What the Physical Body Remembers

 

Last week I told you I’d started to feel translucent, a shadow you could see right through. What I didn’t say is where I felt it first.

It wasn’t in my thoughts. It was in my body: a tightness across my chest, a shallow pull on the inhale, shoulders that had crept up toward my ears making my neck ache and restricting me from moving my neck. My body knew something was wrong long before my words caught up.

That’s what bodies do. They remember.

The body keeps its own record

We tend to think of grief as something that happens in the mind or the heart. And that is true - but we don’t see it as readily there.  As I watch and learn about grief and loss I noticed early on the same thing again and again: grief moves into the body and makes itself at home.

Many people notice it in the same few places.

• The chest. Heaviness, tightness, a feeling of something pressing or hollow. Sometimes it’s the ache people mean when they say “heartbroken.” (I think this is where I learned about it first - that people can actually feel like they are having a heart attack)
• The throat. A lump, a catch, a swallowed word. This is often where the unsaid settles, including the things we couldn’t say at the funeral, in the meeting, or at the dinner table.
• The gut. Knots, nausea, a loss of appetite, or a churning that doesn’t have a clear cause.
• The shoulders and jaw. Bracing. Holding. The body’s way of staying on guard when the world no longer feels safe.

You might also feel it as exhaustion that sleep doesn’t touch, or a heaviness in the limbs, or a strange numbness, as if the volume on your own body has been turned down.

None of this means something is wrong with you. It means your body is doing exactly what bodies do when something we love can’t stay as it was. It is trying to protect you.  It is trying to put up buttresses to support you, where you have not been noticing you need it. 

Why the body holds on

When we can’t say the thing, can’t cry, can’t be fully ourselves, the feeling doesn’t disappear. It needs to go somewhere. And often it goes quiet and low, into muscle and breath.

One of the first things the body does when we are managing a feeling is change how we breathe. We hold it, shorten it, or tuck it into the upper chest. Over time, shallow breathing becomes the new normal, and we stop noticing. We also stop taking in as much of what nourishes us, including connection, comfort, and joy.

That is actually why I begin with the body in this series. Even though I am not a physical therapist, or masseuse or a trainer.  Before we can change the story of how we are moving in the world, we need to find out what the body has been carrying.

You can’t force a release

We don’t need to dig for the grief or pry it loose. A body that has been bracing for a long time doesn’t respond to force. It responds to safety, to gentleness, and to being noticed.

So the practice this week isn’t about fixing anything. It’s about listening.

A practice: Listening Hands

This takes about three to five minutes.

1. Find a position that feels supported. Sit, lie down, or lean back, whatever lets your body rest.
2. Take one natural breath, without changing anything.
3. Place one hand on your chest and one on your belly. Let them rest there, warm and unhurried.
4. Ask quietly, “What are you holding?” You don’t need an answer in words. Notice any sensation: tightness, warmth, heaviness, or nothing at all.
5. When you find the place that feels most held, rest your hand there. Breathe in slowly through your nose, sending the breath toward wherever your hand in resting.
6. Exhale slowly through your mouth, a little longer than the inhale, as if you’re offering that place some room.
7. Stay for five or six breaths. Then notice: did anything shift? even slightly?

If nothing comes up, that’s fine. Listening is the practice, and some days the body just needs to know you’re there.

If this practice feels uncomfortable or brings up more than you want to feel right now, open your eyes, feel your feet on the floor, and return to your natural breath. Stopping is also a way of caring for yourself.

This week

Pay attention to the moments when your body speaks up: a tight throat in a hard conversation, a clenched stomach before a visit, shoulders creeping up while you scroll.

You don’t have to do anything about it. Just say to yourself, Oh, there you are.

And if you’d like to share, I’d love to hear: where does your body hold your grief?

Breathing in, I listen. Breathing out, I let it be here.

If you’d like company on the way

Your body has been carrying a lot, and you don’t have to listen to it alone. Through EMBody Wisdom, I offer grief coaching, life and transition coaching, spiritual direction, and Healing Touch, all of which begin with the body and breath.

If you’re ready to talk, schedule a free conversation here or reply to this post, and we’ll find a gentle first step together.