You Can Trust Your Body
A Lesson That Comes in Waves
Every day, I write with a group of Black women on Zoom. I struggle with managing my rest needs with the other events that factor into my life. Sunday morning I was well-positioned to begin my day in a way that I like. I woke up clearheaded without many symptoms. My daughter came into my room just a few moments later. I helped her make her breakfast, I took a shower, and then began chatting with the writing group while getting breakfast and coffee.
I made a yogurt and granola bowl and the coffee was brewed. I split a can of 8 biscuits in half and put the 4 in the oven.
The kitchen is on the other side of the house from my private writing/work space.
I settled into the recliner with my laptop, blanket tucked around my legs and my yogurt bowl in one hand. We set the timer for 30 minutes. I began reviewing an unfinished draft and making small tweaks.
My grandmother spoke to my daughter about breakfast. I couldn’t clearly hear her words. Something about cheetohs in her room, which made absolutely no sense. But she was pleased not scolding so I refocused on my attention on my writing.
Suddenly I smelled biscuits.
“Shit!” I jumped up, yogurt bowl already finished, blanket in a heap and MacBook balanced on top. My panic said if I can smell them in the back, they have already burnt to a crisp. As I rushed through the long hallway, I wondered if I misheard cheetohs and biscuits were the breakfast my grandmother asked my daughter about.
However, as I approached the oven, my brain registered that the smell was just of biscuits, not burnt biscuits. As I reached for the handle, the thought, no, I think they’re fine, overshadowed and took the place of the thought, I wasted them and I have to start over. I inhaled and exhaled while looking inside and belatedly grabbing a potholder. Brown top - burnt. No, brown on top doesn’t mean brown all over.
You can trust your nose. They don’t smell burnt.
I flipped them over, and they were completely done, but not burnt, not even hard.
You can trust your nose. You can trust your body.
And tears sprang to my eyes.
You’re fine. You did great this morning. You can trust your body.
I transferred the biscuits from pan to plate and returned to my writing room just as my fellow writer said “And that’s time.”
I sat down and breathed back the tears.
I’m curious if I was crying from relief after abject terror over wasted food, or relief that my body received the messaging perfectly? I sound saner if it’s the latter. No one in the world has ever yelled at me for burning food.
I have burned food before at a time when I couldn’t easily go buy more. It didn’t mean we went hungry. It meant we had to eat breakfast for dinner or dinner for breakfast or something. Not so dramatic. That was in Guatemala this past year. The body keeps the score.
If I’m looking from an epigenetic lens, or through the frames of a claircognizant who has done ancestor work, I may wonder who in my lineage was yelled out or worse for burning food. And then the relief makes even more sense. The nose saved the face, the sense of smell warded off of the feeling of pain.
When I was upset in Guatemala by not eating what I had a taste for, I asked myself how much ancestor pain about food insecurity I was carrying. The answer is not defined.
Do our bodies know things because we are randomly gifted with supernatural clarity? Or do our bodies develop extra clarities as an evolutionary defense against harm? Are our superpowers defensive? Is the magic a reaction to the danger?
What does it look like to trust the body consistently? How would my ancestors feel if they could remain tethered to and in touch with every minor feeling in their bodies… and also survive? Would they sometimes cry with relief and overwhelm?
Because I noticed Friday and Sunday during my writing session my skin was crawling and my muscles were twitching from lack of movement, I did a HIIT circuit and some yoga at home. I recorded some footage but I’m too busy to edit and post it, but I took a couple of stills also.
