Your body understands you.
- Bilonda Bukasa
- 2 days ago
- 8 min read
“No one can understand me.”
Not a therapist. Not a book. Not a family member. Not the friend who really does try.
If that thought has ever lived in you, it can feel lonely in a very specific way. You explain yourself. You read. You reflect. You try to “figure it out.” And still, something inside doesn’t really shift.
The pain is still there. The tightness returns. The restlessness comes back at night. The same emotions keep arriving, sometimes with no clear reason. Maybe there’s also that strange sense that something is wrong, but you can’t quite name what it is.
After a while, the thought changes into something heavier.
This isn’t going to help anyway.
So you stop trying. Or you wait. For months. Sometimes for years.
But maybe the goal isn’t for another person to finally understand every part of you perfectly. Maybe the first real turning point is this: you begin to understand yourself.
And your body can help you do that.
Your is not your enemy.
The body is often blamed for what it’s trying to communicate.
When your body hurts, tightens, shakes, freezes, or gets restless, it’s easy to feel betrayed by it.
Why am I like this?
Why can’t I just relax?
Why does my stomach react before I’ve even understood what happened?
Why does my breath get shallow when I’m only having a normal conversation?
These questions make sense. Physical sensations can be confusing, especially when they don’t match the situation on the surface. A room can be safe, but your shoulders still rise. A person can speak kindly, but your chest still closes. You can know, logically, that nothing terrible is happening, while your body acts as if it needs to protect you.
That doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It may mean your body learned something a long time ago and is still using that old information.
The body remembers patterns. It learns when to brace. It learns when to stay quiet. It learns when to please, fight, pull away, speed up, or go numb. Some of these patterns may once have helped you get through something. Later, they can become exhausting.
This is why body awareness can feel uncomfortable at first. You’re not just noticing “a tight neck.” You might be meeting a whole system of protection, habit, emotion, and memory.
And if no one ever taught you how to listen kindly, it can feel like a foreign language.
The German word Körper simply means body, but for many people the body doesn’t feel simple at all. It feels like a puzzle, a problem, or even an enemy.
It’s usually none of those things.
It’s a living part of you, trying to stay in relationship with you.
Your body speaks before your mind has the words
The mind loves explanations. It wants a clear reason, a neat story, a cause and effect.
The body is different. It often speaks in sensation first.
A clenched jaw.
A heavy chest.
A knot in the stomach.
Cold hands.
A sudden urge to leave.
A frozen feeling in the legs.
Heat in the face.
Pressure in the pelvis.
A breath that stops halfway.
At the beginning, these signals can feel random. With time, they may become more specific. You may start to notice that your stomach tightens when you’re about to say yes, but actually mean no. You may notice that your shoulders lift when you feel watched. You may notice that tiredness arrives after you spend time with someone who expects too much from you.
This doesn’t mean every sensation has one fixed meaning. A tight chest can come from stress, posture, grief, fear, exertion, or something medical. If symptoms are new, intense, or worrying, it’s sensible to get medical support.
Still, when you begin to listen gently, you may find patterns.
And patterns are useful.
They help you move from “What’s wrong with me?” to “What is happening in me right now?”
That change matters. It softens the fight against yourself.
Your body doesn’t need to be forced into silence before you can feel better. Often, it needs to be heard with more patience.
Body awareness isn’t about getting it right
A lot of people approach inner work like a test.
Am I doing this correctly?
Am I feeling the right thing?
Should I be calmer by now?
Did I fail because I got distracted?
That mindset can create even more pressure. Then body awareness becomes another task to perform, another place to be “good,” another reason to criticize yourself.
A gentler approach works better.
Body awareness starts with noticing what’s here, not forcing something to change.
You might ask:
Where do I feel contact with the chair or floor?
Is my breath deep, shallow, fast, slow, or held?
Is there an area that feels tense, warm, numb, heavy, or open?
Do I want to move closer, move away, speak, hide, stretch, cry, rest?
If this sensation could ask for something simple, what might it ask for?
You don’t need dramatic answers. In fact, the smaller answers are often more trustworthy.
Maybe your neck wants to turn slowly.
Maybe your feet want to press into the ground.
Maybe your hands want warmth.
Maybe your belly wants more space.
Maybe your whole system wants one honest sentence: “This is a lot right now.”
Beginners often expect body awareness to feel peaceful. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t. At first, paying attention can make you aware of tension you’ve been ignoring for years. That can be frustrating.
That’s not a sign you’re failing. It may be a sign you’re finally noticing.
There’s a difference between drowning in a feeling and noticing a feeling. The first takes over. The second leaves a little room around it.
That little room is where change can begin.
