Inquisitive.me

When you study physiotherapy, internships are part of the deal. Depending on your school, you’ll spend a few weeks—usually three to five—shadowing experienced physios, working with real patients, and trying to make sense of everything you’ve learned so far. In my current role, I often supervise students during those internships. I had one just recently.

Part of their final evaluation usually involves choosing a patient to focus on: performing a full assessment, planning a treatment protocol, selecting exercises, and reflecting on how they’d continue the rehab journey if they were responsible for that person long-term.

When I first started supervising, I struggled to give students space to figure things out on their own. I used to over-explain, always jumping in to demonstrate. These days, I try to hold back more—to guide rather than show. Still, there’s one principle I make sure to pass on, and it’s powerful whether you’re a student, a fellow physio, or even a patient:

🧠 Feel what they feel.

Explanation matters—crucial, even. I spend a lot of time making sure patients understand why they’re doing what they’re doing. When people know the why, they’re more likely to follow through. But sometimes, words don’t land. And in those moments, empathy beats explanation.

Back to my student and her patient: she was demonstrating how to get up from the floor “the right way.” Technically correct, step by step. But the patient still struggled. She couldn’t figure out what she was doing wrong—or why it felt so hard. My student didn’t know what else to try.

So I told her: Try mimicking your patient’s exact movement. Don’t correct it. Just do it like she does.

She tried. And her face lit up. “Oh,” she said, “this is actually really hard.” Exactly. That was the missing piece. Her patient wasn’t doing it “wrong”—she was doing it the only way she could. Her movement pattern was the problem—but not because she was doing it “wrong.” It was harder because she lacked the strength and control to compensate for that inefficient pattern. And now my student understood that—not just intellectually, but physically. She felt how much more effort it took and why her patient struggled the way she did.

It’s funny, but I actually learned this approach during my time as a ski instructor. I started mimicking my clients’ posture and weight shifts so I could understand why it was hard for them to use the edges of their skis properly for turning or braking. Somehow, I transferred this approach into my physio practice—and it really works.

That’s what perspective does. It makes things click.

In The Art of Creative Thinking, Rod Judkins tells a story about two people transformed with wigs, latex wrinkles, and walking sticks to appear elderly. Once outside, the way people saw them—and how they moved through the world—completely changed. That single experience reshaped their view of aging, mobility, and perception.

We had a similar experience during our studies. Early on, we were handed wheelchairs and told to navigate the streets of Vienna. No instructions, just go out and feel what it’s like. Cross a street. Enter a building. Be seen. That day left a lasting mark.

That’s why I try to step into my patient’s world—not just their shoes, but their hips, knees, and muscle imbalances. If I can feel what they feel, I can guide them better. I can help them understand that the pain they feel when getting up should be in their quads—not their lower back. That they’re compensating in ways they might not even notice.

Empathy isn’t soft. It’s science-backed, skill-deepening, and unforgettable.

It’s easy to get caught up in explaining everything perfectly—especially when you’re still learning. But sometimes, the most powerful teaching moment isn’t in the explanation. It’s in the experience. That’s when understanding truly clicks—not just for the patient, but for you too.

Feeling what your patient feels isn’t just a nice-to-have—it’s a skill you can practice. And just like any other skill, the more intentional you are, the stronger it becomes.

🧪 Let’s Experiment

---

Understanding is good. Experiencing is better.

It’s one thing to know about your patient’s struggles. It’s another to actually feel them. You don’t have to become your patient—but connecting with their reality changes everything. Experiencing the movement firsthand helps you explain things better, empathize more deeply, and build trust faster. It’s not about guessing—it’s about knowing.

🎯 Try This:

The next time a patient struggles with an exercise or movement:

• Mimic their exact pattern. Don’t correct it—just feel it.
• Notice what’s hard, where the movement is inefficient, and which muscles are compensating.
• Reflect: How does this change how you explain or guide them? Adjust your instruction based on experience, not theory alone.

🧠 Final Thought:

Experiencing a patient’s challenge—even briefly—gives you insights no textbook can. Empathy becomes tangible, teaching becomes clearer, and care becomes more effective.

---

Keep it simple, stay curious, and keep learning—you’ve got this.

Take care,

Carina 🦊