

Reaction is a response charged with ego and judgment.

“That’s not what you should have said.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“They shouldn’t have cut me off.”

The ego is defensive.
It tries to protect us.
It builds a story in which I am right and the other is wrong.

Reaction is a fast defense.
It seeks power, control, immediate repair.
And yet, very often, it produces exactly the opposite effect.

This is the most interesting part: this way of reacting feeds the problem.

Imagine this scene: your child does not do their homework.
You react by saying,
“You have to do your homework!”

If this reaction repeats itself, it is likely to reinforce exactly what you want to avoid.
Because the child reacts in return.
They shut down.
They resist.

Instead of dissolving, the moment thickens:
more duration,
more tension,
more emotional charge.

Reacting quickly sometimes means giving energy to what we wish would calm down.

Response: The Wisdom of the Present Moment

A response arises from a completely different place.

It never comes from agitation.
It comes from curiosity or compassion—never from agitation.

If you notice tension in your body, a faster voice, a need to be right,
chances are you are reacting, not responding.

A response emerges from wisdom.
And this wisdom is a simple, deeply human combination of:

• empathy for yourself

• empathy for the other

• acceptance of life’s movement (even when it doesn’t follow your script)

So when your child tells you something, or your partner shares a concern, before responding, go into that quiet inner space.

First, feel empathy for the other.
Yes, it’s difficult.
Yes, it’s human to want things to be different.

Then, feel empathy for yourself as well.
Sometimes you are tired.
Sometimes you don’t feel like it.
Sometimes you would rather be somewhere else.
And still, you know that this person needs you.

This is a precious moment.
A true moment of practice.

Often, one of the most awkward things we do—even with the best intentions—is giving advice when the other person is not looking for a solution, but for presence.
Learning not to do this is already a form of wisdom.

Wisdom is listening with the heart.
With empathy.
Whatever “Buddha” happens to be standing in front of you in that moment.

A Response Always Includes the Other

There is a fundamental difference between reaction and response:
a response includes the other person.

It includes the relational field—the psychological, emotional, and conscious field.
It does not speak about the other, but with the other.

Reaction, on the other hand, excludes.
It separates.
It says, “Me first, you second, and you are wrong.”

Response arises from a deeper understanding:
we are all connected through consciousness and our shared humanity.

When you carry this understanding within you, you know what to say—and how to speak truth in a way that creates connection rather than separation.

Sometimes, the most accurate response sounds like this:

“I’m not in the right space to listen right now.
Give me a little time.
Let’s talk about it in fifteen minutes.”

This is not avoidance.
It is responsibility.
It is wisdom that protects the relationship.

The Story We Tell Ourselves: The Root of Stress

So how do we cultivate this openness?
How do we move more and more toward the space of response?

By cultivating presence.
By observing thoughts—not only when they arise, but sometimes almost before they arise.
Observing the impulse to be right.
Observing attachment to the idea of being right.

Here is a question of practice, for the rest of your life—and for the next moment:

What story am I telling myself about this moment?

We all have a story:
about who we think we are,
about who others are,
about what they should do,
about how the world should be.

Very often, when we feel impatient or agitated, it is because our story says:
“The world should be different—exactly the way I want it to be.”

This is a very simple definition of stress:
wanting to be elsewhere,
wanting things to be different.

Daily Life as Your Yoga Mat

And here it is: this is the moment of practice.

When things don’t go the way you want.
When you fold forward into Uttanasana and feel discomfort.

That is the practice.

Not “achieving” the posture, but observing:

• How do I relate to discomfort?

• Do I pull back?

• Do I force?

• Or do I stay, listen, and adjust intelligently?

In the same way:
how do I deal with not getting what I want?

The flight shouldn’t be canceled.
I shouldn’t be stuck in traffic.
It shouldn’t be this way.

This phrase—“it shouldn’t be this way”—is often the signature of suffering:
the story we are telling ourselves.

You have a script,
and you expect all the actors to follow it.

When they don’t, something tightens inside:
“This isn’t fair.”

Practice consists in recognizing this—without judging yourself.
Seeing the story form.
Breathing.
Returning to the space.

Because what shows up is your teacher.
Difficulty is your teacher.

And your teacher shows you this, again and again:

your response to difficulty reveals, in every moment, your level of awareness.

A Simple Invitation

Think of a specific situation from the past two weeks
in which you felt the discomfort of not getting what you wanted.

Without fixing.
Just observing.

• 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.

This capacity to create space between stimulus and response can be cultivated.
It is exactly what we explore in Restorative Yoga – The Foundations, where we lay the groundwork for a conscious, slow, and deeply nervous-system-regulating practice.

And for those who already practice with me, the online studio is a space to return regularly to this quality of presence, through guided practices designed for everyday life.

Because perhaps this is what it truly means to live your yoga practice:
remembering, in the heart of life, that there is a space.
And that in that space, something in us can choose.
Not to be perfect.
But to be aligned.
To be free.