When I Listen to My Body

I am out for a walk because my stomach is too full.

Not pleasantly full. Not satisfied.

Overfilled.

I feel like a stuffed turkey about to explode.

I ate before I was hungry. I kept eating after my body had already whispered, That’s enough.

I didn’t stop at two-thirds full.

I know better.

I teach this.

I talk about listening to the body all the time, and yet here I am again.

But maybe that’s the point.

Knowing and doing are not always the same thing.

One meal doesn’t change my life. Two meals don’t either. But when these moments happen more often, I know where they lead. Less movement. More discomfort. More weight. More frustration.

In Ayurveda, we often say that stress can become disease.

Today I realize another truth.

Ignoring my body is stressful.

I’m out for a walk, trying to walk it off, but suddenly I catch myself.

Am I walking because I enjoy moving my body?

Or am I walking to punish myself?

There’s a difference.

One is self-care.

The other is self-abuse.

And I don’t want to abuse myself anymore.

As I walk, ugly thoughts begin to appear.

I have no confidence.

I feel unattractive.

Nobody could love me.

The thoughts become louder than the discomfort in my stomach.

Maybe this is where the overeating begins. Maybe it isn’t hunger at all.

Maybe it’s the desire to fill an emptiness that food was never meant to fill.

Then another thought arrives.

My husband accepts me exactly as I am.

Perhaps it’s time I begin doing the same.

I already know what to do.

Slow down.

Wait for hunger.

Listen to my body.

Just because someone else is eating, or because food smells delicious, doesn’t mean I have to participate.

I want to build a life where movement is simply part of living.

I think of the people who live long, healthy lives. Their activity is woven into their day. They walk, garden, move, and live naturally.

Their life is their exercise.

That is what I’m striving for.

Not extremes.

Not punishment.

Not perfection.

Balance.

Tomorrow is another day.

I get to try again.

And maybe that’s all life really is.

Listening.

Forgetting.

Remembering.

And gently returning to the body, over and over again.