read this if you forgot you have a body

Early in my therapy journey as a client, I’d tense up every time my therapist asked, “Where do you feel that in your body?” At the time, the only bodily sensations I could recognize were when I had to pee or stubbed my toe. I’d become exasperated: “What do you meaaaannnnn, where do I feel that in my body?!” Instant shutdown.

Whenever I took a deep breath or sighed, she would gently encourage me, saying, “Good.” I couldn’t stand it. I was irritated with her—and with myself. I spiraled into self-conscious frustration, embarrassed at how triggered I became by her affirmations of something as simple as breathing. It seemed stupid. I regressed into my 14-year-old self, wanting so badly to snap, “Stop saying that!”

Miraculously, after years of work together, I finally began to understand what she meant. I can’t pinpoint how long it took or what exactly made it click, but one day, I realized there was a whole body connected to my head. Somewhere between therapy, 12-step programs, the Landmark Forum (I know, I know, more on that another time), and some alternative healing protocols, I got the drift.

First, it was a relief to recognize that I was somewhat powerless in my reactivity and repulsion toward body awareness. A lot of factors were out of my control. Childhood conditioning, societal standards, a distorted relationship with food and substances, an autoimmune disease, and a late-diagnosed learning disability all contributed to the fact that feeling like a "monster" when asked to tune into my body. It was actually a pretty appropriate response.

Over the years, I’ve developed deep compassion for myself and others who find it difficult to turn inward. I’ve gained enough distance from my own struggles to hold space for others, guiding them to take the risk of vulnerability. I still have more work to do, don’t get me wrong. But if you are beginning your journey and need an introduction to this process, give me a shout. It took me years to let go and allow my body to speak. There was a lot of cognitive negotiating with myself before I could surrender. I’m patient.

Now, I feel secure sitting with clients in those frustrated, irritated, dark moments of growth. I can—and will—understand your anger when attempting to drop into your body after years of trying to think your way out of depression or anxiety.

In my office, I’ve created a space to help with this process. It’s filled with tactile objects and props for when you’re not quite ready to feel your own presence, but still want to feel something other than your mind spinning.

So, if the idea of tuning into your body feels frustrating, foreign, or even silly—I get it. I’ve been there. But it’s in those very moments of discomfort where the deepest healing can begin. If you’re ready to explore what it feels like to come home to your whole self, I’ll be right there with you, holding space for every breath, every pause, and every step of the way. Let’s figure it out together—props and all.