From reacting to resonating

I’m not saying my body and I are in a full-blown toxic relationship… but if we were on couples counseling intake paperwork, I’d definitely check “communication issues.”  You know that time in therapy when your therapist asks “why are you still in this relationship?”  You answer as through it was so painfully obvious “because we love each other.”  I do love my body, my physical form including curves, muscles, bone structure…all of it, but damn it seems it doesn’t have the same “love” for me lately.   ….also sounding like some therapy sessions I’ve been in with mismatched couples. 

Over the few years, I’ve had some health stuff pop up that just…it has refused to fully pack its bags and leave. You know that feeling when you finally think, “Okay, we’re good. We’re healing. We’re thriving.”

And then your body goes, “nope”

Every. Single. Time.

It’s like my symptoms are playing hide and seek, except they’re really bad at hiding and really good at ruining my day, my week, sometimes an entire month at a time.

But somewhere in the middle of all this—between the frustration, the Google diagnoses I absolutely should not have looked up, those beautiful soul doctors at Kaiser and the dramatic sighs—I started realizing something:

Maybe my body isn’t the enemy….maybe it doesn’t hate me, we are just not speaking the same languages of love, I am not listening. 

Maybe it’s just… really loud…but still I am not listening…I think I know better…and maybe—this part is annoying—it’s been trying to talk to me this whole time.

So I started experimenting with something wild:

actually listening to it, not just over this hopefully soon to be over medical poop but as I journey through this and all of the things the Universe puts in front of my, I started, I am starting to listen emotionally.

Anger (aka my body’s internal fire alarm system)

Anger, for me, lives loud.

It shows up as heat in my chest.

Tightness in my jaw.

You can actually see it in my redden skin, my hands go to my neck, I can’t stay still…

That buzzing, almost electric feeling in my body

Not very subtle.

It’s fire energy—solar plexus, a little root, a whole lot of “something is not okay.”

Old me (like a couple days ago) handled this by:

shutting down

pretending I was fine

or going full chaos mode, I can destroy a relationship faster then a lesbian can order a

Uhaul

New me is learning to pause inside the feeling.

To notice:

Oh. My chest is tight. My jaw is clenched. I feel like electricity is pulsing through my body. I am activated.

Instead of reacting, I sit in it (sometimes dramatically, but still counts).

I breathe.

I unclench my jaw like I’m not trying to win a silent argument.

I allow my hands to massage my neck.

I look at the person, not away, they are important just as my feelings are.

Because anger usually isn’t the problem

it’s the messenger.

And now? It looks like taking up space without taking people and relationships down with me.

Sadness (the quiet, heavy one I used to avoid)

Sadness is sneaky.

It’s the heaviness in my chest.

The lump in my throat.

That slow, tired feeling like everything in my body just… drops.

This one sits right in the heart space.

Soft. Heavy. Blue. (Yes, I said blue. We’re here now. I am that hippie)

I used to treat sadness like a glitch.

Like, “We’re not doing this today.”

Now I recognize it faster.

And instead of pushing it away, I let it move.

Because when I don’t?

It stays. Longer. Louder.

So now I cry.

Not in a cute, single-tear movie scene way

more like, “Wow, I did not know I had this much fluid in my body.”

But here’s the shift:

I don’t make decisions from sadness.

I don’t send texts from sadness.

I don’t burn bridges from sadness.

I just… feel it.

Let it pass through.

Instead of turning it into something permanent… Although I am not quite there this is my ultimate goal and one that lives in my heart, entire body and soul.

Anxiety / Fear (aka my body’s overprotective security system)

This one lives everywhere.

Racing heart.

Tight chest.

That pit in my stomach that says, “Something’s wrong,” even when nothing is actively on fire.

This is that root energy…safety, grounding, survival.

And my body? Very committed to keeping me alive, however carrying lighter fluid in hand.

Sometimes a little too committed.

Before, I’d either ignore it…or spiral with it.

Now I need to try something different.

I pause and ask:

“Am I actually unsafe… or just uncomfortable?”

Because those are not the same thing.

I ground myself.

Feet on the floor… I might even take a walk barefoot outside.

Breathing like a normal human instead of a startled squirrel.

And I let the feeling exist without letting it drive.

Because fear is useful…but it’s not always accurate.

Happiness (the one I used to rush past…but today a want to just stay in this)

This is the part I didn’t expect.

Because it turns out, my body doesn’t just scream when something’s wrong…it also whispers when something’s right.

Happiness feels like lightness in my chest.

My shoulders drop without me forcing them.

My breath slows down.

Sometimes it’s warmth….sometimes it’s a rush of cool air

Sometimes it’s this open, easy feeling, like nothing in me is bracing for impact.

If we’re keeping the hippie theme going, this is heart space too.

But lighter. Brighter. A little more colorful, a little more open.

And I used to ignore it.

Like, “Cool. We’re fine. Next.”

But now?

I stay there a little longer.  I want to “hang out”…Sit a while

I notice:

Who I’m with

What I’m doing

What feels easy

Because that’s my body saying,

“Hey… this? This is good. Do more of this.”

And for once, I’m trying to listen and enjoy this.

Mental health, I’m learning, isn’t just journaling and drinking water like a wellness influencer (although yes, fine, drink your water and for me a lot less Diet Cokes).

And let me just say this, because I know someone’s thinking it, being a therapist does not mean I automatically know how to heal myself.  It does mean I can band aid myself into showing up for others while slowly or in some cases quickly falling apart… How many people can relate?

It also means I’m perceptive… and I’m right at least 5% of the time.

So honestly, those are decent odds. You should probably still listen to me.

And at the end of a long day, after all the listening and feeling and growing and being a whole human…

Sometimes the only thing left to do is:

Run a bath.

Make it aggressively full of bubbles.

Bring a notebook (for your profound thoughts, obviously).

And then…

Add a pint of ice cream.

Or, if we’re being honest—and we are—

a half gallon of rocky road.

Because healing is listening to your body…

but also occasionally feeding it ice cream and letting it win.