Post 3 - Learning to Listen to my Body

The past few years I’ve had a lot of good days and more wins than losses when it comes to my relationship with anxiety. The Pandemic was a huge hurdle for me to overcome but with lots of therapy, tools, and resources I am grateful for where I am today in my journey. Nonetheless, if I’m honest, every time I think I’m healed in one area, it clears the way for even more healing in another area.

Recently, I had a revelation about myself. People often commend me for my strength and resilience in the face of adversity. They remark on how well I handle unexpected challenges, seemingly unphased. However, internally, I am far from composed; I am struggling.

On my weekend walks, I listen to podcasts and audiobooks, often drawn to discussions on anxiety. The recurring theme is the expansive mental space anxiety occupies. It has been challenging for me to stay present when my mind is preoccupied with potential future catastrophes. At times, it has felt like living in a perpetual state of emergency preparedness. This continuous state of vigilance can be exhausting, and it takes a toll on my ability to live fully in the present. That is why this year, I challenged myself to be more present and, in my body, but I must admit, I’ve quickly realized how often I’m not.

My constant worry makes it hard to fully engage in the moment. Instead, I find myself incessantly planning for every conceivable outcome. The saying "stop and smell the roses" isn’t always easy for me because as I walk past life's beauty, my senses can get dulled by anxiety. In fact, I even created a practice for myself on my walks to stop and take a picture of something beautiful, just to slow my brain down. There are times when I am consumed by fears—what if a loved one is harmed, what if there is a natural disaster, what if a health concern is dire, what if I lose my job or home, or what if a medication causes a severe reaction? The "what ifs" are endless, perpetuating my need for contingency plans.

Despite all this, people often see me as strong, unaware that by the time an unexpected event happens, I’ve already rehearsed so many scenarios in my mind that I’ve become numb to the present moment. I think to myself, “Well, you should have seen the version I imagined in my head.” When the actual event occurs, it’s hard to attach because I'm not fully present at that moment.  It’s like I’ve desensitized myself in the worst possible way. It’s a significant shift to challenge this lifelong habit and start experiencing life differently. Learning to breathe and become aware of what’s happening inside my body in real-time, whether eating a sandwich, speaking with someone, driving somewhere, working, or sitting quietly, meditating—can be a revelation. It’s shocking how much our minds wander away from our bodies, especially when filled with anxious thoughts.

What I have come to understand is that my strength does not lie in being numb to my body's signals. My true strength is reflected in my ability to rise every day and give my best effort, even when I feel detached. I confront the challenges posed by my anxiety with honesty, curiosity, humor, and creativity. Some days this means staying in bed, while on other days, I might round up the energy to hike five miles. The essence of my journey is about showing up each day and truly listening to my body.

Wishing you love, light, and a life filled with authenticit-E.

Estella