My Body Knows

November 9, 2023

TW: abuse

I’ve never felt at home in my body, let alone listened to it.

My body has lived in a constant state of hypervigilence, always alert to people and situations that could bring me harm.

Tensing.  Bracing. Startling. Gagging.  Fight. Flight.  Freeze.  Fawn.  All.  The.  Time.

And there’s a lot of other physical stuff I’ve experienced, most too intimate to share in this very open space.

But I’ve been learning a lot and paying attention lately.

I’ve been noticing what my body is trying to tell me.  That some thing or some things happened to me when I was young.  Some thing or some things that were too intense to feel, too intense to remember.  Too traumatic.

And so my beautiful brain blocked it.  Kept me from remembering.

But my body didn’t forget.

This type of thing can be controversial in medical and therapeutic circles.  But I believe.  I know it is true.  It makes sense to me.

Our bodies and our minds work hard to protect us.  To keep us safe.  And I know it has happened to people very close to me.  People who have gone through life forgetting and then all of a sudden remembering.

There were seemingly small things over the years.  Hard to ignore, but I pushed them down.

After many years, I finally started paying attention to what my body was telling me.  I kept track of things.  Wrote them down.  Got curious about them.  Tried to unpack them.  Got some help.  And it all led back to this: Something happened, something involving sexual abuse, but I couldn’t remember what.

For a long time, I convinced myself that it couldn’t be true unless I remembered it.  Completely remembered it.  That remembering would validate what my body has been telling me.  That I couldn’t heal and move forward without remembering the details in my mind.

Then I came to a place where I knew I would be able to handle remembering and figured this stable place would allow the memories to push through.  But it didn’t.  And I got more and more frustrated.  My mind fighting against my body.

I was so hyper-focused on remembering so I could fully heal.  Yet a wise friend told me this was not necessary.  I could trust what my body was telling me, reteach my body a new response when I am triggered, and heal without going through the added pain of remembering the details.  I still did not fully believe this.

And then, last year, on this very date, most certainly a terrible anniversary of sorts, my body screamed at me, insisting I listen. Giving me signs I could not ignore.  I could no longer deny what it was telling me.  I surrendered the fight.

That day, I trusted my body.  I accepted that something terrible happened when I little even though I can’t remember the details.  I accepted that I had been hurt and I pushed it so far down to protect myself.  To stay “good.”  And I didn’t tell anyone.

I had some clues.  And my parents keep detailed historical notes of our family activities and the records affirm the possibility on this date.  Affirm what my body has been folding for so long.

I felt the grief and sadness for many, many days, waves washing over me.  Sadness and fear and anger and relief and freedom.

I acknowledge I experienced significant trauma.  I acknowledge that I am a survivor of sexual abuse.

I believe what my body is telling me even though I don’t remember all of the details.

I am safe.  I am healing.  I am whole.