Why Your Body Is Often Wiser Than Your Mind

In my previous story, I wrote about how my body eventually said: “It matters to me.”

But how can your body know something that your mind hasn’t understood yet?

When I look back, I realise that my body was at the beginning of almost every major turning point in my life.

When I was in my early thirties, I was sent home from work, despite putting up quite a fight. I was severely overwhelmed. I barely slept, was constantly on edge, had dark circles under my eyes and my entire right shoulder felt like it was on fire. And yet, I tried to ignore those signals from my body as much as possible. I rearranged my social life so that I could keep working. Instead of stopping to listen to what my body was trying to tell me, I just kept pushing.

I couldn’t see the connection between the stress at work, my family system and the place where I lived. At the time, I was living in a shared student house where my boundaries were constantly being crossed.

Even when my psychologist gently tried to touch on the deeper layer, it simply didn’t register. To me, the story was straightforward: work was busy and the atmosphere wasn’t great. The idea that my body might have been responding to much more than just my job was still five bridges too far.

It wasn’t until six years later, when I began learning about attachment styles and old patterns, that I suddenly thought: Ohhh... that’s what she was trying to tell me back then.

Ten years later, my life finally seemed to be in order. I owned my own home, had a job I genuinely enjoyed, warm and supportive colleagues, and finally earned enough to not only live comfortably but save some money too.

Finally, I felt safe. Or so I thought.

Meanwhile, especially during the pandemic, I was consistently working far too hard. I hardly went on dates; there was no room for love in my life. I exercised six days a week, ate an extremely healthy diet and never went on holiday. I didn’t dare travel alone, and besides, I thought it was too expensive. My world was becoming smaller and smaller, although I barely noticed it myself.

Looking back, I can see how isolated I actually was. I felt lonely, but I couldn’t see how harsh I had become towards myself. As though I constantly had to achieve something in order to be good enough. In the evenings, I tried to quiet that critical voice with wine or prosecco.

Until my body intervened again.

After drinking, I would often wake up after only two hours of sleep with my heart pounding and a mind that simply wouldn’t switch off. Sometimes the panic attacks the following day were so intense that I would call an ambulance in a panic.

Of course, I tried everything again first. Drinking less. Only drinking at the weekend. Only certain types of wine.

But eventually, it didn’t matter anymore. Even after one or two glasses, my body would react.

Looking back, I see those panic attacks as a loving but very clear message. As if my body was saying: “Sweetheart... I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but this isn’t your life.”

A colleague, who also happened to be a funeral director, once said something to me that I have never forgotten:

“Jacqueline, you’re not afraid of dying. You’re afraid of living.”

At the time, I didn’t understand what she meant. Because this was life, wasn’t it?

Work. Eat. Exercise. Sleep. Repeat.

Thankfully, I sought help. Not because my mind was convinced, but because my body left me with no other choice. And how fortunate I was to end up exactly where I needed to be: somewhere I not only learned how to stop drinking, but also slowly learned how to actually live.

That didn’t mean my life suddenly became easier. Quite the opposite. I had to learn how to let go. Of my control. Eventually, of the job I had loved despite everything. Of habits that had once helped me but no longer fit who I was. And sometimes, of people too. That was painful, and at times incredibly lonely.

But something else was happening at the same time. I wasn’t just getting to know myself. I was getting to know my body.

Slowly, I began to understand that my body wasn’t working against me. It was working for me. It had been giving me signals all those years.

Through pain. Through illness. Through exhaustion. Through emotions.

But also through energy, enthusiasm, desire and moments of deep joy.

Slowly, I discovered that my body had been my compass all along. The more I listened to it, the more I began to sink down.

Out of my head. Into my body. Into my life.

As though I was finally growing roots in places where there had once been nothing but emptiness.

For years, my mind had been searching for explanations. And that helped me too. Understanding gave me a sense of safety. I tried to think my way into feeling safe.

But all that time, my body had been asking something much simpler:

“Does this feel safe?”

More and more, I’m discovering that my body already knew what my mind was still trying to understand.

My greatest journey wasn’t from my head to my heart.

My greatest journey was from living through my mind...

to living inside my body.

❤️

Reflection

When was the last time your body already knew something your mind wasn't ready to admit?