When the Body Learns It’s Safe

(written from a live recording moment of integration)

The mind doesn’t really know where to start on this one. My sinuses are blocked, my voice sounds heavy, and I’m breathing through the body, feeling every inch of it ache and open at once. Maybe that’s exactly where it starts, in the mess, in the congestion, in the body that’s still learning it’s safe.

(The awakening experience in) March was beautiful, a full, present, life-filling moment. But what followed was shedding. Layers of identity and thought patterns I didn’t realize I was gripping so tightly. There was spaciousness for months, seeing everything through clarity: relationships, money, family, friends. It all unfolded through presence. But now, life’s asking for something deeper, the integration of awareness into the places that still hold a tighter grip.

These are the old ones. The ones that are multi-layered, protective, loud. The body is the teacher here.

The miscarriage a month ago was an initiation into the body. Into listening. Into feeling. Into trusting. It showed me something I’d forgotten, that I don’t need to manage the body. She’s brilliant on her own, without my mind interfering. That moment opened something but it also started unraveling eight years of not listening, of overriding her signals, of choosing distraction instead of presence. Not out of ignorance simply because I didn’t yet have the awareness I do now.

Now the awareness is here, but the patterns are still unwinding. The body’s learning to trust what the mind used to control. And that’s fucking hard sometimes.

I see the patterns still playing out like drinking and taking drugs in social settings. It’s what I’ve done for years. At first, it was about belonging, then about fitting in, then about numbing the emotional heaviness of life because I feel so damn deeply. These days, it’s less about story and more about familiarity. The body’s used to stimulation. It doesn’t know peace yet. It’s been trained to seek relief, to chase the next high or the next connection, because silence once felt like emptiness like being left alone with all that’s unprocessed.

Now I can see the thoughts that used to pull me in that direction you deserve a break, everyone else is doing it, you’ve had a big week. But those thoughts aren’t even there anymore. It’s just this raw body reaction. It moves before the mind even speaks. That’s how deep the pattern runs.

And I can feel the truth of it, this body hasn’t felt peace in a long, long time. She doesn’t trust stillness yet. Even though she’s tasted it those moments after awakening, when everything was pure, magical, spacious, the body’s still catching up to that truth. It’s like awareness is standing here, wide open, saying you’re safe now, while the body trembles, still remembering what it felt like to have to hold it all.

So I speak gently to her: You’ve done a fucking good job. You held me through everything, every heartbreak, every mistake, every night I needed to escape. When I couldn’t process it, you did. You held it all for me. And now, you can rest. Awareness can hold it now. Life itself can hold it.

The old way - the body gripping, controlling, storing - isn’t sustainable anymore. The body isn’t meant to carry the weight of emotional survival. She’s meant to express. To dance. To feel. To love. To move as life itself. Consciousness can hold all of it now, the grief, the care, the emotion, even other people’s projections and release it in moments. It’s not the body’s job anymore.

And yet, there’s still this voice can’t we be done with this pattern already? can’t we move on?  but the truth is, it’s not about rushing the process. It’s about loving the exhaustion too. Because it is exhausting this integration, this rewiring of trust. It’s tiring to keep feeling everything. But that’s how the old way dissolves through feeling.

And under all of it, there’s this ache to connect. That old pull toward people, toward being understood. But I’m starting to see connection doesn’t depend on who can meet me in awareness. It’s about meeting life as it is, at any level. Awareness doesn’t need matching. It just holds. It allows. It meets life in whatever form it arrives.

The body’s been trying to keep me safe this whole time. That’s what all the control and craving were. Safety. Belonging. Love. She’s learning now that safety isn’t out there. It’s right here, in this stillness that once felt unbearable.

And I know now I don’t need anything outside of her, I don’t need to fix her. I just need to listen. To let her tremble, breathe, release, rest.

Because she’s safe now.

And she knows it.

Even if she’s still learning how to trust it.