When the Body Holds the Balance

Masculine, Feminine, and the Language of Dis-ease

I’ve been piecing together the puzzle of my body for years, and only recently do I feel like I’m beginning to see another layer of the pattern. It’s backwards at times — I only spot the signs when I look back — but the more I connect the dots, the clearer the message becomes: my body is speaking the truth my consciousness has been too quick to explain away.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been able to rationalise and “find balance” in almost every challenge life has thrown at me. It’s almost like a reflex. My mind immediately looks for the lesson, the reason, the higher perspective. That ability has saved me more times than I can count, but I’ve started to realise it’s also how I silence myself. Because in that moment where the tears should fall, where the storm of emotion should be allowed to rise and clear, I explain it away instead.

That, I’ve come to see, is the masculine in me. The part that holds it together. The part that follows rules, sets boundaries, looks for order. The part that believes strength is found in control.

And the feminine? She’s the part I’ve silenced. The one who feels deeply, who flows without needing a reason, who cries and screams and laughs loudly, who surrenders instead of strategises. For years she has been told: “Not now. We don’t have time for that. Stay quiet while we hold this ship steady.”

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The Feminine on Strike

When I look at my history, I see how clearly the body speaks.

Cervical cancer appeared in the womb space — the most feminine centre we have. This is where we hold creation, intimacy, sensuality, vulnerability. It’s where our feminine voice first takes root. Looking back, it feels like my feminine self was waving a red flag, saying:

> “If you will not let me flow, I will show you what happens when you shut me down.”

It wasn’t punishment. It was protest. My feminine went on strike.

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The Masculine Short-Circuited

And then came MS.

MS targets the brain and nervous system — the control tower, the logic, the order, the command centre. To me, this feels like the masculine principle short-circuiting. The over-control, the constant reasoning, the refusal to let go finally burned out the wiring. The brain could no longer boss the body around, and the nervous system began to rebel.

Now I walk each day with a heavy right leg, numb from the knee down, cramping and dragging. My sciatic nerves flare like live wires. And isn’t it fitting that it’s the right side — the masculine side — that carries that weight?

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The Puzzle in Reverse

What makes it even clearer is how my body responded when the feminine finally had space.

In a relationship where I was able to soften, to surrender, to be in the passion seat instead of the control tower, my symptoms eased by 95%. My body felt alive, flowing, almost normal. When that ended, when heartbreak pulled me back into armour, micromanaging, controlling every detail, the symptoms returned.

It’s as if my body whispered: “See? This is who you are when the feminine is free. And this is what happens when you silence her again.”

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The Fear of Feeling

What terrifies me is actually letting the emotions come up. My worry isn’t about falling unconscious — it’s about my conscious mind, the one that has woken up from human conditioning. So i ask myself: “If I really let this out, will I lose the balance I’ve worked so hard to find? Will I lose the clarity I’ve built?”

But maybe that’s the old programming still whispering in disguise. Because when I really think about it, these reflections show me how deeply I am not under the system’s control anymore. I’m not talking about medication or interventions — I’m talking about learning the language of my own magnificent body.

This body is a self-healing machine. I know that in my bones. I just wasn’t given the manual. So here I am, learning to operate it as I go — discovering that every symptom, every flare, every heaviness is actually part of the instruction.

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Learning to Release Safely

So I am learning, gently, to give my feminine a voice again. To release in teaspoons instead of tidal waves:

Movement: dancing, shaking, stretching, letting my body speak without my mind interrupting.

Breathwork: breathing past the walls I’ve built, letting oxygen open what armour has closed.

Sound: humming, toning, even primal sounds that move emotion without words.

Tears: letting them fall as medicine, instead of holding them as weakness.

Creativity: writing, painting, journaling — any outlet that bypasses logic and taps the soul.

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What My Body Has Been Teaching Me

When I put all these puzzle pieces together, the message is unmistakable:

The feminine doesn’t disappear when I silence her; she rises through my sacral, through my pain, through my dis-ease.

The masculine doesn’t protect me when he over-controls; he burns out, short-circuits, and weighs me down.

Balance is not optional — it is survival.

And maybe most importantly:

Surrender is not the same as collapse.

Feeling is not the same as losing myself.

In truth, when I finally allow myself to feel, I don’t lose myself at all. Quite the opposite...