You don’t need to fix yourself before you start
Many people wait until they have more energy, more discipline, more clarity, or more confidence.
They think, “Once I’m less overwhelmed, then I’ll begin.”
But the beginning can be very small.
You don’t need a perfect morning routine. You don’t need to become a calm person overnight. You don’t need to defeat your inner Schweinehund, Disziplin, Frustration as if healing were a personal productivity contest.
Start with thirty seconds.
Pause before you get out of bed and feel the weight of your body.
Take one slower exhale before answering a difficult message.
Notice your feet while standing in line at the bakery.
Place a hand on your chest after a conversation that left you unsettled.
Let your shoulders drop a few millimeters while walking through the quiet streets near Loulé or Benafim.
These moments may seem too simple. But simple doesn’t mean shallow.
The nervous system often learns through repetition and safety, not through one big breakthrough. A small moment of contact, repeated often, can become a new kind of trust.
You don’t have to love every sensation. You don’t have to understand everything. You don’t even have to feel ready.
You can begin by saying, “I’m willing to notice.”
Why body-oriented support can help
There’s real value in working with someone who understands the connection between body, emotions, and inner patterns.
Body-psychological or body-psychotherapeutically oriented support doesn’t need to mean someone tells you what’s wrong with you. At its best, it helps you build a relationship with yourself.
That relationship includes your thoughts, yes. It also includes breath, posture, movement, impulse, emotion, and sensation.
I might help your nervoussystem slow down enough to notice what happens inside when you talk about something important. I might invite you to sense your feet, track your breath, or notice the distance you want from another person. I might help you recognize when you’re pushing past your limit instead of respecting it. I hold space for your nervoussystem to regulate itself until you can do that fully.
This can be especially helpful if you tend to live from the neck up.
Thinking is useful. Understanding your story can matter. But sometimes the mind has already understood something many times, while the body hasn’t yet felt safe enough to update.
That’s where patient, body-based work can bring something new.
Not because the practitioner has all your answers.
Because body-based work can help create a space where you can hear your own answers more clearly.
The body can become a trusted adviser
Think of a trusted adviser. Not someone who controls your life. Not someone who makes every decision. Someone who offers information you would be wise to include.
Your body can become that.
It can tell you when something is too much.
It can show you when you’re excited, even if your mind is scared.
It can warn you when you’re saying yes too quickly.
It can soften when you’re near something honest.
It can tighten when an old pattern has been touched.
It can ask for rest before you collapse.
At first, the signals may feel messy. Over time, you may begin to sense differences.
Fear might feel sharp and high.
Sadness might feel heavy and low.
Anger might feel hot and forward.
Relief might feel like more space around the ribs.
Joy might feel like movement.
Your body’s language won’t be exactly the same as anyone else’s. That’s the point. You’re learning your own language.
And once you begin to learn it, life can feel less like constant guessing.
A simple practice for beginning today
Try this when you have a few quiet minutes. Don’t use it to force calm. Use it to listen.
Find support
Sit or stand in a way that lets you feel the ground, chair, or wall holding you.
Look around
Let your eyes notice the room. Name a few ordinary things silently: window, floor, cup, plant.
Notice one sensation
Choose one area of the body. Maybe the hands, feet, chest, belly, or jaw. Stay curious.
Describe it simply
Use plain words. Tight. Warm. Buzzing. Heavy. Empty. Soft. Moving. Numb.
Ask what would help by one percent
Not what would fix your whole life. Just what might help a tiny bit right now.
Respond gently
Shift position. Take a breath. Place a hand somewhere supportive. Step outside. Drink water. Say no. Say, “I need a moment.”
That’s enough.
The point is not to create a perfect inner state. The point is to rebuild contact.
You don’t have to be understood by everyone to come home to yourself
Of course it hurts when people don’t understand you. It hurts when you explain your pain and someone minimizes it. It hurts when you’ve tried therapy, books, conversations, and self-reflection, yet still feel stuck.
Wanting to be understood is human.
But your healing cannot depend on finding one person who finally understands all of you perfectly. That’s too much pressure on them, and too much waiting for you.
You can receive support. You can let others accompany you. You can learn from skilled people, good books, and honest conversations.
And you can also begin turning toward yourself.
Your body is not an obstacle on the path. It is part of the path.
It has carried your history. It has protected you in ways that may now feel uncomfortable. It has held tension, grief, fear, longing, and strength. It has kept speaking, even when no one taught you how to listen.
Start small.
One breath. One sensation. One pause before you abandon yourself.
You don’t need to understand everything today. Just begin with this: your body belongs to you, and it may be trying to help you find your way back.
With Love,
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