When you move, you break the trance.
My wife said that to me recently, and the more I thought about it, the more interesting the idea became.

Most of us don’t realize just how hypnotic ordinary life can become because we get used to the same rooms, the same routes, the same people, the same routines and the same little decisions that hardly feel like decisions anymore. There’s nothing wrong with familiarity, of course, and in many ways it makes life easier, but it also means that huge parts of our day can begin to run automatically without us really noticing them.

We get up in the same place, make coffee or tea in the same kitchen, sit in the same chair, drive the same roads and look at the same surroundings. After a while, we stop seeing much of it properly because the brain is very good at deciding what no longer requires our full attention. It simply becomes background.

We know where everything is, we know what comes next, and we move through the day with an enormous amount of behaviour running almost by itself. In that sense, ordinary life really can become a kind of trance, not because we’re literally asleep or unaware, but because so much of our experience has become predictable.

Then something changes dramatically, and suddenly the trance is interrupted.

Moving house is a perfect example because almost everything that used to happen automatically has to be reconsidered. You don’t know exactly where things are. You have to think about which road to take, where the shops are, how the rooms feel at different times of the day, and where you’re going to put things that used to have a permanent place. Even trivial decisions become conscious again because the old cues are gone, and that changes the quality of your attention.

For a while, you begin noticing things in a way you haven’t done for years. You notice the light coming through a particular window in the morning. You notice the sounds outside, the shape of the neighbourhood, the way the air feels and smells when you step outside, and all the small characteristics of a place that will eventually become invisible through familiarity.

There’s a kind of freshness to it because your brain hasn’t yet learned what it can safely ignore. You’re paying attention again, and in a very real sense, you’re more awake.

Of course, moving house isn’t the only thing that can do this. A new job, a long trip, a relationship beginning or ending, learning a new skill, taking on a challenge or making some substantial decision can have exactly the same effect. Anything that interrupts the old pattern can cause us to look again at things we had stopped seeing.

Sometimes life does this to us without asking permission, but I think there’s also real value in choosing to do it deliberately from time to time.

We can change the route we always take, rearrange a room, visit somewhere unfamiliar, learn something we’ve never attempted before, or simply alter one of the routines that has become completely automatic. None of these things needs to be dramatic. The point isn’t novelty for its own sake.

The point is that a change in pattern can change attention, and a change in attention can make life feel different because we’re actually participating in it again rather than merely moving through what we already know.

In hypnosis, we naturally tend to think of trance as something that happens when someone closes their eyes, relaxes and turns their attention inward, but there’s another kind of trance that interests me just as much. It’s the trance of familiarity, where the world becomes so well known that we stop really looking at it.

We don’t notice how much of our behaviour has become automatic because automatic behaviour feels normal, and normality is very good at disguising itself.

That’s one of the unexpected gifts hidden inside a major change. It can wake us up. It can make the world feel new again, even if only temporarily, because the old assumptions and routines are no longer doing all the work for us. We’re forced to pay attention, to make decisions consciously, and to engage with what’s actually happening rather than simply running the familiar programme.

I think the interesting question is whether we can learn to do some of that deliberately. We probably don’t need to move house every time life begins to feel too familiar, but perhaps we do need to notice when we’ve slipped too deeply into the trance of the ordinary and then find some intelligent way of interrupting it.

Sometimes changing your life begins with something much simpler than a grand decision. Sometimes it begins by waking up enough to see the life you already have.

And a big thanks to my wife for giving me the idea of seeing moving house as escaping a trance. I think she was absolutely right.

Mike

The post The Trance of Familiarity: Why You Stopped Seeing Your Own Life appeared first on Mike Mandel Hypnosis.

Last episode we argued that bad hypnotic subjects don't exist. This one is the practical half. If the person in front of you isn't the problem, what do you actually do? In this episode of the Brain Software Podcast, Mike Mandel and Chris Thompson stop debating hypnotizability and start handing out experiences instead, because experience beats argument every time. This week's breakdown covers the distinction that makes it work — it isn't formally hypnosis, but it is hypnotic — along with the demonstrations, the language patterns and the one metaphor that ties the whole thing together.

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The post It’s Not Hypnosis… But It Is Hypnotic – BSP (Ep 313) appeared first on Mike Mandel Hypnosis.

You can study swimming for years. Breathing, body position, stroke mechanics, buoyancy, technique. You can watch Olympic swimmers and become impressively knowledgeable about what good swimming is supposed to look like.
But eventually, you have to get in the pool.

It's a question I get asked constantly, and after many years of teaching hypnosis I've noticed something about the people who ask it. Some people take a course and start doing hypnosis. Other people take a course and then take another course. And then another. Before long, they’ve accumulated certifications, techniques, books, videos, seminars, online training, and more information than they could possibly put into practice.

But somehow, they still haven’t really started.

That’s where things get interesting, because learning can become one of the most sophisticated forms of procrastination. It feels productive, and often it genuinely is productive. But it can also provide a wonderfully respectable way of avoiding the moment when you actually have to do something.

Nobody questions you when you say you’re studying, preparing, researching or improving your skills. All of that sounds completely sensible. The problem begins when preparation quietly becomes a permanent state and you find yourself endlessly standing beside the pool.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m a lifelong learner and always have been. I’ve spent my entire adult life studying hypnosis, communication, psychology, martial arts, personal development and all sorts of wonderfully strange things. I love learning, and I have no intention of stopping.

There are still books I want to read, people I want to learn from and ideas I want to explore. Learning keeps life interesting. It opens doors and prevents us from becoming stale or overconfident. But learning is supposed to lead somewhere.

There’s a huge difference between learning because you’re curious and growing, and learning because you’re afraid to begin.

I’ve met people who know an astonishing amount about hypnosis but hardly ever hypnotize anyone. They can discuss inductions, suggestibility tests, deepeners, phenomena, language patterns and therapeutic approaches in great detail. They know the terminology, the methods and perhaps even the history.

Yet when it comes to actually sitting down with another person and doing hypnosis, they hesitate. That’s because despite all their learning, they aren’t hypnotists. They’re fact collectors.

They need one more technique, one more certification, one more training that will finally make them feel ready. Then perhaps another one after that, just to be sure.

The trouble is, they may never feel ready.

