Your body remembers what your mind tries to forget.

Have you ever noticed…

How heartbreak sits in your chest.

How anxiety lives in your shoulders.

How anger tightens your throat.

How fear knots your stomach.

We say “gut feeling”, “heartache”, “weight on my shoulders” like metaphors…

But they’re not just metaphors.

They’re messages.

Your body speaking in the only language it knows: sensation.

Tightness. Heaviness. Pressure. Pain.

Not to punish you.

But to tell you something your mind might not be ready to hear yet.

 

Sometimes we don’t yell back

We don’t slam the door.

We don’t defend the boundary.

We swallow it down because the moment doesn’t feel safe — and the body holds what the voice couldn’t say.

The confrontation you avoided.

The grief you couldn’t express.

The anger you were taught was unacceptable.

The fear you had to push through to survive.

Your body took it. Stored it. Carried it for you.

Because that’s what bodies do.

They protect. They adapt. They hold space for what we’re not yet ready to process.

 

This is not a failure

This is your nervous system doing its best to protect you.

And now, as life slows…

As you create space…

As you finally have room to breathe…

You’re allowed to listen.

You’re allowed to stretch the places that have been holding the story.

You’re allowed to feel without apologizing.

You’re allowed to cry for no reason you can name.

You’re allowed to shake. To soften. To release what’s been locked in your tissues for years.

 

Healing isn’t always about fixing the past

Sometimes it’s just about hearing your body say:

“I’ve been holding this for you. Are you ready now?”

Ready to feel it.

To honor it.

To let it move through instead of staying stuck.

Not to analyze or understand or make sense of.

Just to witness.

To place a gentle hand on your chest and say: Thank you. I’m here now. You’re safe.

Because your body has been speaking all along.

In the tension you carry.

In the exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.

In the places that ache for no medical reason.

In the tears that come when you finally slow down.

It’s not weakness.

It’s not brokenness.

It’s memory, waiting to be heard.

 

If you’re ready to slow down enough to listen — to your body, your emotions, your deeper knowing — I’d be honored to support you.

Start here: https://slow-secrets-tribe.kit.com/starthere

A gentle space for presence, release, and the sacred work of coming home to yourself.

No rush. No force. Just permission to feel, to soften, and to finally let your body rest.

— Julie 🫶