We often think change begins with understanding. We understand why we react the way we do. We recognise where a fear comes from. We can even describe our patterns with remarkable accuracy. And yet, knowing something about ourselves does not necessarily make us different.
Sometimes, change begins somewhere much quieter: in what we repeatedly experience.
Think about someone who has spent years responding to stress by immediately reaching for distraction. Whenever discomfort appears, they open their phone. A difficult thought comes up—they scroll. They feel restless—they scroll. They don’t know what they’re feeling—they find something to occupy their attention.
There is nothing inherently wrong with reaching for distraction. But imagine that, over time, they begin experimenting with something different: sitting with the discomfort for a few moments, noticing their breath, allowing the feeling to be present without immediately trying to escape it.
The experience may be small.
But it is different.
And if experiences can shape us, a question follows:
What happens when we repeatedly give ourselves a different experience?
This is where I find the conversation between yogic psychology and modern neuroscience particularly interesting. Not because one proves the other. They are different traditions, asking questions in different ways. But both invite us to take experience and practice seriously.
What Can Neuroscience Tell Us About Mind-Body Practice?
One interesting example comes from research conducted at AIIMS, New Delhi. In a 2018 randomized controlled trial, researchers studied 58 adults with major depressive disorder who were receiving routine drug treatment. Participants were assigned to either a 12-week yoga- and meditation-based lifestyle intervention or a control group.
After the intervention, the yoga group showed a significant reduction in depressive symptoms and an increase in BDNF (brain-derived neurotrophic factor) compared with the control group. BDNF is involved in processes associated with neuronal growth, learning and neuroplasticity.
But I think it is important to be precise about what this research actually tells us.
The study did not measure Samskaras. It did not demonstrate that yoga “rewires” a specific emotional pattern. And BDNF is not a biological measurement of a Samskara.
The study examined a specific yoga-and-meditation intervention in adults with major depressive disorder. Its findings point to changes in biological markers associated with neuroplasticity, rather than proving a direct mechanism for psychological pattern change.
So I would not use this research to claim that neuroscience has proven ancient yogic psychology.
What it does offer is a more modest—and perhaps more interesting—observation:
Mind-body practices can be studied through measurable biological markers associated with neuroplasticity.
Where Does Samskara Rewiring Come In?
Yogic psychology gives us another language for thinking about repeated experience.
A Samskara can be understood as an impression or pattern shaped through experience—something that can influence how we perceive and respond to what happens around us.
Neuroscience approaches the question differently. It asks how learning, experience and practice are reflected in the functioning and adaptation of the brain.
These aren’t interchangeable explanations.
A Samskara is not a neural pathway.
Neuroplasticity is not a scientific translation of Samskara.
And I think keeping that distinction matters.
What becomes interesting is the question they can place beside each other:
How does what we repeatedly experience become part of who we are?
That question is at the heart of how I think about Samskara Rewiring. Not as an attempt to turn ancient wisdom into neuroscience. And not as an attempt to use neuroscience to validate ancient wisdom. But as a way of exploring how emotional patterns can be understood, experienced and transformed through the interaction of mind, body and practice.
What Are We Practising Enough to Become?
We often wait for change to feel dramatic. A breakthrough. A profound realisation. A moment when everything suddenly makes sense.
But perhaps change can also be quieter.
The moment we pause instead of reacting.
The moment we notice a feeling without immediately escaping it.
The moment we respond with curiosity instead of an old assumption.
The moment we experience ourselves differently.
One moment may not change a pattern.
But repeated experiences can become part of our learning.
This is also where the RISE Methodology becomes relevant to my understanding of Samskara Rewiring: change is not reduced to one moment of insight, but approached as a process of recognising patterns, working with them and integrating new ways of experiencing ourselves.
And perhaps that is where Samskara Rewiring meets the broader conversation around neuroplasticity—not by claiming they are the same, but by asking a shared human question:
If experience shapes us, what are we choosing to experience and practise repeatedly?
Because perhaps the question is not simply:
“Can I change?”
But:
“What am I practising enough to become?”