My Body Knows: Learning to Trust Your Body as Part of Healing

Day 5 Journal Series: What I Thought Healing Would Look Like

"Your body will tell the truth even when your mouth won’t."

Before I ever had language for trauma, stress, or burnout—my body was already speaking. Tight shoulders. A clenched jaw. That low hum in my belly I used to call anxiety was my body whispering, I don’t feel safe here. I lived on edge, waking up already exhausted with my chest feeling heavy before my feet even touched the floor. Brain fog thick as honey made it hard to focus. I’d reread the same paragraph four times and still could not grasp the meaning. My eyes burned from shallow sleep. My cycle was erratic. My appetite fluctuated—craving salt and carbs one day, gone the next. My lower back stayed locked up like it was waiting for the next blow. I thought I had digestive problems. I thought I needed more supplements. I didn’t know my body was waving flags, begging me to stop performing wellness and start living it.

As a teacher, as a mother, as a woman quietly managing the emotional labor of everyone else, I ignored those signs. I told myself to be strong.

To push through.

That it was just life.

This is normal.

My family members before me did it so I should too.

Back then, I didn’t understand that burnout and stress weren’t just mental or emotional. It was physical. It lived in my muscles, my gut, my breath. It showed up in my sleep patterns, my tension headaches, and the way my throat closed every time I swallowed my truth. I was living from the neck up, trying to think my way into peace and hoping I could logic myself out of pain with to-do lists, positive affirmations, and bullet points.

The issue is that healing doesn’t come from the mind alone. It requires a good deal of intuition, or what they call “listening to your gut.” My body knew this first. My body kept score, and eventually, it demanded a seat at the table.

I remember the first time I noticed the shift. I had just said something that scared me, something honest with no filter or political correctness. My hands were shaking, but my chest felt open. I was afraid, yes, but I was also free. My body recognized the difference.

Now, I notice healing in the little things.

The way my jaw relaxes without effort.

The way I don’t flinch at possible confrontation.

The way I sleep through the night.

The way I stretch instead of pushing past pain.

The way I rest without shame.

The way I say no and don’t apologize for it.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s still tension, still fatigue some days. I still overdo it. I still need reminders to soften, but there’s pleasure now, too. Not performative joy or earned or delayed. Just… presence. Peace that starts with breath and expands from there. Moments that feel devotional, even if it’s just holding a warm mug or lying still under a blanket.

Now, I realize that this body—my body—has walked through fire……and she still softens. That is resilience.

If this resonates with you, I want you to know that healing doesn’t always look like ease. Sometimes it looks like awareness.—A pause and a body that finally feels heard.

Now, I check in—not just with my thoughts, but with the stories my spine is telling, the way my shoulders hold the day, the rhythm of my breath, the way my belly responds to rest. Because healing isn’t about overriding the body. It’s about learning to listen, and mine has always known the truth.

Stay rooted,
Michelle S.