Our Bodies Know

“It’s interesting you would think you’re that important.”

My therapist said to me in the midst of a snot slinging breakdown over how much I was surely going to let all the people of earth down if I did not show up to __________ (insert literally any benign event here).

“…THANK YOU.”

I replied. A sharp inhale. Slow exhale. Now, snot slinging laughter.

Underneath the self abnegation was Ego. Ego who needs to make sure people don’t think I’m flaky. Ego who demands I project total selflessness and loyalty at all costs. Ego who would say to my Body, doubled over in pain, unable to right herself for the intensity of the abdominal cramps, that we must not let them down.

Ego was doing a job the best way she knew how. She’s been beaten over the head with the propaganda of perfection and projection and “put on a happy face” and “suck it up” for 32 years. You said you would be there, so you will be there. Because underneath Ego is fear. Fear that I will be the subject of hateful gossip and sharp, unforgiving judgement from… who, exactly? The people who love me? Total strangers I will never see again?

“It’s interesting you would think you’re that important.”

It’s also interesting that we, and I’m speaking to the womxn in the room, have so fully ingested the myth of martyrdom that we will throw ourselves into situations our bodies and intuition would reject because the voice of Ego is so loud.

“If you skip this event, (insert imagined, apocalyptic social consequence here).”
”If you change this plan, (insert every person who will be inconvenienced and silently hate you for all of time here).”

Meanwhile, our Bodies know. When my Body signals that something is not for me, I am learning to listen to Her. She knows. The other day, a friend of mine and I were packing for a quick overnight trip to see his family about 3 hours away. I love a quick getaway! I love anything that smells like adventure. But at this particular moment I had been living out of a suitcase for weeks after staying with various friends and family for two months after moving out of my home due to a separation from my partner. So… a lot of moving around. A lot of… feelings. And I had finally landed in the place that would be my home for the foreseeable future. My Body let her guard down. She relaxed. I fully unpacked my toiletry bag for the first time in over two months. We would be still.

And then I told her we were going on a quick getaway and She said, quietly at first, “I would rather not.” And I kept packing. A little bit louder this time, “I would really rather stay here.” And then I picked up my toothbrush; the cheap one from Kroger with the red travel clasp over the bristles, meant to keep the brush clean in your travel bag but that had been on my toothbrush for over two months because of all the moving around. That toothbrush. I picked it up to return it to my toiletry bag, the one I had just unpacked the day before, and that was it. Every alarm, every siren, every red flag my Body has at her disposal went off. I got panicked. I started to cry.

Ego was like, “DUDE. WE GOT INVITED ON A TRIP AND WE SAID YES BECAUSE WE LOVE TRIPS AND WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”

Body replied, “I cannot go. I have been holding onto all this grief, trying to figure out where to put all this fear, keeping us healthy, fighting of a GD pandemic, living in a cortisol shower, making space for those really joyful days y’all loved so much, uncertain of where we are going to sleep from week to week, and you just told me I was safe. I trusted you. I unpacked. I cannot pack up and go again. I cannot do it.”

And so I went to my friend, five minutes before we were meant to leave, Ego raging about how flaky we were about to look, and told him I needed to stay home. He walked over, hugged me, and said, “It’s fine! Stay! You can do whatever you want. I didn’t want you to feel left out, and you are wanted, but no one will be upset if you stay. Stay. Rest.”

And my Body collapsed into tears and we spent the entire weekend on the couch. We rested. We watched Great British Baking Show. We ate easy, comforting food. I thanked Her for all she’s done for me this year and gave her absolutely whatever She wanted.

Our Egos are very invested in controlling what people think about us because our Egos are very invested in keeping us from feeling pain. But our Egos don’t know. They don’t know. They’ll throw our Bodies on the alter of self- sacrifice to keep from losing control.

What is underneath? What is your Body telling you about going to that event? Staying in that relationship? Taking that job? There are nerves and butterflies that come from doing something brave and big, but that’s not what we’re talking about. This is the intuitive Knowing that we are taught to suppress. This is the gut, body Truth that emerges when something really matters. This is your most authentic, truthful, highest Self telling you from within your own Self that your Ego is wrong and you need to do something different. This is your Body knowing.

Notice that. Listen. She knows. He knows. They know. You can change your plan, change your relationship, change your mind. When your Ego demands you sacrifice your own well being for the sake of some imagined other or to avoid catastrophic outcomes of entirely your own design, offer a reminder:

“It’s interesting you would think you’re that important.”