Readiness isn’t always something that arrives before action. Very often, it develops because of action. You start doing the thing, discover that you can survive your own mistakes, learn what works, and gradually become more confident because you now have evidence that you can actually do it.

At some point, competence stops coming primarily from learning more and starts coming from experience.

You have to work with real people. You have to try things, notice what happens, make mistakes, adjust and try again. You need those wonderful sessions when something works far better than you expected, because they teach you what you’re capable of. You also need the occasional session where absolutely nothing seems to happen and you’re left thinking, “Well, that was interesting.”

Those sessions teach you something too.

Real practice gives you things that no course can completely provide. People don’t always respond the way the textbook says they should. They surprise you, misunderstand you, react in unusual ways or suddenly produce something you weren’t expecting. Sometimes they respond brilliantly to something you thought was rather ordinary. At other times, your favourite technique goes absolutely nowhere.

That’s when you stop merely repeating what you’ve learned and begin developing judgment.

You start noticing the person in front of you rather than mentally leafing through your training manuals. You become more flexible. You improvise. You trust yourself a little more. That kind of skill only develops when you’re actually doing hypnosis, just as balance and confidence in the water only develop when you’re actually swimming.

There comes a point when another ten hours of training may teach you less than one hour spent actually doing the thing.

This certainly isn’t confined to hypnosis. People do exactly the same thing with coaching, therapy, writing, public speaking, business, fitness and almost everything else. They’ll start when they know a little more, when they’re more confident, when circumstances are better or when they’ve got another qualification.

Then one day they look around and realize five years have gone by and they’re still standing beside the pool.

Maybe we’ve got the relationship between confidence and action backwards. We tend to imagine confidence as something we must possess before we start, as though it’s an admission ticket we need before we’re allowed to participate. But perhaps confidence is more often the result of starting, struggling a little, learning from what happens and slowly discovering that we can actually handle it.

You don’t need to feel like an expert before you begin.

In fact, you probably won’t.

Think about almost anything you’re genuinely good at. You probably weren’t very good when you started. If you were anything like the rest of us, you may have been fairly terrible. You did it badly, then a little less badly, then reasonably well. Eventually your movements became smoother, your decisions became faster and you stopped having to consciously think about every little piece of the process. Somewhere along the way, almost without noticing, you became competent.

Then one day you realized you were actually pretty damn good at it.

That progression is easy to forget once you’ve developed a skill. We look at competent people and see the finished product, but we don’t usually see the awkward first attempts, the mistakes, the uncertainty or the countless little corrections that produced the ability.

A good swimmer looks completely at home in the water. The movements seem natural and almost effortless. But that ease came from countless hours in the pool, not from standing on the deck thinking about freestyle.

Nobody learns to swim by standing beside the pool, no matter how many books on swimming they’ve read. You can understand buoyancy, breathing, stroke mechanics and hydrodynamics perfectly, but eventually the theory has to meet the water.

Nobody becomes a writer simply by studying writing, and nobody becomes a hypnotist simply by studying hypnosis.

Knowledge matters enormously. Good training can save you years of confusion and bad habits, and a great teacher can completely change the way you understand a subject. I’m certainly not suggesting that people stop learning.

So keep learning. Read the books. Take good courses. Find excellent teachers and spend time with people who are better than you are. Stay curious for the rest of your life, because curiosity keeps the mind alive and prevents competence from turning into complacency.

But watch carefully for that subtle point where learning stops being preparation and starts becoming protection. Ask yourself whether you really need another course right now, or whether “one more training” has become a wonderfully convincing excuse for not getting started.

Ask yourself what would happen if, instead of buying another program, you took the knowledge you already have and actually used it for the next thirty days. Work with people. Practice. Pay attention. Make corrections. Learn from what actually happens rather than from what you imagine might happen.

You may discover that you’re much more prepared than you thought.

And perhaps the question isn’t always, “Who should I train with next?” Sometimes the better question is, “When am I going to start using what I already know?”

Because sooner or later, you have to stop standing beside the pool.

Sometimes you just have to get in and swim.

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The post Nobody Learns to Swim Beside the Pool appeared first on Mike Mandel Hypnosis.

Try squeezing toothpaste back into the tube…
That was my father's answer when I told him I could learn to do anything at all.
He was right, and it turned out to be one of the more freeing things anyone has ever said to me.

As a young boy, I recall reading an article in Readers Digest that talked about human potential, and since I was skinny and small, it grabbed my attention immediately. It offered me the fantasy of being big and strong and powerful…

The basic premise of the writer was that since we all have essentially the same neurology, we are all able to do pretty well anything that anyone else can do. This became a recurrent theme in modern NLP in the 1970s, and was touted by Tony Robbins and others. At least until reality came crashing in…

I told my Dad that I just read that I can learn to do and be anything, and expected him to agree and support my delusion. Instead, after a moment's thought, he handed me the toothpaste.

But it wasn't a chiding or mocking remark from him. He smiled at me, and went on to say that we all have different skills, which is why there's only one World Chess Champion; not billions of World Chess Champions with equal chess ratings.

And then he continued the gentle lecture, telling me that we not only all have a different set of skills, but different weaknesses too. We are all human, and therefore similar. But our skills and lack of skills made us all a bit different from each other.

I felt a bit disappointed hearing this, but Dad was an engineer, and a remarkably intelligent and logical man. He possessed legendary skills in mathematics. He died young, in 1981, when liquid crystals were becoming mainstream, and long before the boom in personal computers or even electronic calculators.

Dad did his calculations on a slide rule, which he called a "guessing stick", and kept a calculus textbook on his bedside table for light reading.

And I got none of those skills. None at all.

Nor did I get any of Dad's mechanical ability, which was legendary, but not passed on to my DNA at all.

It's almost a joke in my household that my wife has all the mechanical skills. She measures things, puts up pictures, drills holes, and uses a wide variety of tools.

I prefer to watch the process.

The other day the remote to our television stopped working, just before a crucial Toronto Blue Jays game. I assumed the batteries had finally died, and switched them for new ones. But the new batteries made no difference at all, resulting in much colorful language…

I thought outside the box, and found a free app that turned my iPhone into a remote, and it worked perfectly! But as I was busy rejoicing in my problem-solving ability, my wife cleaned the residue off the remote electrical contacts with some fine sandpaper, effectively fixing the remote.

