The Body as Referee

Score: 3 - 0

I laughed out loud when I saw that tweet, which

Juliane Bergmann

shared in her newsletter. It’s a reference to the ever-so-popular book ‘The Body Keeps the Score’ by Bessel van der Kolk, which spent more than 141 weeks in 2021 on The New York Times Bestseller List. 

I read the book a few years ago, and while I didn’t particularly love it, there are undeniable truths about the premise: our emotional and psychological experiences affect the body, which can manifest in the form of pain, illness or disease. Time and time again, I’ve seen this play out in my own life and yet I always need to relearn the lesson. 

Sometimes I wish the body wasn’t such an agile referee — handing out yellow and red cards for even the most minor transgressions. It never seems to take its eyes off the ball, and even when it doesn’t blow its whistle, it still makes note of our every move. 

While I can be resentful of its stubborn score-keeping, its keen awareness never ceases to astonish me. If the body didn’t give me clear signals, I would be oblivious to my own physical and emotional boundaries. In fact, I may forget that I have any limit at all. 

I wrote last week about going through my late father’s belongings as my family home was recently sold. I worked diligently, sorting through the many objects left behind. The process was bitter-sweet but I felt like the experience had gone smoothly. Or so I thought… I tend to still equate “handling things well” with not exhibiting a strong emotional response. But I’ve come to learn it’s often the opposite: what doesn’t show externally is bound to manifest internally. 

As we drove away from my childhood home, after spending two days sifting through dusty boxes, I started getting a headache. It was subtle at first so I brushed it off, blaming the humid heat, the dusty air, and a lack of water. By evening, my head was pounding and it felt like a spike was pushing through my forehead. My senses were overloaded and I had to turn off all lights and sounds, sitting in total darkness and stillness. The pain was so sharp that it made me throw up and I spent most of the night hunched over the toilet bowl.

I later learned that it wasn’t just a headache, but a migraine. Studies show that 80% of migraines are due to stress. I was surprised as I didn’t feel stressed, but the body often has a better sense of reality than the mind. 

A few days after that experience, I received a text message: our family dog was put down after a vet visit revealed a cancerous tumor had returned. A flood of emotions surfaced and a waterfall of tears came streaming down. It seemed a lot to bear in a week, yet cosmically fitting that it was happening all at once. I felt like I was standing on the shore of the present, watching a tsunami wash away all tethering to the past, losing all material connections to my late father. 

On the last day of my trip, I had coffee with a friend recounting my week. “Wow, that’s so much!” she exclaimed. “I guess it is…” I muttered. Sometimes, I don’t know how much is too much until someone else reflects it back to me. My tolerance for chaos is quite high so my stress barometer can be skewed. “I hope you take care of yourself and rest when you get back home,” my friend kindly suggested. I nodded in agreement.

But as soon as I returned to Los Angeles, I forgot her wise advice and dove back into a fever of activity. For the past few weeks, I’ve been working on a very special Seven Senses summer series, on a topic dear to my heart. The plan was to release it today, with a new edition published every week for the next month. Once that was completed, I would allow myself some time off at the end of August. 

“Oh the American way: work harder before allowing yourself a break!” my friend

Mason Currey

joked when I shared my publishing plan. 

I was determined to push through and get it done. So I woke up early each morning and stayed up late every evening, typing away and editing a series of audio interviews. The work entailed more hours than I anticipated but I was willing to stretch myself to accomplish the task I had set for myself.

When I have something in mind, I can be unstoppable. In some ways, diligence and determination are great qualities. But when taken to extremes, they can also become harmful traits. Like a train on tracks, it can be hard for me to change paths or take a sharp turn. Often friends will compliment me on my self-discipline, which is a necessary asset when you work for yourself. But what I struggle most with is self-flexibility: allowing myself to veer off my tightly-wound schedule. 

Crossing items off my to-do list brings me deep satisfaction. I tend to approach this newsletter with an editorial mindset (from my years working as a magazine features editor and content strategist). I love a calendar, a thematic approach, and a thoughtful curation. 

I never miss a deadline, and I pride myself on being reliable no matter the circumstances. It’s such an ingrained part of my identity that any action that doesn’t comply with that belief poses a real existential threat. It probably doesn’t help that this kind of behavior is rewarded and reinforced in our culture.

Even though I’ve written in the past about life’s plans often differing from our own, I’m faced again with an unexpected plot twist and reluctant choices to make. 

In many ways, the body made the decisions for me, by giving me clear signs in the form of exhaustion. The directive was also reinforced by every newsletter I read this week, including ‘Do You Overfunction or Underfunction?’ by

Elise Loehnen

; ‘Against "having it all"’ by

Rachel Katz

; ‘Life’s a Little Different Now’ by

Alex Olshonsky

and ‘The "No Days Off" Dingus’ by

Taylor Kay Phillips

(via

Men Yell at Me

). 

The message was clear: take a break. It’s not part of my perfectly laid out plans, but it’s what is needed. I’m coming to slowly accept the limits of my body (and mind). I’m also grateful for my friends and readers who have sent compassionate notes during this past week’s challenges, and who encouraged me to take some time off (including an “official” permission slip from

Anna Brones

).  

I know creativity benefits from pauses, and I look forward to sharing with you the summer series I’ve been working on. I don’t want to rush it, nor dampen it with a sense of exhaustion. I do believe that words aren’t just vehicles of language, but also carry our energy and intention. 

I’ll return for next month’s full moon edition, hopeful and invigorated. In the meantime, I invite you to explore the treasure-filled archive of Seven Senses. I’ve also included below a few past issues that feel relevant to today’s topic.

In Joy,

Sabrina

Wiggly Consistency

A Matter of Moments

Fast & Slow