Beginning Again with the Body

The brain speaks loudest, but the body has the last word

For most of my twenties and early thirties, I lived in my head.

I devoured books on psychology, intimacy, trauma—trying to make sense of my origin story. The twists and turns of childhood.

I could name the parts.
Describe the patterns.
Break it all down neatly.

Intellectualize.

I thought knowing was enough; confused knowledge for wisdom. The more I consumed, the more I drifted.

How often have I been disconnected from my body?

And the body keeps score.
I feel it in my clenched jaw.
In the tension in my pelvic floor when I get turned on.
In the ache to prove I’m good enough.
In the years of porn, shame, and numbing.

The body has its own language.

“The longest journey you will ever take is the 18 inches from your head to your heart.”

- Anonymous

Unfortunately, cognition cannot bridge the gap.

This is why embodiment is the gateway.
Because you can’t fuck, grieve, or lead from your head.
Because knowing doesn’t open your heart, or soften your belly, or draw a deep breath.

This is why we begin here.

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Live Journal: Vanilla

She walked in and I caught it right away
Vanilla as we passed each other

I felt gripping in my chest
not like panic
More like the ache behind a sigh

The body remembers before words
I didn’t speak, but I must have flinched
Like an internal wincing

I didn’t chase a story. I just held it, and let it go

This is the practice. Witnessing the body speak.