It was a moment of both triumph and humiliation…depending on one's perspective.

Now realizing that we aren't all equally skilled or talented is not a limiting belief. It's actually a freeing reality.

I'm not just a big picture guy. I'm a huge picture guy. I struggle with too many details, which is why despite years of concerted study on all aspects of chess, mastery eluded me. I could never stop missing crucial details which led to game-losing blunders.

But when I discovered the 5,000 year old game Backgammon, everything changed. And that's because Backgammon is a big-picture game. It's all about pattern recognition, rather than calculation. And unlike chess, it enables me to move very quickly, as I recognize the position from my internal library.

So I work to my strength, rather than attempting to fix the unfixable.

The post You Can’t Be Anything You Want appeared first on Mike Mandel Hypnosis.

For decades, the hypnosis community has leaned on the excuse that some people are simply poor or "bad" subjects. This myth stems from outdated suggestibility tests and rigid depth scales that fail to account for individual human differences. But what if a person's failure to respond just means the practitioner used the wrong approach? In this episode, Mike Mandel and Chris Thompson completely flip the script on hypnotic suggestibility. They reveal why bad subjects are exceptionally rare among sane individuals and explain how adopting a flexible approach can entirely transform your practice. By treating hypnosis as an educational process rather than a magic, you can learn to guide even the most analytical minds into deep, restorative trance states.

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The post The Myth of the “Bad” Hypnosis Subject – BSP (Ep 312) appeared first on Mike Mandel Hypnosis.

It’s widely considered to be one of the most painful human experiences…
Eventually, everyone grieves.
There’s no getting around it.

Because if we live long enough, we're going to lose people we love, animals we adore, relationships we thought would last, and pieces of a life we assumed would always be there.

And grief isn't restricted to death. We can grieve the end of a marriage or friendship, the sale of the family home, the loss of a career, our physical abilities, independence, community, or even a future we were absolutely certain was going to happen.

At its simplest, grief is the psychological response to significant loss, but I think there's an even better way to describe it.

Grief is what happens to the mind and body when we've formed a powerful attachment to someone or something, and suddenly we have to live in a world where that attachment can no longer operate in the way it once did. That's one of the reasons grief can be so unbelievably painful.

I've had my own encounters with grief over the years, and one thing I've learned is that it doesn't behave in a nice, orderly fashion. It comes in waves, often when you least expect it. You can be doing remarkably well and getting on with your life when a piece of music plays, you find an old photograph, or you hear somebody use a particular expression. Suddenly, the grief that seemed to be fading is standing right in front of you again.

New grief also tends to get bundled together with old grief, the stuff you thought you were over but that was still lurking below the surface. My own opinion is that some grief never completely disappears, but that certainly doesn't mean we have to remain trapped in it.

Grief can affect virtually everything. It can bring sadness, loneliness, anger, guilt, anxiety and numbness, along with mental fog, poor concentration and repetitive thoughts.

It affects the body too, causing fatigue, disrupted sleep, appetite changes and physical tension. We may withdraw, lose interest in things we enjoy, avoid painful reminders, or find ourselves preoccupied with the person or situation we've lost.

Grief can even mess with our sense of identity, especially when we lose someone who has been part of our life for many years. It can leave us facing the unsettling question, Who am I now that this person is gone?

So what can we actually do about it?

I think the first thing is to recognize that grief isn't a problem to be solved. It's a process to be facilitated, and ultimately you cannot go over it, around it, or under it. You have to go through it.

That doesn't mean wallowing in misery or spending the rest of your life talking about your loss. It means allowing the process to happen without forcing it, ignoring it, or pretending you're fine when you're anything but.

Ritual can help enormously. Something meaningful that connects us with what we've lost can give the grief somewhere to go. A listening ear can be just as valuable. Not someone telling us to cheer up or look on the bright side, but someone willing to simply shut up and listen.

It's also worth resisting the urge to immediately fill the hole with another spouse, another best friend, another dog or cat. There's nothing wrong with eventually forming new relationships or loving another animal, but immediately trying to replace what was lost can become another way of avoiding the grief itself.

And self-medication is a lousy strategy. Alcohol and drugs may temporarily blunt emotional pain, but numbing grief is not the same thing as processing it.

You need to take care of the obvious physical stuff too. Eat properly, get the sleep you need, and get up and move. Walking can be remarkably helpful, particularly if you can get outside and into nature. You don't have to turn it into some elaborate exercise program. Moving your body, getting some fresh air and changing your surroundings can make a difference.

And if you need professional help, get it. There's no prize for suffering unnecessarily. Most people gradually find themselves able to get on with their lives, even though traces of grief may remain. If a long time has passed and you're still stuck in the same painful thoughts and conversations, it may be time to get some help.

There are also some very simple techniques I've found useful for helping people work with the emotional intensity of grief. A good place to begin is by getting a SUDs level, which stands for Subjective Units of Distress. Simply ask yourself, on a scale from zero to ten, how strong is this feeling right now?

Rather than trying to measure something enormous called "my grief," make it specific. It might be the empty chair, the last conversation, a particular memory, or the thing you desperately wish you'd said. Get the number, do some work, and then check the number again. Even a movement from an eight to a six tells you that something has changed.

Hypnosis and guided imagery can be extremely useful here. Sometimes an imagined conversation, or an opportunity to say goodbye in the theatre of the mind, can allow something unfinished to finally move.

Jin Shin Jyutsu is another beautifully simple tool. Holding the ring finger, or working through the points on the hands, can be done whenever the emotional pain appears. It requires no special equipment and can be repeated throughout the day.

Freespotting is another simple but effective technique worth experimenting with. Let your eyes wander and allow your unconscious mind to find the place where they naturally want to settle. Stay there for about five minutes, feeling the emotions as you stare at that spot without trying to force anything to happen. Simply notice what changes and shifts.

The important thing to understand is that none of these techniques is intended to erase the person, the event, or the memory. We're not trying to become indifferent to someone we loved. We're helping the nervous system process what happened so we can remember without continually experiencing the same overwhelming emotional response.

