What is my body trying to tell me?

There was a time I saw my body as something separate from me.

A vehicle. A shell.

Something to fix when it broke — but not something I listened to.

That changed the day I began asking a different question —

not “What’s wrong with me?” but “What is my body trying to tell me?”

I first came across this concept when a spiritually awake friend recommended a book:

The Secret Language of Your Body.

I opened it eagerly, curious to see if it could help me make sense of what I was experiencing.

A diagnosis can shake you to the core — but sometimes, it also shakes something loose.

And in my case, it shook open a conversation I’d never had before:

One with my own cells.

My spine.

My energy field.

My womanhood — even in the absence of a womb.

At first, it felt strange. But soon, I realized my body had been speaking all along.

The fatigue. The numbness. The ocular disturbances.

They weren’t random.

They were responses.

To things I couldn’t — or wouldn’t — express out loud.

To grief I hadn’t metabolized.

To boundaries I never dared to hold.

And the signals didn’t just start in adulthood.

As a child, I had chronic asthma.

I didn’t know then that breath and emotion were linked — that feeling silenced, or anxious, or unable to express yourself could manifest as breathlessness.

According to The Secret Language of Your Body, asthma often reflects suppressed emotion, fear of life, or not feeling safe to speak or take up space.

Looking back, even my breath was begging me to notice something.

But if I’m honest — these illnesses alone weren’t enough to wake me.

I was still too deep in human conditioning to understand what my body was really doing.

I dismissed it. Managed it. Powered through it.

It wasn’t until the emotional pain became too loud to ignore… that something finally cracked open.

It was heartbreak — not illness — that woke me.

Excruciating heartbreak.

The kind that forces you to feel things you’ve been avoiding your entire life.

And strangely enough, I’d come close before. Twice.

Each time a different relationship tried to show me what I wasn’t ready to face.

But this time… I couldn’t go back to sleep.

Because it was feelings I seemed to hear most clearly.

The body had been speaking for years — but I’d only been fluent in emotional ache.

And when the two finally met, I began to understand the full language of my being.

---

When I was diagnosed with cervical cancer, it wasn't just a medical event.

It was an initiation.

A confrontation with my own avoidance.

A reckoning with suppressed creativity, unspoken trauma, and disconnection from my feminine power.

My healing didn’t begin with treatment — it began with honesty.

Brutal, beautiful honesty.

Later, when I was diagnosed with MS, it seems clear that this was another summons —

another moment where life whispered, “Slow down. Come closer. Feel this.”

And now, I live with the diagnosis — but I live consciously.

I listen.

Not perfectly. Not always immediately.

But I listen more than I ever did before.

And that, I think, is what healing truly is.

---

These days, I pay attention.

To the quiet discomfort.

To the exhaustion that doesn’t match the effort.

To the subtle tugs in my back, my jaw, my stomach —

all of them asking,

"Are you willing to hear me this time?"

And something else I’ve come to know is this:

Our words hold power.

How we speak to our bodies matters. Deeply.

I used to complain about my legs — that they were too chunky, too muscular.

Now, I speak to them with kindness.

Because those very legs have carried me through flare-ups, relapses, and falls.

And when the sciatic pain flares — which it often does during relapses — I now understand that too.

Sciatica, as Inna Segal writes, can represent fear of the future or not feeling supported — a physical cry for movement and grounding when life feels uncertain.

And for me, it often shows up when I’ve been trying to carry too much on my own.

They are strong.

They are loyal.

They are part of me.

---

And sometimes, when I sit with those parts of myself, I discover they were never trying to harm me — they were holding the weight I hadn’t yet named.

The body doesn’t betray us.

It carries us.

It translates what we can’t yet say.

It reminds us of what we’ve buried.

And in doing so, it offers the most sacred invitation of all:

To come home to ourselves.

Maybe the question was never “what’s wrong with me?”

Maybe the question has always been…

“Where am I not yet listening?”

---

📖 Body-to-Emotion Translations

A deeper look through the lens of The Secret Language of Your Body by Inna Segal:

Asthma (childhood):

> “Fear of life. Suppressed crying. Inability to express feelings. Feeling stifled or unable to take space emotionally. Often linked to early family dynamics, being overly responsible, or sensing it’s not safe to fully breathe or speak.”

Cervical Cancer:

> “Deep hurt from relationships. Rejection. Guilt. Suppression of creative and sexual energy. Disconnection from feminine power and inner voice.”

Sciatica:

> “Fear of the future. Fear of moving forward. Feeling unsupported. Anger at being forced in a direction you don’t want to go. Carrying too much emotional weight.”

MS (Multiple Sclerosis):

> “Mental rigidity. Self-criticism. Emotional pressure to be perfect. Deep frustration and fear of being out of control. Holding yourself back from emotional expression or rest.”

Ocular Migraines:

> “A refusal (conscious or unconscious) to ‘see’ something clearly. Overwhelm. Mental overstimulation. A spiritual signal to pause and recalibrate. Often connected to intuitive blocks or emotional pressure building behind the eyes.”

Optic Neuritis:

> “Inflammation or irritation of inner sight. A symbolic burning of clarity. Can reflect emotional conflict around what you’ve witnessed or can no longer ‘unsee.’ Often tied to spiritual awakening and deep inner perception being challenged or tested.”

Thoughts of a Lightworker

18th June 2025