Listening to My Body
A Letter of Gratitude and Healing
In our fast-paced lives, we often neglect the quiet wisdom our bodies hold. Every ache, every pang of tension, every restless moment is a message—our body’s way of speaking to us. Yet, too often, we ignore these signs, silencing our own bodies in favor of keeping up with the demands of the day.
This letter is my attempt to listen, to pause, and truly connect with the vessel that carries me through life. It’s a moment to honor the strength and resilience my body has shown, to acknowledge the burdens it has carried, and to offer it the love and rest it deserves. I invite you to read along and perhaps feel inspired to reconnect with your own body—a companion that has been with you through every high and low, asking only for care in return.
May this be a reminder for us all: our bodies deserve gratitude, compassion, and a moment of peace.
Dear Body,
I noticed you were wound so tightly today, like a coiled spring ready to release. Nothing was apparently wrong—at least, nothing my mind could point to. But you, my dear body, were vibrating with a silent urgency, a restlessness stirring in my bones. Darkness lay under the surface, whispering to be seen.
There were no obvious stressors, no immediate threats, yet I could feel you calling out to me. My back was tense, my leg bounced with the urgency of a hundred unspoken words. Your signals were impossible to ignore. They beat like a silent drum, rhythmic and visceral, demanding that I pay attention. And so, I stop to ask: Are you okay?
You’ve carried me so far through this world, shouldering life’s ups and downs with resilience. But am I truly caring for you? Am I showing you the love you deserve, the gratitude you are owed? You are a miracle—a part of the greatest gift I’ve ever received: life itself. I owe you this recognition. And I owe you my thanks.
How are you feeling?
You tell me, tense. And though I can’t put my finger on why, your tension is undeniable—evident in my shallow breaths, the ache that gathers in my head, the heavy fatigue that settles in my bones.
Could it have been a flare of an old wound in a recent exchange? Was it the weight of our inner critic who slipped in while I sat among brilliant minds, feeling unworthy of calling them “peer”? Or was it something deeper still—a young, unseen part of me, reaching out from within, her voice lodging itself deep in my marrow?
I suspect it may be all these things and more—echoes we’ve yet to uncover. But one truth stands out: you don’t deserve this.
You deserve to be at ease, to wander this world freely and fully. To savor the taste of matcha boba tea. To feel the Universe's embrace in a gentle breeze. To marvel at the vibrant colors of autumn leaves and bask in the symphony of everyday sounds.
And yet, you’ve absorbed my pain, sheltered me from trauma, carried what my mind couldn’t bear—at the cost of truly living, of truly being present.
So, today, I thank you. For being the vessel of my Self, for connecting me to the miracle of life itself. For all the years you stood guard, absorbing my hurts, bearing my burdens, holding my secrets in your very cells.
I made it here because of your strength, because of all you stored in your joints, your lungs, even your skin. But I no longer ask you to hold this weight.
From today forward, I promise to nourish you with regular, wholesome meals. To move with you, releasing tension as it builds. To sing and dance, letting creativity flow freely. To breathe deeply so we stay mindful. To walk slowly so we stay present.
Thank you for your sacrifices, for your endless patience, for carrying me this far. You can rest now.
Much love,
Jae