The Medicine Is in the Body, Not the Mind: What Healed When I Finally Listened

I was 31 the first time a doctor handed me a prescription for anxiety. I was on six by the time I turned 51.

Oddly enough, I was healthy for most of my life. Never hospitalized except when I delivered my twins. I rarely got sick, and I proudly declared this to anyone who would listen. What I didn’t know then was that the mindset keeping me healthy was the same one that would eventually fail me. My mind alone could not override my body.

By 51, my body was in full protest. No longer the loyal protector I thought I knew. My bathroom was a barber shop, the floor covered in clumps of brown hair. My mind, once clear and present, was now clouded with cotton in place of words, thoughts, ideas.

This was the body I talked over instead of listening to.

The Self-Care That Wasn't Listening

I thought I had taken care of myself reasonably well. I had a therapist, couples counseling, I ate well, exercised. My biggest vice was my nightly 3ish glasses of wine. This took the edge off when a succession of events left me without parents, a husband or a job by 2004.

I didn’t realize that every time I ignored the part of me who believed she was not enough — the one who must control, who could go it alone — I became the abuser to a body that was just trying to keep me safe.

By 53, my beliefs about who I was, the world and what was possible were fixed. There was some room for existential contemplation, but my manager part — the controller — ran daily operations. She believed things like:

Work hard and be nice to people.

Life is tough. Quit your whining and get on with it.

No one is coming. Don’t bother asking for help.

Where the Wound Began: A Summer Night in 1974

This framework was genuinely helpful. It kept me from falling apart in the worst of times. But it buried parts of me who were waiting for someone to come. They were alone, stuck in the heat of a summer night in 1974, where a little girl lay frozen in her bed, trying to disappear beneath sweat-soaked sheets. Her parents were fighting again. No one came. She was on her own, and that was just the way things were. Get over it.

The child’s nervous system learned to stay on guard, to keep the breath high and tight, ready to fight, flight, or freeze. She was too tiny to fight. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Her body did the next best thing to protect her. It shut down. It went cold.

The freeze never ended. The little girl became the woman on six prescriptions, still trying to disappear.

How Stored Trauma Shapes a Life

The frozen wound surfaced in her behavior as she grew. What the body could not finish at seven shaped her identity. The woman who always sat in the back of the room, easy exit, a place to hide. She did the work of three people because her best couldn’t cut it. She served herself last. Others were more deserving.

An assessment later put a number on it. Seventy percent of my energy was still stuck in that bed in 1974.

Living in the past takes a toll on the body and we pay the price in disease. Chronic fatigue from a nervous system on 24-hour surveillance. The exhaustion of my jaw held tight for over 40 years, a breath that never reached the bottom of my lungs, my eyes scanning every room before entering.

The six prescriptions didn’t treat the disease. They were the cover up. The wound was still in my body, in the tissue wrapped in fear.

Why the Body Heals Through Safety, Not Force

The body does not release through force. It releases through safety. Insight cannot reach what the system is holding. The body organizes around safety, not understanding. When the nervous system finally comes off duty, what was bound can move. The fight that never finished. The flight that couldn’t take off. The freeze that never thawed. The body completes what it could not before. The past stops running the present.

My healing started with the basics. Things I had never considered, never noticed. I was 54 years old when I finally learned how to breathe. The weight dropped from my shoulders. My chest expanded. The more I practiced, the more I heard the voice. How did you not know this? Fifty years and you could not even breathe right?

The next door was Sally. The inner critic. The manager part. Hard driving, meticulous, she never let her guard down. Falling apart was messy, unproductive, and to be avoided at all costs. I had to meet her in my body, on her terms, to understand who she was protecting and what she needed from me to rest. Without honoring her job, she would not grant access to the little girl lost in 1974, still frozen in her bed.

Talks with Sally started slowly. I had to get over feeling crazy for talking to myself before I could engage with her. Once I was out of my own way, our relationship shifted.

Instead of mindlessly following her orders, I brought another perspective to the table. I got farther when I let her vent first. After unloading her worries and demands, she dropped her guard. My coherent, collaborative self joined the talks to keep the peace and redistribute the workload of running our life. The system was starting to work together.

The Reunion: Returning to the Seven-Year-Old

The reunion with my 7-year-old self wasn’t planned, it came unexpectedly during a Somatic Experiencing (SE) session. I remember being fine one minute and the next I was in my old bedroom, watching little me struggling to catch her breath between sobs.

My guide asked me to describe what I was feeling, noticing. She invited me to sit with it, be fully present, to give the child and my body the time they needed. Nothing is rushed or forced when you work with the body. I knew I would return to her another time.

When I did return, I was ready. So was she. I let her cry the tears she had held for me, all this time alone, believing she wasn’t enough. I stayed in that room all night. We played house with our stuffed animals. Lambchop was our favorite. When it was time to go, she took my hand and we left that room together.

No longer frozen. No longer alone. We were whole, complete.

I was becoming someone I didn’t know I had in me. This person wasn’t afraid to ask for help, make a mistake, or say no. It was strange at first, seeing this new resident move in.

She cared less but received more. She took her time at the grocery store instead of speeding down the aisles like a mad woman.

Sally softened. She earned her rest and was happy to let the new girl take the helm for a while. Little me made new friends. She entertained us with silly puppet shows and magic tricks.

My body followed suit. My hair sprouted back to life, thick and longer than before. My gut, no longer under Sally’s scrutiny, eased into a natural rhythm. The more I loved and listened to my body, the more it responded in kind.

I am home with all parts of me.

If something in you recognizes itself here — if your body has been trying to tell you something and you're finally ready to listen — that's the work I do. The first conversation is a free discovery call. Come here to start the conversation. I will listen.

Follow my Substack newsletter, Your Body Knows, for more insights.