I've also recommended the Bach Flower Remedy - Star of Bethlehem to friends who were grieving, and they found it helpful. I'm not telling you to take it, but you might want to look into it and decide for yourself. You'll find it in a good health food store.

And that brings me to one of the most beautiful grief rituals I've ever encountered, called the Wind Telephone.

The idea began in Japan in 2010 with a man named Itaru Sasaki, who had lost his cousin. He placed an old telephone booth in his garden containing a disconnected telephone and would pick up the receiver and talk to his cousin. There was nobody on the other end, of course, but that wasn't the point.

Following the devastating Japanese earthquake and tsunami in 2011, other grieving people began using the telephone too, and since then Wind Telephones have appeared in other parts of the world.

The concept is incredibly simple. You pick up the telephone and say whatever you still need to say. Maybe it's "I miss you" or "I'm sorry." Perhaps it's "I forgive you," "I love you," or simply "Goodbye."

There's something psychologically powerful about taking a conversation that has been endlessly repeating inside your head and finally speaking it out loud. An internal conversation becomes an external one, and sometimes that seems to be exactly what was needed.

So here's an interesting question to consider. If you could pick up a telephone right now and speak to someone you've lost, what is the one thing you most need to say?

You might be surprised by the answer.

And if someone you care about is grieving, remember that you don't necessarily have to fix anything. Listen to them, walk with them, sit with them, and let them tell the same story again if they need to. When appropriate, perhaps show them some of the tools that can help reduce the emotional intensity while allowing the memories and love to remain.

Because sometimes grief isn't asking us to get over something. Sometimes it's asking us to finish a conversation.

Perhaps grief dredges the heart. It deepens the places where sorrow lives, but perhaps those deeper places can someday hold more love and joy as well.

We're all in this together.

- Mike Mandel

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The post Sometimes Grief Is Asking Us to Finish a Conversation appeared first on Mike Mandel Hypnosis.

The most powerful change in a person’s inner world may begin with something so small that it is easy to miss.

A slight shift in distance. A subtle change in size. A small adjustment to something that feels uncomfortable. Sometimes, that tiny change can create a surprisingly profound shift in how a person experiences their thoughts, memories, emotions, and future.

This principle sits at the heart of Mindscaping and offers an important lesson for anyone interested in hypnosis and hypnotherapy: bigger interventions are not necessarily better interventions.

In fact, when working with someone’s internal world, doing too much can sometimes get in the way of meaningful change. A more effective approach can be to make the smallest useful adjustment and allow the person’s own mind to do the rest.

That is the idea behind the jeweler’s hammer.

What Is the Jeweler’s Hammer?

A jeweler working with a delicate piece of jewelry does not reach for a sledgehammer. The work requires precision. A tiny tap in exactly the right place can accomplish something that force never could.

The same principle can be applied to hypnotherapy and Mindscaping.

A person’s internal experience is highly individual. Their memories, emotions, mental images, and associations form a personal map of their experience. In Mindscaping, this internal landscape is treated as the person’s own metaphor and their own map.

The goal is therefore not to impose a solution on that map. The goal is to discover what is already there and make a small adjustment that allows useful change to happen.

This is where the jeweler’s hammer becomes such a useful metaphor for hypnotic change.

The practitioner looks for the smallest intervention that could make a meaningful difference. Instead of trying to transform everything at once, the focus stays on what is directly in front of the client and what naturally emerges from their experience.

The result can be a surprisingly powerful change from a remarkably small intervention.

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The post The Jeweler’s Hammer: Why Doing Less Can Create More Change appeared first on Mike Mandel Hypnosis.

Hypnosis can look complicated from the outside. There are inductions to learn, techniques to practice, protocols to remember, theories to understand, and countless ways to approach a client.

After decades of working with hypnosis, Mike Mandel arrived at a surprisingly different conclusion: hypnosis is far easier than he once thought.

That realization represents one of the biggest changes in his understanding of hypnosis. Early in his career, he believed effective hypnosis required multiple steps, suitable subjects, and a carefully constructed process. With experience, training, and a deeper understanding of how people naturally move in and out of trance, that view changed dramatically.

Today, the emphasis is much more on facilitating something human beings already do naturally. And that shift in perspective has important implications for anyone learning hypnosis, practicing it, or looking to diversify their hypnotic toolbox.

Hypnosis Is More Natural Than It First Appears

One of the most important lessons is that trance is not some strange state that only appears when a hypnotist performs the perfect induction.

Human beings naturally move in and out of trance throughout everyday life. Attention narrows. Internal experiences become vivid. People become absorbed in memories, emotions, conversations, stories, and ideas. Their responses can change as their attention and emotional state change.

From this perspective, the hypnotist does not have to manufacture hypnosis from scratch.

The role of the hypnotist or agent of change is to facilitate the client accessing these naturally occurring trance states, or creating them themselves.

That makes hypnosis considerably less mysterious. It also changes the question the practitioner needs to ask.

Instead of focusing exclusively on, “How do I get this person into hypnosis?” the more useful question becomes, “What is already happening here, and how can it be utilized?”

That distinction can make hypnosis feel much more natural and responsive.

The Old View: Hypnosis as a Complicated Process

Earlier in his career, Mike viewed hypnosis as considerably more complicated.

He describes once believing that hypnosis required multiple steps, good subjects, and a particular kind of process to make everything work correctly.

Experience gradually challenged that assumption.

The more Mike worked with people, the more apparent it became that the complexity was not necessarily coming from hypnosis itself. Much of it came from the way hypnosis was being conceptualized.

This is an important distinction for new hypnotists.

When learning hypnosis, it is easy to believe that the practitioner needs to remember exactly what comes next. A technique leads to another technique, which leads to another technique, and the practitioner hopes that following the sequence correctly will produce the desired result.

That approach can create unnecessary pressure.

If hypnosis is fundamentally connected to natural human processes, then rigidly forcing every client through the same sequence can actually get in the way of noticing what is happening in front of you.

A more flexible hypnotist can pay attention, respond to the client, and use the trance that is already developing.

From Cause-and-Effect to the Psychodynamic Loop

There is another major change in Mike’s thinking that grew out of this simpler view of hypnosis.

Earlier in his career, he says he saw hypnosis much more through a cause and effect model. The hypnotist does something, and the subject responds by going into trance.

