Throughout this issue, we explored discernment through story, society, psychology, and media. It felt only natural to end with a conversation about what discernment looks like in therapeutic practice — and perhaps even more importantly, in everyday life.

Can you tell us a bit about yourself?

My name is Misa Kanno-Watson, and I am Japanese-born and raised, a mother to three mixed-race children, a wife, sister, aunt, organic vegetable grower, art psychotherapist, author, lecturer, and research practitioner based in Scotland, with the heart of a global citizen. Since qualifying as an art psychotherapist at Queen Margaret University in 2021, I have predominantly worked with unaccompanied refugee youth within the voluntary sector in Glasgow. Recently, I set up a pilot art psychotherapy group for mothers from migrant and refugee backgrounds with a Glasgow-based charity, and began venturing out as a freelance therapist.

When you hear the word “discernment”, what comes to mind?

The ability to sense what feels right for us. This can happen through the five senses, through cognition, or through both. This information can be accumulated through our cultural, familial, faith-based, educational, environmental, or relational backgrounds.
I believe we are constantly evolving and cultivating our own personhood as we grow and our environment changes simultaneously. Our ability for discernment changes constantly, while some beliefs stay with us; I wish to nurture both old and new wisdom so that I can continuously anchor myself in this ever-changing world. One of the Buddhist teachings written by a 13th-century Buddhist teacher in Japan, Nichiren Daishonin, says, “It is the heart that is important” (World of Nichiren Daishonin, volume 1, p. 1000). Similarly, the heart-warming message shared by the fox to the Little Prince — “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye” (The Little Prince, 1946, p. 72, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry) — tells me that perhaps something important can only be discerned through the heart.

But what do we mean by “heart”? Where is the “heart” when we talk about emotions? Does the heart actually create emotions, or does it send signals to our brain that help create them?

Something else that came to mind when you asked me about discernment was honeybees. My family and I recently adopted beehives and became beekeepers. How do honeybees discern their new home from an old home? How do honeybees discern where to get nectar from? As I work alongside another experienced beekeeper to learn about bees, I encountered two remarkable facts. One was the end of a swarm — in other words, a bees’ moving-house day. I witnessed this when we moved one bee colony to a new hive because their hive was getting overcrowded and on the verge of swarming. When we moved the colony, the beekeeper I work with told me to look at the guard bees as they moved their lower bodies up and down, as if they were boogying. He taught me that this was them producing pheromones to let their colony know that the swarm — in this case, artificially assisted by us — was complete, and to tell their bee families that the new house was here. It was a joyful sight, and moving to observe the bees showing me how they discern their new home through a distinctive musky scent.

Another fact I learned from a children’s book we borrowed with our daughter from the library was the bees’ waggle dance on the honeycomb. The beehive is protected by guard bees 24/7, and when they find a good source of nectar or pollen, they tell forager bees by doing a special dance on the honeycomb. If the good sources are near, they waggle in a circle, whereas a figure-of-eight shape is performed if the source is far away. The figure-of-eight shape is also called a “lemniscate” shape, and this is the shape I guide my clients through to support their bodily sensations of safety as part of a body-focused art psychotherapy session. I cannot help feeling the mystic connections.

What also struck me is how bees sense these messages from guard bees. Remember, inside the hive is dark and bees cannot see the dance. How do they know their dancing movements? Only through listening to their hums and movements. I think this is a remarkable way of discerning.

Discernment is often described as something we think our way towards. Yet your work often centres the body. What can the body notice before the mind has found words for it?

The body has an incredible nervous system, including a long, winding pathway called the vagus nerve, which means “wandering” in Latin. My personal lived experience of learning to empower my body through hypnobirthing and hospitalisation with meningitis, as well as working with clients whose bodies were violated through experiences of human trafficking or torture, deepened my passion for researching how neuroscience can inform art psychotherapy.

My clients have taught me that their bodies react to certain emotions or memories, or identify physical sensations, before they find words. Indeed, 80% of nerve signals are sent from the body to the brain, and only 20% from the brain to the body. The vagus nerve facilitates our involuntary sensory system and movements, such as digestion, sensations on the skin and in the muscles, speech, heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing — functions we do unconsciously. Each emotion we experience has a bodily reaction, including numbness — the state in which people cannot feel their bodies.

Often shared in my clinical sessions are experiences of anger as heat, tightness around the stomach, a sore head, or shooting pains as people reflect their unspeakable anxiety or fear; numbness; and the list goes on. Personally, when I become anxious, my shoulders tighten, and when I sense fear, I experience a tingling sensation under my armpit, so I know I need to pause and ground myself. Increasing awareness of our bodies might allow us to understand what the body needs in order to feel safe, which can lead to emotional regulation.

Many of the ways we come to interpret the world begin taking shape early in life, through our relationships, experiences, families, and the communities we grow up in. How do these early patterns shape what feels safe, familiar, or “right” in the body?

I think everyone has the ability to feel what is “right” instinctively, drawing on their own culture, heritage, language, family, neighbourhood, nature, environment, community, and the rituals they were raised with. These are inconspicuous, but I believe my nervous fibres store these fragments from every corner of my life: from foraging, community rituals, and sound bathing among the forest, river, and rice fields, to helping with my maternal family’s business, watermelon farming.

My uncle, a watermelon farmer, taught me that the success of his sweetest and most glorious products came from having dialogues with watermelons. He also had many honeybees for their co-production. These early childhood experiences led me to realise how “just right” my body feels when I immerse myself in nature, grow vegetables, notice where the wind travels through our hedges or meadows, create harmonious relationships with others, and follow old rituals while creating new ones.

As I was writing this issue, I kept returning to one question. If the body’s primary role is to keep us safe, how do we distinguish between a body signalling genuine danger and one responding to the discomfort that naturally comes with growth or stepping into the unknown?

