When My Body Forced Me to Listen
There was a time when my body felt like a stranger. My first pulmonary embolism in 1996, an appendectomy the next year, and a Crohn’s disease diagnosis in 1998. Crohn’s, chronic pain, panic, anxiety—they lived in my body, and I acted like I couldn’t feel them, denying every ache, every warning.
I was busy all the time. Volunteering at school, leading kids’ extracurricular activities, juggling everything I thought mattered. I avoided, ignored, denied, dissociated. Rest wasn’t optional—it was something I never gave myself.
Then, in February 2017, my body forced me to listen, for real. Another massive bilateral pulmonary embolism hit me hard. Not long after, a 30cm growth formerly knows as my right ovary burst, which led to an emergency total hysterectomy and omentectomy—through an already weakened incision from small bowel resection in 2006. I was literally smacked down.
Suddenly, all the “busy” and “keep going” strategies meant nothing. My body wasn’t asking anymore—it was insisting. Every movement, every breath, every thought had to take my health into account. For the first time, I couldn’t deny, avoid, or dissociate.
From that point, I began talking with a trauma therapist. Game-changing. I was diagnosed with PTSD, and for the first time, I understood that my body’s reactions weren’t just “me being weak” or “overreacting”—they were real, valid, and part of my healing journey.
Therapy opened the door to yoga, meditation, self-compassion, and eventually all things somatic. Movement became a language, not a punishment. Breath became a tool, not a threat. Awareness became a pathway, not a judgment.
If you’re living with chronic illness, pain, or overwhelm, know this: sometimes your body has to force you to stop. And when it does, it’s not punishment—it’s an invitation to reconnect, however slowly, however gently.
Here’s a tiny way to start:
Bilateral Butterfly Tap
Place the tips of your fingers lightly on the tops of both shoulders, crossing your arms in front. Left hand to right shoulder, right hand to left shoulder.
Begin to gently tap your shoulders alternately, left then right, like butterfly wings flapping softly.
Tap at a rhythm that feels natural—slow, playful, and comfortable.
After a few rounds, release the tapping and relax your arms. Take a slow, deep breath. Notice how your body feels.
Tiny, simple, playful. And yet, that tiny moment of attention is a start. It’s how healing begins.
Your body has been talking. Sometimes it has to shout. Will you listen?
