For most of my life I’ve felt like a floating head, moving through life by endlessly analyzing every step I could take. I could’ve filled a library with the journals I wrote, which were packed with all my hopes, dreams, fears and doubts. The chatter in my mind seemed endless, and although meditation sometimes helped me feel less scattered, I sensed that something essential was missing.
I began to wonder if perhaps the answers I was searching for weren’t only in my head. Even though I took good care of my body, it never occurred to me that the physical sensations I felt might be my inner wisdom speaking.
When the pandemic forced me to spend more time alone, I noticed how often I felt nervous for no clear reason. Everything in my life was fine, and yet my breath was shallow, my muscles were tense, and my heartbeat often quickened.
I wasn’t sure if this feeling had recently shown up or if I’d just never noticed it before, but once I was aware of it, I could no longer ignore it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think or journal my way out of this feeling.
Learning the body’s subtle language
That’s when I began to pay closer attention to my body, and I started perceiving the subtle shifts I felt throughout the day. What I noticed was that I felt a lot calmer after spending time in nature or with a beloved friend, and far more jittery after I’d spent time scrolling on my phone.
It dawned on me that perhaps my body wasn´t trying to make me feel uncomfortable. It was just guiding me towards what I needed.
From that moment on, I began tuning in to the signs my body offered:
- A subtle shift when I entered a room.
- The ease or unease I felt with certain people.
- The tightening or softening of my muscles when I was weighing a decision.
My mind kept spinning stories about how I should feel, but my body spoke in a much subtler language: a dull ache, a wave of relief, a sudden rush of panic.
It was like I relearning a language I’d long forgotten, one that was quietly waiting for me to listen, and interpreting these sensations took time and experimentation. Was the cold sensation running down my spine a sign of misalignment, or simply fear? And was the burning frustration in my jaws and fists pointing to the wrong path, or just a need for rest?
When I felt the heaviness before sharing content I cared about, I realized it wasn’t misalignment but the fear of vulnerability. And with time, I learned that when I was moving in a direction that truly didn’t fit, what I felt wasn’t frustration but the dull ache of dread.
Sitting with our emotions
Whether we realize it or not, every sensation we feel carries information. When we’re courageous enough to sit with the sensations and let them unfold in our bodies, instead of pushing them away, we learn that every feeling comes with its own pattern.
When we let emotions wash over us, we often arrive at an understanding the mind alone can’t reach.
Part of learning to trust the wisdom of our bodies is allowing uncomfortable emotions to wash over us, the very ones we’ve long pushed aside, suppressed or overridden by distracting ourselves from the body.
This process can be deeply uncomfortable, yet when we let emotions wash over us, we often arrive at an understanding the mind alone can’t reach. In fact, another part of trusting our bodies is accepting that we won’t always find a perfect explanation for what we feel. Sometimes the reason we’re drawn to certain people, places or opportunities and are pulled away from others remains a mystery. And sometimes the true roots of our anger, grief or fear reveal themselves only long after they’ve sprouted.
For me, anger meant I needed a walk in nature, to let the burning sensations rush through my body as I kept a steady pace. Often, I found that anger was just the outer shell of what would later reveal itself to be sadness or fear. On the other hand, panic pulled me into action, urging me to fix things when what I really needed was to soften.
Disappointment asked for space; though it stung in the moment, it was fleeting, and with time I would find the courage to try again. And the grief I’d subconsciously protected myself from for so many years softened me, opening up a deeper tenderness for myself and others when I finally embraced it.
The body as a compass
When we learn to navigate the ever-shifting tides of emotion and see our sensations as signals pointing to what we need, the body can become a compass that will guide us through life.
Each sensation, whether pleasant or painful, carries a message. It’s a reminder of what matters, what hurts and what needs care. The more we slow down and honour these signals, the more grounded and compassionate we become, both in relation to ourselves and to others.
The body doesn’t follow objective reasoning, but is designed to help us carve out a path that is uniquely our own, one little step at a time. As we learn to trust our bodies, their guidance will extend into every part of life: how we connect with others, the work we choose and the general direction we take.
Perhaps the next time you notice a flutter in your chest, a heaviness in your belly or a tightness in your jaw, you might pause and listen. It could be your inner compass, quietly guiding you towards what you truly need.
Medical disclaimer: This page is for educational and informational purposes only and may not be construed as medical advice. The information is not intended to replace medical advice offered by physicians. Please refer to the full text of our medical disclaimer.
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image: JoshuaWoroniecki