I wish I had been taught this in primary school: psychoeducation. As art psychotherapists, we often integrate this as part of therapeutic sessions. When our body is in real danger, it sends a signal to our brain and body — namely, fight, flight, or freeze. Before trying to make sense of the danger or search for cognitive choices, our body often chooses what to do.

On the other hand, if one experiences uneasiness or a feeling of discomfort, we might sense tension in our face or body. Perhaps you might feel anxious or excited as you step into a space where uncertainty awaits. Growth is often associated with ideas around “pushing one’s limitations” or “boundaries,” but I also believe growth can happen in an “incubation” period, when I do not actively seek new information or overwork, but simply wait until my body feels ready to start taking action again.

Understanding and naming feelings or sensations, and becoming aware of what my body is signalling rather than judging it, is something I am learning to embrace myself.

In a world of constant information and competing narratives, many people feel increasingly uncertain about what to trust. What qualities or capacities do you think help us cultivate discernment in such a landscape?

Curiosity, cultural humility, intersectionality, openness, and respect for one another.

Ask yourself: who owns the source of information or media? Who wrote it, and what is their intention?

Foster your own philosophy, and ask yourself what you want to dedicate your life to.

Much of today’s culture places the responsibility for growth on the individual. Do you think discernment is purely a personal capacity, or is it something that is also cultivated collectively?

I believe discernment can be cultivated both in solitude and within a group of your choice, and that both can be beneficial. In my personal experience, they complement each other and support growth.

In November 2024, I was in Doha, Qatar, to attend my very first international conference, where I was invited as a speaker and panellist for Global South Arts in Health Week. As a naturally curious person, I really wanted to attend in person, among all the conferences available in the world. The fact that the conference was held in a “non-Western” country intrigued and motivated me, because where I live, I do not always have enough opportunities to learn from leaders who are from the Global Majority.

A week in Doha was filled with body-based workshops such as dance, movement, theatre, music, singing, and arts in health, already practised in communities alongside recent academic research. It completely transformed the way I work with people for the better. Yes, discernment can be cultivated through collective movement — through learning and unlearning with interdisciplinary professionals. The importance of having dialogue and collaboration with people beyond my own profession, whose passion for promoting arts in health is shared with mine, has been an inspirational and transformational act of discernment.

Being part of a collective movement for discernment means I can continually grow and not get stuck in one way of practising, which I believe is another quality required of a mental health professional. Wonderful colleagues I met in Doha are now my friends; we share our work, have international projects together, and visit each other across different continents.

I also want to say that you do not need to go abroad to have a similar experience. There are many small- and large-scale creative and collective opportunities in Glasgow where you can refine your discernment. One example is the UNESCO RIELA Spring School I attended this May, held at the University of Glasgow. It is hosted by UNESCO Chairs and invites artists in exile, community groups, academics, researchers, and students. Again, I made incredible connections and gained a hands-on, rich, collective healing experience.

Throughout this conversation, we’ve explored discernment through the body, relationships, and lived experience. But what role can the creative process play in helping us discern what is true, meaningful, or asking for our attention?

Tactile materials such as clay can help us slow down and tap into early memories the body remembers. In clinical sessions, dysregulated states can often be alleviated through materials such as clay, sand, or finger paints. The creative process — whether through moulding clay, sand play, or expressive bilateral painting — might support us in discerning what memories we cherish, how to tend to unaddressed emotions, physical sensations, or perhaps unresolved grief that might need our attention.

Expressing the unspeakable through the creative process is powerful in itself, and when clients and I integrate somatic work together in the session, using a variety of creative materials such as sensory toys, a blanket, and found objects from the sea and forest, I have witnessed many people experience “unstuckness,” “freedom,” “I can control myself,” or “belonging” to one’s body, which is extremely powerful. If someone can feel that they belong to their body, they might be able to discern how to regulate themselves when things become overwhelming.

As readers close this issue, what question or practice would you invite them to explore safely on their own?

What ancestral and familial wisdom or embodied practice do you cherish? Is there any ancestral or cultural heritage you wish to reconnect with? If so, what is it? Do you think you can introduce and adapt this wisdom to support your modern life? Do you have any rituals to tend to your body?

Where can people find you and your work?

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Instagram: @misa_kannowatson
LinkedIn: Misa Kanno-Watson

Publication
Kanno-Watson, M. (2025). Body-focused art psychotherapy to heal trauma for unaccompanied and trafficked young refugees in Scotland. In M. Hills de Zárate, D. Waller, and C. L. Vaculik (Eds.), International Handbook of Art Therapy. Routledge.

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Reference List:

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1. Camille Sapara Barton. Tending Grief. North Atlantic Books, 23 Apr. 2024.

2. Daisaku Ikeda. The Human Revolution. Vol. 1. Taplow, Soka Gakkai International, 1994.

3. De Saint-Exupéry, Antoine. The Little Prince. Translated by Katherine Woods, United States, Ancient Wisdon Publications, 6 Apr. 1943.

4. Elbrecht, Cornelia. Healing Trauma With Guided Drawing. North Atlantic Books, 4 Dec. 2018.

5. Hemphill, Prentis. What It Takes to Heal. Random House, 7 May 2024.

6. Levine, Peter A. Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma. Berkeley, California, North Atlantic        Books, 1997.

7. Nichiren and Nichiren Shōshū Kokusai Sentā. Gosho Honʼyaku Iinkai. The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin. Tokyo, Japan, Soka Gakkai, 2003.

8. Porges, Stephen W. The Polyvagal Theory. W. W. Norton & Company, 25 Apr. 2011.

9. Socha, Piotr, and Wojciech Grajkowski. The Book of Bees. 2016.