Your Body Already Knows.

Sometimes the first thing to notice isn't what you're thinking. It's what you're feeling.

Sometimes my mind is still constructing a perfectly reasonable explanation for why everything is fine while my body has apparently left the meeting.

My shoulders are somewhere near my ears.

My jaw is tight.

I'm exhausted by something I keep insisting isn't bothering me.

I'm lying awake having imaginary conversations with people who are sleeping perfectly fucking peacefully. 😂

And still my brain is saying:

No, no. We're good.

Then there are other moments.

A conversation makes me feel suddenly awake.

An idea gives me energy I didn't have five minutes earlier.

I walk into a place and something in me softens.

I laugh—really laugh—and realize how long it's been since I heard myself sound like that.

Someone asks me a question and before I've even figured out the answer, I feel something shift.

Lighter.

Warmer.

More open.

More alive.

And I've started wondering:

What if our bodies sometimes notice something before our minds are ready to name it?

We are very good at explaining ourselves out of what we feel.

Women learn to do this remarkably well.

We're tired, but everyone needs something.

We're uncomfortable, but we don't want to make things awkward.

We're angry, but perhaps we're overreacting.

We're lonely, but our lives are full.

We're overwhelmed, but other women seem to manage.

We're restless, but we should be grateful.

We want something, but it doesn't make sense.

And so we reason with ourselves.

We minimize.

We justify.

We keep moving.

Sometimes that's necessary. Life doesn't stop every time we're tired, irritated or uncertain.

But if we override ourselves often enough, something interesting can happen.

We become very good at functioning and surprisingly disconnected from how we're actually doing. The body, meanwhile, keeps participating in the conversation.

Tension.

Fatigue.

Restlessness.

Energy.

Ease.

Tears that arrive faster than the explanation for them.

A breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

That strange feeling of relief when something gets cancelled.

The burst of energy when you start talking about something you love.

None of those things necessarily tells you what to do.

But they may be telling you something worth noticing.

Your body isn't a fortune teller.

I want to say this because I think we've occasionally wandered too far in the other direction.

There is a lot of language in the wellness world suggesting that your body always knows the truth. That discomfort means no. Expansion means yes. Tension means something is wrong.

Ease means something is right.

Human beings are considerably more complicated than that.

Sometimes anxiety shows up because something is wrong.

Sometimes it shows up because something is new.

Sometimes we're exhausted because we're emotionally depleted.

Sometimes we're exhausted because we stayed up too late watching a series we absolutely should have stopped watching three episodes ago. 😂

Sometimes discomfort is a warning.

Sometimes discomfort is growth.

Sometimes what feels familiar isn't actually what is good for us.

And sometimes what feels frightening is exactly where we're growing.

So I don't think the invitation is:

Trust every sensation and organize your life accordingly.

I think it's much simpler.

Notice what your body is telling you before you explain it away.

Your body doesn't always have the answer.

But it may have information your mind hasn't considered yet.

Pay attention to what makes you feel more like yourself.

We spend a lot of time noticing what drains us. And that's important.

But lately I'm equally interested in the opposite.

What brings you alive?

Who are you with when your shoulders drop?

What conversations make you forget to check the time?

What work leaves you tired but deeply satisfied?

Where do you feel spacious?

When do you laugh differently?

What makes you curious?

What makes you want to move?

What makes you breathe deeper?

What makes you feel beautiful?

What makes you feel playful?

What makes you feel like there is somehow more of you in the room?

I think we underestimate those moments because they don't always look important.

Maybe it's music playing loudly in the car. Maybe it's standing beside the ocean.

Maybe it's writing. Dancing. Cooking. Making something with your hands.

Being alone. Being touched. Being around certain people. Talking about an idea you haven't allowed yourself to take seriously yet.

You don't need to immediately turn any of those things into a life plan.

But perhaps you could become curious about why you seem to appear more fully there.

Sometimes our bodies reveal the places we've been disappearing.

There are also moments when the information is harder to hear.

You notice yourself shrinking in a particular conversation.

You tense before someone walks through the door.

You feel exhausted every time you agree to something you didn't want to do.

You leave certain interactions replaying everything you said.

You realize you're holding your breath.

You hear yourself saying it's fine while something inside you very clearly doesn't feel fine.

Again, none of this automatically tells you what something means.

It doesn't tell you to end the relationship.

Quit the job.

Cancel the plan.

Confront the person.

Change your entire life.

But it might invite another question:

What am I experiencing here?

Not:

What should I do about it?

Not yet.

Just:

What am I experiencing?

There is a surprising amount of wisdom in allowing the question to remain that simple.

A Sacred Pause

This is one of the simplest practices we've created at Sacred Soul. And perhaps one of my favourites. Because it doesn't require a journal, a meditation cushion, an hour of silence, a candle or any particular spiritual belief. Although I will rarely object to a good candle. 😂

It simply asks you to stop long enough to notice yourself.

Put your feet on the floor if you can.

Let your breath be whatever it is.

Don't immediately try to calm yourself.

Don't analyze.

Don't fix.

And ask:

What am I noticing?

Then:

Where do I feel it?

And finally:

What do I need right now?

Maybe the answer is profound.

Maybe it's uncomfortable.

Maybe it's I need lunch.

All are legitimate information.

The point isn't to produce revelation on command.

The point is to practice listening.

You don't need to solve what you notice. Just listen.

The body can be part of the conversation.

For many of us, decisions happen almost entirely from the neck up.

We make lists.

We weigh consequences.

We anticipate everyone's reactions.

We calculate risk.

We think about what makes sense.

What is responsible.

What is practical.

What other people might think.

And all of that matters.

But maybe there is another source of information available to us.

Not one that replaces reason.

One that sits beside it.

Your mind might tell you what makes sense.

Your experience might tell you what you've learned.

Your values might tell you what matters.

And your body might quietly tell you:

Something changes in me when I'm here.

Something tightens when this happens.

Something opens when I imagine that.

I feel tired.

I feel safe.

I feel alive.

I don't know what this means yet.

That last one matters.

Because we don't have to know what something means in order to notice that it's there.

You don't have to act on everything you discover.

This has become something of a Sacred Soul refrain: Desire is information, not instruction.

I think the same is true here.

A feeling is information.

A sensation is information.

A reaction is information.

It becomes one piece of a much larger picture. You are allowed to gather information about yourself without immediately turning it into a decision. That's particularly important when the things we're exploring involve relationships, careers, families, identities and lives we've spent years building.

You can notice that something doesn't feel right without knowing what needs to change.

You can notice that something makes you feel alive without immediately chasing it.

You can notice longing without obeying it.

You can notice discomfort without fearing it.

You can simply become a woman who is paying closer attention to herself.

And perhaps, over time, patterns begin to emerge.

Maybe knowing begins with noticing.

I used to think self-awareness was mostly about understanding ourselves.

Knowing why we behave the way we do.

Knowing what we want.

Knowing what we believe.

Knowing what comes next.

But I'm starting to think there is something that happens before knowing.

Noticing.

The tightening.

The softening.

The exhaustion.

The energy.

The resistance.

The relief.

The moment you feel yourself shrink.

The moment you suddenly feel completely, unmistakably present.

None of those moments needs to become a dramatic declaration about your life.

They don't require an answer. They don't even require an explanation.

Sometimes they simply ask you to stay there for a second longer than you normally would.

To become curious. To listen.

Because perhaps your body doesn't always know exactly what you should do.

But it may know when something inside you is asking to be heard.

And that feels like a very good place to begin.

And what else?

Cheryl MacLean

Founder, Sacred Soul

Sacred Spaces for Transformation