It is an intuitive way to think about hypnosis.

The hypnotist performs an induction. The client enters trance. The hypnotist gives suggestions. The client responds.

But decades of experience led Mike toward a different model: the psychodynamic loop.

In this model, the hypnotist and client are participating in a relationship, even when that relationship is relatively brief. Each response influences what happens next. The practitioner notices the client’s response and responds to that response, which creates another response, and the process continues.

The hypnotic experience becomes dynamic rather than mechanical.

This is where the simplicity of hypnosis becomes especially interesting.

Instead of continually adding more and more interventions, the practitioner can recognize what is already happening and emphasize it. As the client responds, those responses can be utilized to deepen the experience.

The result can be a gradual deepening of trance without the need to become heavy handed.

Hypnosis Is About Responsiveness, Not Just Technique

This perspective also changes the way a hypnotist thinks about techniques.

Techniques matter. Training matters. A well equipped hypnotist needs a broad toolbox and a solid understanding of hypnosis fundamentals.

But having techniques available is different from becoming dependent on them.

A practitioner who has only one way of approaching a problem has very little flexibility. Mike has emphasized the importance of having multiple models and multiple ways of dealing with a situation because a method that works beautifully in one context may not be the right choice in another.

This is one of the dangers of technique fixation.

A hypnotist gets an excellent result using a particular approach for something such as a phobia. Because the result was impressive, there can be a natural temptation to apply that same methodology whenever another client presents something that looks remotely similar.

The better approach is to enter the session with a full toolbox, a good state, and curiosity.

Then pay attention.

The client may reveal a much more appropriate direction than the practitioner could have predicted before the session began.

The Growing Importance of Ego States

There is another evolution in the way hypnosis is understood within the Mike Mandel Hypnosis Academy.

In the Academy’s early days, Mike talked much less explicitly about ego states. The concept of parts was already present through NLP, and the underlying idea was there intuitively, but ego states were not emphasized to the same degree.

Over time, that changed.

The Academy’s approach increasingly recognized that  problems can be understood through the lens of ego states. That does not necessarily mean every issue requires a formal or direct ego state intervention. Instead, it means recognizing which ego state is associated with the problem and helping that state become active in the executive.

That shift adds another layer to the broader evolution in thinking.

The goal is not simply to apply a hypnosis technique to a symptom. The practitioner is looking at the person, their responses, their internal organization, and the state that may be driving the problem.

This fits naturally with the broader movement away from mechanical, one size fits all hypnosis.

To understand more about ego states in hypnosis, click here.

The Fundamentals Stayed Remarkably Consistent

Interestingly, the evolution is not really a story about throwing away everything that came before.

Despite creating the original Academy with Chris Thomposon in 2013 and continuing through 2026, there has not been a dramatic change in Mike's fundamental approach to hypnosis.

Many of the changes have been relatively small, particularly in how the material is taught.

That is significant.

A mature approach to hypnosis does not necessarily mean constantly replacing old ideas with new ones. Sometimes greater experience simply makes the underlying principles clearer.

The concepts that were present earlier can become easier to recognize, explain, and apply.

Ego states became more explicit. The teaching process evolved. The understanding of the hypnotic relationship became deeper. But the fundamental goal remained the same: help people access useful states and facilitate meaningful change.

Teaching Hypnosis Has Changed Too

The Academy's teaching process has also evolved.

Mike describes a format in which the concept is explained, a demonstration is performed, the demonstration is unpacked, questions are answered, and then students immediately get an opportunity to practice it themselves before returning to further questions and discussion.

That practical repetition matters.

Hypnosis is not something that becomes useful simply because a practitioner can recognize a technique on a screen or remember its explanation from a textbook. The skill develops through experience, observation, calibration, and actual interaction with another person.

The teaching process therefore reflects the same philosophy as the hypnosis itself.

Keep the fundamentals clear. Demonstrate what is happening. Pay attention to responses. Practice. Adjust. Learn from what happens next.

Why This Matters for New Hypnotists

For someone beginning to learn hypnosis, Mike Mandel’s changing perspective offers a reassuring lesson.

Becoming a better hypnotist does not necessarily mean making hypnosis more complicated.

In fact, the opposite can happen.

As understanding increases, unnecessary complexity can fall away. The practitioner can become more comfortable with natural trance, more attentive to responses, more flexible with techniques, and more curious about what is actually happening with the client.

That does not mean training is unnecessary. Quite the opposite. A full toolbox gives the hypnotist more options when the situation calls for them.

The difference is that the toolbox becomes a resource rather than a script.

The experienced hypnotist can choose among different approaches while remaining responsive to the person in front of them.

The Evolution of a Hypnotist’s Thinking

Perhaps the most valuable lesson in Mike Mandel’s reflections is that expertise does not have to mean accumulating endless complexity.

Sometimes expertise means discovering that something you once believed required considerable machinery is actually much more natural than you realized.

For Mike, one of the biggest changes of opinion after decades of hypnosis was simple: hypnosis was far easier than he ever thought it was.

That insight connects with everything else in the approach. Trance is part of normal human experience. The hypnotist can facilitate rather than force it. The hypnotic relationship is dynamic. The client’s responses provide information about what to do next. Ego states can reveal another layer of what is happening. And a flexible practitioner can draw from multiple models rather than becoming trapped by a single technique.

The result is a view of hypnosis that is both simpler and deeper.

And perhaps that is one of the most useful discoveries that can come from years of studying hypnosis: sometimes the path to becoming better at the work is not learning how to do more.

It is learning to recognize more of what is already happening.

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He was a poor hypnotic subject…
That's the excuse.
I used to make it too.

When I first started doing hypnosis shows, one of my greatest fears was that one night I would walk onto a stage, invite a group of volunteers up, and discover that I had somehow managed to acquire an entire crowd of bad hypnotic subjects. I had thought, as many hypnotists do, that there were good subjects and bad subjects, and consequently a considerable part of doing stage hypnosis involved finding the good ones, before the bad ones had an opportunity to ruin your evening.

