Your Body Is Not Meant to Survive This World — It Is Meant to Feel It
Dear friend,
Your body was never designed for numbness.
It was designed for sensation.
For breath. For tremble. For pleasure. For grief. For pulse.
Before there were words, there was feeling. Before there was meaning, there was sensation. Before there was “sense,” there was the body registering what was real.
The universe still speaks to us this way.
Through tightening. Through softening. Through heat, ache, longing, relief. Through the quiet yes that lives in your chest and the subtle no that curls in your belly.
Yet we live in a world that trains us to leave this language behind.
When the news never stops. When fear is everywhere.
When injustice feels endless. When our feeds are designed to flood us with outrage, comparison, and distraction…
We brace.
We go up into our minds. We tense our shoulders.
We hold our breath. We scroll. And without ever deciding to, we slip out of our bodies.
This is how survival replaces aliveness.
Not because we are weak. But because our nervous systems are trying to keep us safe inside a culture that constantly overwhelms them.
And yet — even here — something in you keeps pulsing.
Something in you keeps breathing. Something in you still wants to feel.
That is not naïve. That is not fragile. That is life. Here is the truth most systems do not want you to remember:
Aliveness is an act of resistance.
Not loud resistance. Not performative resistance. Not productivity-based resistance.
But the quiet, radical act of staying inside your body when everything around you is telling you to harden, numb, and disappear.
When you breathe instead of freeze.
When you feel instead of shut down.
When you soften instead of collapse.
That is not weakness. That is power.
Because numb people are easy to control. Disconnected people are easy to manipulate. Bodies that have forgotten how to feel are easy to exploit.
But a body that is present—that can feel grief, pleasure, anger, tenderness, longing—is a body that knows what matters.
A body that can feel is a body that can sense what is wrong. A body that can feel is a body that can sense what is true. A body that can feel is a body that cannot be easily convinced to abandon itself.
Your nervous system is not broken.
It is responding to a world that keeps demanding you go numb in order to survive it.
And still—you keep breathing. You keep aching. You keep longing. You keep loving.
That is not failure. That is aliveness insisting.
So wherever you are as you read this, I invite you into something small and radical.
A hand on your chest. A slow exhale. A moment of noticing.
Not to fix yourself. Not to optimize yourself. Not to become better. But to come back.
To sensation. To breath. To the quiet truth of being here.
Because feeling is how you come home.
And coming home to your body is how you remember who you are.
With you in this remembering,
Practice Postscript
Where the letter stops being read and starts being lived
This practice is not about doing more.
It’s about returning to what is already here.
Tonight, place one hand on your chest and one on your belly.
Let your eyes soften or close. Take three slow breaths — not to calm yourself, but to arrive.
Then gently ask your body: “What am I feeling right now?”
Not what you think. Not what you should feel. What you actually feel. Name it quietly: tight, heavy, warm, restless, tender, numb, alive, tired, open.
There is no wrong answer.
Let that sensation be here for 30 seconds without trying to change it.
This is how aliveness rebuilds.
This is how truth begins to speak again.
You can repeat this practice any time you notice yourself disappearing — into your phone, your thoughts, or your obligations.
A simple breath. A hand. A return.
And if you are ready to go deeper — not alone, not guessing — I would be honored to walk with you.
You don’t have to navigate your nervous system, your longing, or your next chapter by yourself.
If you want support that is grounded, somatic, and deeply attuned, you’re welcome to book a complimentary Discovery Call with me.
It’s not a sales pitch — it’s a space to be met and to explore what kind of support would actually nourish you this year.