Companion Art:

Poetry Unbound with Pádraig Ó Tuama.
The New Religion, a poem by Chris Abani

On Stillness

The promise of spirituality is that when you find your practice, eventually your soul settles so you can see your own reflection clearly, like looking into the surface of still water. Right?

But what if stillness feels like sinking? What if, while you grow still, the fog around you grows too thick and you cannot find your way to the stream to look down?

When stillness of body unleashes torrents of fear and self doubt, and uncertainty erupts from your darkest depths, the air around you can seem more like volcanic ash than a morning fog. Everything external is obscured. Attempts at navigation fail when you cannot even see your own hands in front of your face. Stillness seems at once a fatal mistake and the only option when every alarm in your system screams “RUN” but your eyes burn until they weep and their lids fall tightly closed.

Texts go unanswered. Emails sit unopened for days. Friends reach out but engaging in small talk seems absurd when all you can see is the world on fire. The lump in your throat feels hot and tight. Shame tightens his grip, as you sense the momentum of your professional life slowing under the weight of this new inertia. Everyone is busy, you tell yourself. You won’t be missed. This will eventually pass and you’ll re-emerge optimistic and confident, showing up the way you are expected to. For now, you must simply sit.

Engaging the shadow self demands your stillness. You chose this work, this darkness, this facing of fears when you sat by the river and asked to see. Your body bruised from running into the same wall for years, you finally chose to tear it down. This wall inside you was built brick by heavy brick, and brick by brick is the only way it will be taken apart. Each one a pattern, an old story, a habit that once served you but now keeps you from the life waiting on the other side. You have grown accustomed to the feeling of this rough stone against your skin, calloused and toughened at every point of impact. You could carry on, here, in its shadow.

But something on the other side keeps calling. Quietly, at first, but each day it grows louder. There is something bright and bold and vibrant for you, where light breaks through ashy air and the water runs cool and clear. Your senses call on their memories: the tangy bite of fresh passion fruit ripened by the sun, the color of the ancient, endless sky over a campfire in the Kenyan wilderness- the sky you begged God never to let you forget, the sweet smell of tiny purple flowers mixed with ocean breeze, the texture of delicate handmade pasta filled with fresh ricotta, the sound of a dozen languages all around you on a train, the temperature of glacier water at the top of a mountain, the smell of old books lining a shelf, a glass of crisp, bright wine and crunchy baguettes on a Parisian balcony, the warmth of a long hug, the sound of light rain on a cobblestone street, the feeling of a cramp in the side from laughing until you cry… these sense memories remind you that all is not dull and damp. Even still, this moment asks you to notice your clinging. 

Fog and ash. Brick and stone. Even this moment, even in stillness, there is texture. For a sensual human, this is grace. The heat in my throat reminds me I am alive. The tightness behind my collarbones invites deep breath. My stinging eyes call my attention back to the sensation of now. Over and over, come back. See this. Face this. Let this go. 

The work of spiritual growth offers practices and tools for understanding, deconstructing, and ultimately breaking the patterns of the Ego. The Ego, with her addictions and compulsions, will fight with volcanic rage against this work. She will spew hot ash into the air all around you to frustrate and stall your work. Do it anyway. If rage fails she will use reason and logic to compel you to remain steadfast in old patterns, as they are designed for her to maintain control. She will entice you with all manner of numbing out, and she will make it exceedingly easy to quit. Do the work anyway. Find the tools, modalities, and practices that see through your Ego and begin. 

For me, those tools are weekly therapy, Enneagram work, and mindfulness. It looks like stillness and sacrifice and creating discipline. It feels like sinking and transcending, all at once. Right now, it is mostly deeply unpleasant. It feels like anxiety, or like I’ve come down with something mysterious and should stay at the house until it passes. It feels like fatigue and, sometimes, deep sadness. And that’s how I know it’s working. Because I almost never let myself feel that.

So I come back to each feeling. Each sensation is examined. Each anxious thought gets to have a moment. And then, every time, each one passes. That is the work. See it appear, see it pass. Come back. Let go. Breathe. Again. See it appear, see it pass. Come back. Let go. Breathe. Again. See it appear, see it pass. Come back. Let go. Breathe. Again.

Today, for a few moments, I saw my Self again. It’s working.