It seems rather ridiculous to me now, but when you're standing in front of an audience waiting for something hypnotic to happen, it can become a very compelling idea. Some people respond immediately, some take longer, some appear to be analyzing everything you say, and occasionally somebody sits there staring at you with an expression suggesting that they have come onto the stage for the specific purpose of proving that hypnosis doesn't exist. When you're young and inexperienced, it’s very easy to conclude that the successful ones are good subjects and everyone else is defective in some mysterious hypnotic way.

What I hadn't properly understood was that hypnosis isn't a spell we weave and hope will happen as planned. It’s something we do.

There are procedures and communication involved. There’s attention, expectation, imagination, and there’s something called heteroaction, which means that one response can make the next response even easier to achieve. Most importantly, the person needs to understand what we are asking them to do. Once I began looking at hypnosis that way, the idea of the bad subject became irrelevant.

Imagine teaching somebody to drive a standard transmission car and deciding after the first five minutes that they are a bad driver because they stalled the engine. We wouldn't do that. We would assume they hadn't yet learned how to coordinate the clutch and accelerator, so we would explain it differently, demonstrate it, let them experience it and give them another opportunity. Yet hypnotists will sometimes give somebody one vague instruction about relaxing, closing their eyes, counting backwards from ten, only to discover that nothing happens, because they’re dealing with “a bad subject”.

Perhaps the hypnotist simply hasn't taught them anything yet.

This is one of the reasons I consider the pre-talk such an important part of hypnosis. Before I hypnotize someone, I want them to understand that hypnosis is not unconsciousness, sleep or surrendering control to me. I don't want them sitting there waiting for me to fire some invisible hypnotic ray at their forehead. I want them involved in the process, because hypnosis is participatory. When I ask them to imagine something, focus on something, allow something to happen or follow a particular instruction, their job is to actually do it.

That sounds ridiculously obvious, but it changes everything.

If I ask someone to press their hands together, they press their hands together. If I ask them to notice a sensation, they look for the sensation. If I ask them to imagine that one hand is becoming lighter, they engage with that idea rather than sitting there wondering whether I possess sufficient hypnotic power to make their arm levitate. Each successful response creates another piece of experience, and those experiences begin accumulating.

This is where compliance is sometimes misunderstood. I am not talking about domination, obedience or making somebody submit to the hypnotist. I mean something much simpler. The person follows an instruction and discovers what happens. Then they follow another instruction and something else happens. Through these layers of cooperation and responsiveness, increasingly interesting experiences become possible.

A good hypnotist builds those experiences progressively.

Suppose I immediately tell somebody that their hand is completely numb and they can feel absolutely nothing. Perhaps they respond wonderfully, but perhaps they don't. If instead I begin by directing attention to the hand, have them notice temperature, pressure, tingling, heaviness or lightness, then allow one sensation to change and another to develop, I am building a sequence of responses. The eventual alteration of sensation is no longer an enormous leap from normal waking experience. We arrived there through a series of smaller experiences that the person already knows they can produce.

The same principle applies to catalepsy, ideomotor movement, amnesia, time distortion and many of the other phenomena hypnotists enjoy producing. One response establishes expectancy for another. The person learns something about how to respond hypnotically, and the hypnotist learns something about how that particular person responds.

This also means that when something doesn't work, I become interested rather than disappointed.

If I suggest that a hand becomes lighter and it becomes heavier, I have a response. I can use heaviness. If I suggest that an arm begins to rise and it remains suspended perfectly still, I have catalepsy. If somebody tells me that they can't visualize, I don't spend twenty minutes trying to force them to see pictures. Perhaps they can feel something, hear something, know something or simply imagine it conceptually. The person is continually giving me information about how their mind organizes experience, provided I'm paying attention.

Milton Erickson understood this extraordinarily well. His principle of utilization was essentially an invitation to stop fighting the person in front of you. Whatever they bring into the hypnosis can become part of the hypnosis. Their breathing, posture, language, skepticism, movements, hesitations and unexpected responses are information rather than obstacles.

This is quite different from blaming the subject.

For years, hypnosis has occasionally suffered from an unfortunate tendency to give the hypnotist credit when something works and blame the subject when it doesn't. If the person develops spectacular phenomena, we admire the hypnotist. If nothing happens, we announce that the person was resistant, analytical, unhypnotizable or simply a bad subject.

That's an extremely convenient arrangement for the hypnotist.

Of course people differ in hypnotic responsiveness, and research on hypnotic suggestibility has demonstrated that consistently. Some people experience particular hypnotic phenomena much more readily than others, and there are people at the upper end of responsiveness who can produce extraordinary experiences with remarkably little preparation. Pretending those differences don't exist would be equally foolish.

But hypnotic ability is not the same thing as being a good or bad subject.

A person who doesn't immediately produce amnesia may develop excellent catalepsy. Someone who has difficulty with visual imagery may respond beautifully to kinesthetic (feeling-based) suggestions. Somebody who initially appears analytical may become an excellent hypnotic subject once they understand that they don't have to stop thinking in order to experience hypnosis. Our job is to discover how the person responds and then work with what they give us.

Stage hypnosis eventually taught me this in a wonderfully practical way. When you've done enough shows, you stop walking onto the stage wondering whether hypnosis is going to work tonight. You know the procedures. You know how to establish expectation, give clear instructions, observe responses, select appropriately for the demands of entertainment, build phenomena and utilize whatever happens.

That confidence doesn't come from believing that you have acquired some extraordinary power over people. It comes from knowing what you're doing.

And I think that distinction matters enormously for anyone learning hypnosis. If you believe hypnosis depends primarily upon finding naturally gifted subjects, every difficult response becomes threatening. If you understand hypnosis as a process involving communication, attention, expectation, imagination, cooperation and progressively developed responses, then difficulty becomes information.

You change what you're doing.

You teach more clearly. You simplify the task. You find a response the person can produce and build from there. You stop trying to make them respond like the last person you hypnotized and start paying attention to the person sitting in front of you.

Because ultimately the person isn't there to demonstrate how good you are at hypnosis. They are there because there’s something they want to experience, accomplish or change.

Our job is to help them learn how to use hypnosis to do it.

There are certainly easy subjects and challenging subjects. There are highly responsive people and people who require considerably more preparation. There are people who follow instructions beautifully and others who need to understand every detail before they will engage with an experience.

But after all these years, I find the label "bad subject" tells me almost nothing about the subject.

