Learning to listen before your body has to shout

Sometimes the body whispers.

Sometimes it nudges.

And sometimes, apparently, it has had enough of waiting for us to pay attention.

That was me recently.

I had severe abdominal cramps that stopped me in my tracks. There was no negotiating with it. No pushing through. No “I’ll just finish this one thing.”

I had to go to home and get in bed.

And strangely, as uncomfortable as that experience was, something else happened.

I gave myself permission.

Permission to not work out the next morning.

Permission to sleep in.

Permission to move slowly.

Permission to listen to my body instead of listening to the list of things I thought I should be doing.

I took the dog for a walk and, rather than treating it like another task to check off the list, I stopped.

I sat.

I looked at the lake.

And for a few minutes, I did absolutely nothing.

I just breathed.

And I noticed how beautiful it was.

The water. The air. The morning. My dog beside me.

Breath in my lungs.

And a deep gratitude for my earthly Mom and Dad, for the life that has been laid out before me, and for the gift of simply being here to experience it.

Nothing needed fixing in that moment.

Nothing needed accomplishing.

I didn’t need to be productive.

I just needed to be present.

And I realized something.

We talk a lot about how the body keeps the score. We carry stress, grief, responsibility, tension and emotions in ways we don’t always consciously recognize. The body often knows before the mind is willing to admit that something isn’t working.

But I think there is another part of this conversation that deserves our attention:

What happens when we finally listen?

Because listening to your body isn’t always about identifying pain.

Sometimes it’s noticing that you’re exhausted.

Sometimes it’s recognizing that your shoulders have been carrying more than they need to.

Sometimes it’s realizing you’ve been holding your breath.

Sometimes it’s sleeping an extra hour.

Sometimes it’s taking a day off from exercise.

Sometimes it’s sitting beside a beautiful lake and realizing you haven’t actually looked at the lake in a very long time.

And sometimes, it’s drying your hair.

That sounds almost ridiculous, doesn’t it?

But there was something about drying my hair that morning that felt significant.

I felt human again.

Not caregiver.

Not wife.

Not coach.

Not the person who needed to remember the next thing.

Just me.

For a little while, I wasn’t operating on automatic pilot.

And maybe that’s the part we miss.

Our brains are incredibly good at helping us get through the day. They create routines, shortcuts and patterns so we don’t have to consciously think about every little thing.

But efficiency isn’t the same thing as presence.

We can become so good at doing life that we forget to actually experience it.

We wake up.

We work.

We care for people.

We exercise.

We cook.

We clean.

We answer the messages.

We take the dog out.

We make the appointments.

We check the list.

And somewhere along the way, our body starts whispering:

Are you listening?

Maybe the invitation isn’t to wait until our body forces us to stop.

Maybe the invitation is to start listening while the message is still quiet.

To notice.

To pause.

To breathe.

To ask:

What do I need today?

Not what does everyone else need from me?

Not what should I be accomplishing?

Not what would the most disciplined version of me do?

But simply:

What does my body need?

And then perhaps the harder question:

Am I willing to give myself permission to honor it?

Because compassion isn’t only something we extend to other people.

We have to learn how to extend it inward, too.

There will always be another task.

Another load of laundry.

Another email.

Another workout.

Another appointment.

Another responsibility.

But there is only one body carrying us through all of it.

And maybe caring for that body isn’t selfish.

Maybe it’s stewardship.

Maybe rest isn’t falling behind.

Maybe rest is how we return to ourselves.

That morning, sitting beside the lake with my dog, I didn’t accomplish much.

And somehow, I gained something far more valuable.

I remembered what it feels like to be here.

To breathe.

To notice.

To be grateful.

To feel human.

And to understand that sometimes the most important thing on the day’s agenda is simply listening when your body says:

Slow down. I’m trying to tell you something.

A Compass Moment

Before you move into the next thing today, pause.

Put your feet on the ground.

Take one slow breath.

And ask yourself:

Body: What am I feeling physically?

Heart: What emotion might be asking for my attention?

Mind: What story am I telling myself about what I should be doing?

Spirit: What might I notice if I became still long enough to be grateful?

You don’t have to solve anything.

You don’t have to change anything.

Just notice.

Sometimes awareness is the first act of self-care.