Why Your Body Knows First

It’s 11:43 PM on a Tuesday and I’m sitting on my bathroom floor with my back against the tub, lights off, just breathing. Not crying. Not praying. Just sitting. My phone is in the other room and I don’t want it. Something in my chest has been tight for six days straight and I keep telling myself it’s just the AC. It’s not the AC. I knew it wasn’t the AC before I even had a word for what it was.

That’s the thing nobody told me growing up. I thought feelings lived in my head. I thought if I could just think through something hard enough, I could outsmart it. Like my brain was a courtroom and my gut was a heckler in the back row. But my gut was right. My gut was right every single time. And every single time I ignored it, I ended up on this floor.

Let me tell you about Marcus. No — let me tell you about me and Marcus, because he doesn’t know he’s part of this. We dated for 11 months. From month three, something in my stomach would flip every time he was late. He worked in finance, he had late meetings, I got it. But my body kept saying something different from my mouth. My mouth said “no worries babe.” My shoulders said “something is off.” I remember one night — November 8th, I remember because it was his sister’s birthday — I was making pasta and my hands started shaking. Not because the stove was hot. Just shaking. I stared at them and thought, ok, what is this? And then he called to say he wouldn’t be over. And I knew. I knew before he even said it.

But did I listen? Lol. No. I finished the pasta. I ate it. I told myself I was being dramatic.

Listen, I know how this sounds. I’m not saying my body is a magic8-ball. I’m saying there were about forty moments in my twenties where my body tapped my shoulder and said “hey, pay attention to this,” and I said “not now, I’m busy,” and then three months later I’d be wrecked in some new way. Job I took when my stomach said no. Apartment I signed when my sleep went sideways. Friend I kept close when my chest got tight every time she texted.

My body knew first. It always knows first.

Why didn’t anyone teach us this? I’m serious. Think back. In school, did anyone ever say “hey, your stomach might be smarter than your brain sometimes”? They taught us the water cycle. They taught us how to find the hypotenuse. They taught us that mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. Cool. None of it helped me in2021 when I moved across the country for a guy and my back went out two weeks before the move. None of it helped me in February 2023 when I got the offer at the new job and my breath got shallow in the conference room and I told myself that was just excitement.

It wasn’t excitement. I knew. I knew it wasn’t excitement. But I signed anyway.

Okay here’s the part where I want to be honest about a counterpoint, because I’m not trying to sell you anything. Sometimes my body lies to me. Sometimes the tightness in my chest is just anxiety with no address attached. Sometimes the knot in my stomach is just too much oat milk. I have been to a therapist about this. She calls it “emotional granularity” — like, my body is firing signals but they don’t always come with captions. So no, I am not saying abandon your brain. I’m saying your body is talking over your brain and most of us never learned to hear it.

How do you even hear it? That’s the part that took me years. You slow down. You stop narrating. You let a feeling sit for like90 seconds without slapping a story on it. I started doing this in the shower because the shower was the only place I couldn’t reach my phone. Just me and the water and whatever was floating around in my chest. The first month I hated it. The second month I cried almost every time. The third month I started noticing things.

Like — my jaw clenches when I’m pretending to be okay. Did you know that about yourself? Try it right now. Where is your jaw? Probably tight. Mine is tight as I’m writing this. Where are your shoulders? Where is your breath? Probably shallow.

It’s not woo-woo. It’s just noticing.

Here’s the part I want to write down so I don’t forget later. Three concrete things my body told me this year that turned out to be true.

One: in March, I had a coffee meeting with someone I was supposed to collaborate with. Halfway through the latte my hands went cold. Not cold like temperature. Cold like metal. I made an excuse and left after forty minutes. Two weeks later he was arrested for fraud and everyone in that circle had to do interviews. My body knew. My body knew before the news, before his Instagram went dark, before anyone texted the group chat.

Two: in May, my best friend of fifteen years asked if I wanted to go in on a rental property together. I love her. I love her like a sister. The second she said the words, my left shoulder froze up. Not metaphorically. I couldn’t rotate it for two days. I told her I needed to think. She took someone else. They’re now in a six-month lawsuit. My body knew.

Three: last week. I was at a work dinner and someone across the table said something kind. It was a normal kind thing. And I felt my whole face flush and my eyes water. Not sad. Not happy. Just something moving through. I went home and didn’t sleep because I kept thinking about it. What was that? Three days later I figured it out — it was the first time in years someone had said something kind about me without wanting anything. My body registered it before my brain could explain it.

I don’t know what to do with these stories except put them down. I’m not trying to build a brand around gut feelings. I’m not selling a course. I’m just telling you what happened, because I spent thirty years thinking my body was a mess and the last three years realizing my body was the only thing in my life paying attention.

There’s this line from a book I read in college — I barely remember the book, sorry — something like “the body keeps the score.” I never understood it then. I get it now. I get it on this floor, with the lights off, breathing slow.

Okay, I’ll be honest about one more thing. Sometimes I still ignore it. Last weekend my friend wanted me to go to a work party where I’d know no one. My stomach said no. My mouth said yes. I went. I had a panic attack in the bathroom at10:14 PM. Came home in an Uber at 11:00. Texted her “sorry I felt sick.” I’m not a finished product. I’m not enlightened. I’m just someone who is trying to listen better than I used to.

You want to know something funny? My dog knows. I have a rescue named Pinto, eleven years old, half beagle half something unidentifiable. When I’m spiraling, Pinto comes and sits on my feet. Not always. Not when I’m just tired. Only when something is actually wrong. The vet told me dogs can smell cortisol. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s just reading my sweat. I don’t care. He’s right. He’s always right. He sat on my feet the night before Marcus told me he didn’t want to be together. He sat on my feet the morning I found out my dad was sick. He sat on my feet last Tuesday when I started writing this piece.

He knows first too.

I keep thinking about a question my therapist asked me last spring. She said “when was the last time you trusted your body completely?” I said I didn’t know. She said “try it for one decision this week, just one.” I picked something small. Coffee order. I let my body pick. Cold brew, even though I wanted a latte. My body was right. The cold brew was better.

I’m not saying drink cold brew. I’m saying trust the small things first. Then the medium things. Then the big things. That’s the work. That’s the only work.

I think the reason nobody talks about this is because it doesn’t fit in a productivity hack. You can’t optimize your gut. You can’t schedule it on your calendar. You just have to slow down long enough to hear it, and most of us are too busy performing our lives to do that.

But you already know this, don’t you? You’ve felt it. That moment when your stomach dropped before the bad news. That moment when your skin prickled before the right person walked into the room. That moment when your chest opened up before you even knew you were hoping. Your body knew first. It always knows first.

I’m going to bed now. Pinto’s snoring on the rug. The tightness in my chest has been gone for an hour. I didn’t fix it. I just stopped arguing with it.

Goodnight.