Very often it tells me considerably more about the hypnotist.

- Mike Mandel

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Real transformation rarely begins with discovering that something is wrong with a person. It begins when they see that the patterns creating difficulty may have made perfect sense at some point in their life.

After more than a decade of working with clients, NLP and hypnosis practitioner Mohammed Sheikh has developed a perspective on change that goes beyond individual techniques and interventions. His approach draws on NLP, hypnosis, and years of hands-on experience with clients of different ages and backgrounds.

At the heart of his philosophy is a simple but powerful idea: meaningful change is about understanding how a person creates their current experience and helping them discover new possibilities.

During a recent guest training session, Mohammed shared seven lessons that have shaped the way he thinks about transformation, client work, and the role of the practitioner. Together, these lessons offer a useful framework for anyone interested in NLP, hypnosis, coaching, personal development, or helping people create lasting change.

A Powerful Metaphor for Transformation

Mohammed opened his reflections with a traditional Islamic story about a man who had killed 99 people and wanted to repent. He sought guidance from a knowledgeable person, who told him that he could change but needed to leave his current environment and travel toward a different community.

The story describes a dispute between angels about where he should go, with his direction of travel ultimately determining his fate. He had been moving toward the place where he could begin a different life.

For Mohammed, the story offers a powerful metaphor for transformation. Change involves more than deciding that the past should be different. It involves direction, movement, new choices, and an environment that supports the person someone is becoming.

That same principle appears throughout his client work.

People Are Not Broken

One of the foundational ideas Mohammed emphasized is that people are not broken.

Clients often arrive believing that something is fundamentally wrong with them. They may describe themselves as anxious, difficult, incapable of trusting others, unable to control a behavior, or somehow damaged by their past.

From a neurolinguistic programming (NLP) perspective, however, a problem behavior can often be understood as a strategy that developed for a reason. The behavior may be causing problems today while still serving a deeper purpose.

That distinction can completely change the way a practitioner approaches a client.

Instead of asking, “How do we get rid of this behavior?” the practitioner can become curious about what the behavior has been doing for the person. What need has it been meeting? What has it been protecting? What positive intention might exist underneath the pattern?

Mohammed illustrated this through the story of a client who struggled to trust other people and found it difficult to let anyone get close. During trance work, she recalled an experience from kindergarten involving her closest friend.

As a young child, she overheard that friend talking with another group of girls about her. She interpreted what she heard as rejection and betrayal. The experience contributed to a pattern of keeping people at a distance.

From the outside, that pattern could easily be described as a problem. From another perspective, it was an attempt to protect herself from experiencing that kind of rejection again.

The distinction matters.

A practitioner who assumes the client is broken may focus on removing the behavior. A practitioner who assumes the client is already doing something intelligent may look for the strategy underneath the behavior and discover a more useful way to meet the same underlying need.

The Client's Story Is Not Necessarily the Problem

Clients naturally tell stories.

They explain what happened to them, who hurt them, what their childhood was like, why their relationships failed, or when they first started experiencing anxiety, fear, anger, or another unwanted pattern.

Those stories matter. They provide context and help establish rapport. They also give the practitioner information about how the client understands their own experience.

But Mohammed cautions practitioners against becoming so absorbed in the story that they miss the structure underneath it.

In his client work, he describes his approach as a combination of coaching, mentoring, hypnosis, and NLP. Some sessions can last several hours, which creates plenty of opportunity to explore a client's experience. Yet exploring more and more historical detail does not necessarily produce change.

The important question is often not simply what happened.

The more useful question can be how the person is representing and maintaining the experience now.

This is where NLP can provide a valuable perspective. A person's internal representation of an event can influence the emotions they experience in the present. The meaning assigned to an event, the images and sounds associated with it, the person's focus, and the way they repeatedly access the memory can all become part of a continuing pattern.

In that sense, the client's explanation of the problem may not contain the solution.

A practitioner needs to listen carefully without becoming hypnotized by the client's interpretation of their own story. The story is information. It is not necessarily the structure that needs to be changed.

That distinction can help practitioners move away from endlessly analyzing the past and toward understanding the processes that are creating the client's current experience.

State Often Matters More Than Insight

One of Mohammed's strongest observations is that clients rarely change simply because they learn new information.

People often already know what they should do.

Someone experiencing anxiety may know that their fear is excessive. Someone struggling with anger may understand that their reactions are damaging relationships. Someone who wants to change a habit may already know exactly what would be healthier.

Information alone does not necessarily create behavioral change.

Mohammed describes state as a combination of physiology, thoughts, focus, and emotions. These elements interact to create the state from which a person experiences and responds to the world.

This helps explain why knowing better and doing better can be two very different things.

A person may understand intellectually that they want to respond calmly to their children after a stressful day. Yet when they walk through the front door carrying the physical and emotional residue of work, they may immediately enter an overwhelmed state.

Mohammed described one client who had a demanding job and frequently came home feeling overwhelmed. When his children approached him, he wanted them to leave him alone. The reaction was happening almost automatically.

The significant moment was not when he heard his children running toward him. It was earlier, when he put his hand on the doorknob.

That physical moment became an opportunity for a pattern interrupt. Instead of allowing the old state of overwhelm to take over, the client associated the moment with a deeply positive memory involving his children. The intervention incorporated elements of anchoring, and submodalities so that the physical action of touching the doorknob could become connected to a different internal experience.

The objective was not simply to make him feel better.

The new state gave him access to a different response. The experience of coming home could shift from “I cannot deal with this right now” toward genuine anticipation of seeing his children.

This illustrates why state management can be such an important part of NLP and hypnosis work. When the internal state changes, the range of behaviors that feel available can change with it.

Transformation Creates More Choice

Another central theme in Mohammed's approach is the relationship between a person's map of the world and the choices available to them.

In NLP, the concept of the map is often used to describe the individual's internal model of reality. People respond to the world based on their perceptions, beliefs, experiences, expectations, and interpretations. Two people can experience the same event and respond in completely different ways because they are operating from different maps.

Mohammed uses a simple restaurant metaphor to explain this. A person can only order from the menu available to them. If a particular option is not on the menu, they cannot choose it.

Human behavior can work similarly.

