Your first NeuroSens immersion: what to expect, honestly

The night before her first immersion, Inès nearly cancelled three times. Afraid of crying in front of strangers, afraid of breathing wrong, afraid of feeling nothing at all. She came anyway, carrying every one of those fears with her. I've watched so many first times begin exactly like that: with an urge to cancel the night before. So here is what Inès would have loved to read that evening. All of it, with nothing dressed up.

You arrive, and you have nothing to explain, nothing to justify. No one will ask why you're here or what you're hoping for. You settle in, lying on a mat, a blanket over you, the lights turned low. You're handed a pair of headphones, and that's when it all truly begins: for two hours, my voice guides you, cycle after cycle, and the soundscapes do the rest. Those tracks don't come from some stock library of relaxation music: I build them with Arthur, my composer, specifically for headphones, with low frequencies you feel in your chest as much as in your ears. Your only job: follow.

For the first few minutes, the mind keeps up a running commentary. It compares, it checks, it wonders whether you're doing it right. Let it talk: the breath always ends up keeping it busy, the sound drowns it out, the voice moves it aside. At some point, you lose track of time. That's the sign it has taken hold. Some people cry without knowing why, others laugh, many drift off to sleep for a while. All of it is normal. At the end, a quiet moment, with no obligation to speak: many leave without having said a word, and that's perfectly fine. Everyone goes home with their integration sheet, to carry the work on at home.

• Comfortable clothes: you'll be lying down for two hours, so think soft and warm. The body cools down when it relaxes deeply.
• A light meal, ideally two hours beforehand. A full stomach and expansive breathing don't mix well.
• Arrive ten minutes early, so you can settle in without rushing. An immersion that starts with a sprint through the metro begins with a handicap.
• A bottle of water for the end of the session.
• Write to me before you come if you have a doubt or a hesitation: one question asked beats a hundred scenarios spinning in your head.

"I'm afraid of crying in front of everyone." Headphones on, eyes closed, lights low: you are alone even in a group. Everyone is on their own journey, and no one is watching anyone. Tears, if they come, are a release the body has been waiting for, not a performance. And you won't have to explain anything afterwards.

"I'm afraid of breathing wrong." There is no correct technique to master. The cycles are guided out loud, live, and I can see the group: if something needs adjusting, I adjust it. No experience is required, and beginners are often the ones who let go fastest, because they have no habits to undo.

"I'm afraid of feeling nothing." It happens, especially the first time, and it isn't a failure. Tingling in the hands, a wave of warmth, deep sleep, or just an unusual calm: every body responds in its own way, and there is no right answer. What matters often plays out in the days that follow.

Let me be straight with you: the immersion isn't for everyone, and I'd rather say so before you book. Rhythmic breathing is not recommended if you are pregnant, or in cases of epilepsy, heart conditions, a diagnosed psychiatric condition or ongoing treatment. In doubt? Write to me via the contact page before booking. I do sometimes advise someone against a session, and I say it simply: that too is what a safe space means.

Plan a quiet evening: no noisy dinner, no screens until midnight. Drink water, jot down whatever moves through you, go to bed early if your body asks for it. The integration sheet guides you in extending the effects over the month that follows. The immersion lasts two hours, but it keeps working long after. Some people feel a new clarity by the next morning, others a gentle tiredness, like after a long walk: both are good signs. If things surface in the days that follow, emotions, memories, let them pass like waves; and if one of them keeps insisting, it may be a sign that individual work in brief therapy would make sense. Either way, avoid over-analysing the session: the work goes better when it's left alone, like a seed you don't need to dig up every morning to check that it's growing.

What if I fall asleep? Then you'll sleep, and that will be just fine. Sleep that arrives during an immersion is rarely ordinary sleep: the body seizes the chance to do what it can no longer manage at night. No one will hold it against you, and you won't have missed any test, because there is no test.

What if I need to move, to cough, to go to the bathroom? You move, you cough, you step out and come back. With the headphones and the dim light, no one pays any attention. An immersion is not a rigid ceremony; it's two hours in which your body finally has permission to do what it wants.

Can I come with someone? Yes, many people come in pairs. Just know that once the headphones are on, everyone lives their own session: you'll walk in together, each of you will go through something different, and the conversation on the way home will be all the more interesting for it.

Do I need to prepare something, an intention, a goal? No. Well, if setting an intention reassures you, go ahead, it won't spoil anything. But the immersion works just as well without one: the nervous system doesn't need an agenda to let go, it needs the right conditions. The conditions are my job; you just come as you are, tired, sceptical or curious.

The next immersion takes place in Paris on 27 September 2026, at 9:30 am. Two hours, 50 places, headphones provided. The launch price is €130, rising to €190 in 2027. If Inès's body knew what to do, yours will too: book your first immersion.