Today in meditation I actually felt my shoulders. Not just “oh, they’re tight” felt them. I mean really felt them. The differences between left and right, where the pain started, how their functionality bled into everything else inside of me. I realized how rare this moment is for me because for so long, I didn’t want to feel my body at all. I didn’t know it at the time, but I have been living like my body betrayed me.
The acne, the sciatica, the neck tension—it felt like it was all happening to me, without my consent. And when something feels like it’s against you, you disconnect. You stop listening. You try to control it, or fix it, or outsource the whole mess to someone else.
So I went to experts. One taught me how to move, but not how to feel. Another gave me all the knowledge (which I couldn’t actually apply to myself). The next gave me space to feel my body, but I didn’t know how to hold that space on my own. One taught me to quiet my mind, but my body just kept doing its thing.
Each one gave me one slice of the pie. And honestly, I wouldn’t have known what to do with the whole pie back then… I probably would’ve thrown it at the wall.
My acne was the same. Screaming at me since I was a teenager, and me doing everything to shut it up. First I scorched the earth with accutane (twice). Then I tried controlling it with products. I explored foods to subside it. It would calm down, then flare up again, like it was saying, “Hi, still here. Still trying to tell you something.”
Eventually, I started to see patterns.
A pimple so big on my shoulder it hurt? I was ignoring the tension I was carrying there.
Breakouts on my throat? I was swallowing my truth.
And this is the part I’m only realizing now:
My body was never betraying me. It was fighting for me.
It was loyal in a way I didn’t know how to see yet, sending messages I didn’t want to read. Even when healers would say, “your body is communicating,” I’d nod along like I understood, but really I just wanted them to give me the answer so I could feel better.
Now I’m learning to trust myself. Slowly. Messily. To mirror myself instead of handing that job to someone else. And when it clicks, even for a moment, when my mind and heart are actually listening to my body? It feels like the beginning of trust. Not because I’ve figured it all out, but because I finally see my body was never the enemy.
I’m the only one who can write my truth. The only one who can feel my body from the inside.
It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. But here I am.