If someone has only learned a few ways to respond to conflict, those responses may be the only options that feel available when conflict occurs. If a parent has only learned to control a teenager through criticism, rules, or punishment, they may struggle to imagine another way to communicate.

Transformation can therefore involve expanding the menu.

Mohammed described working with a father who had become estranged from his son because the son was dating someone from a different cultural background. The father loved his son, but his understanding of the situation was shaped by a particular set of beliefs and assumptions.

The work involved helping the father expand his map and develop additional choices.

This eventually allowed for a deeper conversation between father and son. Each was able to understand more of the other's perspective, and the relationship began to move beyond the assumptions that had previously limited their communication.

The result was not simply that one person was convinced that the other was right.

Both people gained a larger map.

That is an important distinction in change work. Transformation does not always mean replacing one belief with another. Sometimes it means creating enough flexibility to recognize that more than one perspective exists and more than one response is possible.

The Environment Sustains Change

Personal change does not happen in isolation.

A person can experience a powerful breakthrough during a coaching or hypnosis session and still return to an environment that reinforces the old pattern every day.

For this reason, Mohammed emphasizes the importance of considering the environment when working with clients.

One example involved a teenage girl experiencing severe anxiety. When Mohammed arrived at the family home, he noticed an atmosphere that felt deeply connected to anxiety. He soon discovered that the girl's mother was also experiencing significant anxiety.

The work therefore could not be limited to the teenager.

Mohammed worked with the wider family environment and encouraged changes that included altering aspects of the physical surroundings, because the environment can participate in maintaining a person's state and patterns.

If someone is trying to change while everyone around them continues to reinforce the old identity, sustaining that change can become much harder.

The same idea appears in the Islamic story Mohammed shared at the beginning. The man seeking transformation needed to move toward a different environment because remaining where he was would make his old identity easier to maintain.

For practitioners, this creates an important question: what happens when the client leaves the session?

Understanding the answer can reveal opportunities to support more sustainable change.

The Practitioner Matters

Techniques are important. Knowledge matters. Training matters. Experience matters.

Yet Mohammed's reflections suggest that something less technical can be just as significant: the practitioner's relationship with the client.

One of the ways Mohammed prepares for client work is through what he describes as a kind of time machine exercise. He imagines moving into the future and meeting the client after the desired transformation has already happened. From that imagined future perspective, he brings a sense of certainty back into the present session. We call this future pacing.

The exercise reflects something deeper about his philosophy. The practitioner needs to believe that change is possible.

That belief is closely connected to genuine care.

Mohammed shared the story of a young man he worked with during COVID who had fallen into destructive habits and struggled to find his way back to the person he had previously been. His father drove for an hour and a half to bring him to sessions.

The young man barely spoke.

During the sessions, Mohammed would tell stories and continue creating a space where the young man could simply be present. There was no obvious sign that dramatic change was taking place.

Eventually, something shifted.

The young man began reconnecting with his life and later returned to express his appreciation. For Mohammed, the experience reinforced the importance of caring about the person sitting in front of the practitioner, even when the progress is not immediately visible.

Client work can be difficult to measure from one session to the next. A practitioner may not always know which conversation, story, question, or moment of connection will become meaningful later.

That is why technical skill and human connection need to work together.

Clients Can Change the Practitioner Too

There is another side to the relationship between practitioner and client that is easy to overlook.

The practitioner may be helping the client expand their map, yet the client can also expand the practitioner's map.

Working with people from different backgrounds exposes practitioners to different ways of interpreting the world. Every client brings experiences, beliefs, relationships, challenges, and perspectives that the practitioner may never have encountered personally.

Mohammed describes this as a precious opportunity.

Client work can teach humility because it reveals how little any one person can know about another person's internal world. Someone who appears confident may be struggling privately. Someone who seems difficult may be protecting something deeply important. A person whose choices appear confusing may be operating from a model of the world that makes complete sense from their perspective.

This creates a responsibility for practitioners to remain curious.

The more a practitioner understands that every client has a unique map, the easier it becomes to approach people without immediately imposing assumptions on them.

In this way, helping others change can become a process of personal growth for the practitioner as well.

From Changing People to Learning How to Meet Life

These lessons point toward a broader philosophy of personal transformation.

Change is not simply about eliminating unwanted emotions, becoming more productive, achieving goals, or creating a permanent state of happiness. Life contains difficult experiences as well as positive ones. People experience loss, uncertainty, disappointment, connection, success, failure, love, fear, and everything in between.

Mohammed's work has increasingly moved toward the idea of learning how to “Meet Life.”

The phrase captures a different relationship with personal development. Life does not need to be treated as something that must constantly be conquered or optimized. There is value in developing the flexibility, awareness, and internal resources to meet different experiences as they arise.

A person who understands that they are not broken can become curious about their patterns. A person who looks beyond their story can begin to understand the structure of their experience. A person who learns to change state can access different responses. A person who expands their map can discover new choices. A person who considers their environment can create conditions that support those choices. A practitioner who genuinely cares can create a relationship in which change becomes more possible. And a practitioner who remains open to learning can allow every client to expand their own understanding of people and life.

What Effective Change Work Really Requires

The most useful lesson from Mohammed Sheikh's years of client work may be that transformation cannot be reduced to a single technique.

NLP techniques, hypnosis, coaching, mentoring, anchoring, submodalities, and other interventions can all have a place in a practitioner's toolkit. Their effectiveness depends on understanding the person, the pattern, the state, the environment, and the choices available to the client.

Above all, effective change work requires seeing the person behind the problem.

A client is not simply an anxiety disorder, a limiting belief, a difficult relationship, an unwanted habit, or a painful memory. There is a human being behind the presenting problem, and the pattern that creates difficulty may also contain evidence of intelligence, adaptation, protection, and an attempt to meet an important need.

That perspective changes the practitioner's role.

The objective becomes less about fixing people and more about helping them discover what they are already capable of doing differently.

Sometimes that means changing a state. Sometimes it means expanding a map. Sometimes it means changing the environment. Sometimes it means creating a new choice at a moment when the old response used to take over automatically.

And sometimes the most important thing a practitioner can offer is the experience of being genuinely seen, understood, and believed in.

That is where transformation begins to become more than a technique. It becomes a different way of meeting life.

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