Listening To My Body: The Best Discipline I Know

Awareness, Emotional Health, Mental Health, Stress, Support

March 6, 2026

Two dogs resting together on a beige blanket in a cozy living room. A grey pit bull is lying down with its head on the blanket, and a black‑and‑white Boston terrier is beside it looking at the camera. The background shows a lived‑in space with a couch, blankets, and shelves.

I used to move on a Saturday and have everything done by Monday. And by everything, I mean pictures hung, drawers organized, everything nice and tidy…

Because I don’t do well when things aren’t in their place. A disorganized environment equals a very disorganized mind in my case.

Since back surgery, that process looks different. I want everything done – but my body says otherwise!

And those of you who have followed my journey know that I always listen to my body. Always.

Because there’s a price to pay when I don’t. Or when you don’t.

When Pain Arrives Quietly

Here’s the deal.

Pain doesn’t usually announce itself with fireworks. It creeps in. Quiet. Manageable at first. A whisper that says, you’re fine, keep going. That’s how Sunday started. Midday, before I was even out of the old house, my back began to tighten. By the time I arrived at the new house, I was in full-blown agony.

It’s Wednesday as I write this. I’ve hardly eaten. I’ve been in survival mode. Ice. Muscle relaxers. Trying to find a position that doesn’t feel like electricity shooting through my spine. I didn’t sleep at all Sunday. I got some sleep Monday. Tuesday night, with the help of ice and medication, I finally slept.

But pain does more than hurt.

It narrows your world. It shrinks your focus to one thing: make this stop.

When you’re in pain, you are not thinking clearly. Your nervous system is lit up. Your brain is not operating from wisdom. It is operating from threat. From urgency. From ‘make it through the next minute.’

And when we are in that state, we are vulnerable.

Not just physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually.

The Quieter Forms Of Self-Harm

March is Self-harm awareness month, which is often framed around visible behaviors like cutting or burning. And these are absolutely important to address. But what if we broaden the lens?

What if we also talk about the quieter ways we harm ourselves?

Ignoring pain.
Pushing through when our body is screaming.
Withholding food because we are too busy or too overwhelmed.
Refusing to rest because the boxes are still unpacked.
Shaming ourselves for not functioning the way we used to.
Measuring today’s capacity against a version of ourselves that existed before surgery, before loss, before trauma.

That, too, is self-harm.

Not in the dramatic sense. Not in the way that makes headlines. But in the slow erosion of self-trust.

As a widow, as someone who has been on an operating table and never wants to go back, I know the cost of ignoring warning signs. I know what it feels like to wake up and realize your body has been carrying more than it can hold.

And yet, even with that knowledge, the old wiring still exists. The part of me that wants it all done. The part that equates productivity with safety. The part that believes if the house is settled, then I am, too.

What Pain Reveals About Worth And Identity

Pain interrupts that illusion.

It forces you to slow down. And slowing down can feel threatening when your identity has been built on strength and endurance.

But here is what pain also does: it tells the truth.

It tells you what your limits are today. Not last year. Not before surgery. Not before grief carved its way through your life. Today.

Listening to your body is not weakness. It is discipline. It is self-respect. It is the opposite of self-harm.

The most dangerous thing we do when we are hurting is pretend we are not.

Because when we override pain, we don’t just risk physical setbacks. We risk resentment. Irritability. Emotional reactivity. We risk snapping at the people we love. We risk making mistakes because we can’t concentrate due to our pain. We risk isolating because it feels easier than explaining. We risk believing the lie that we are failing because we cannot function at 100 percent.

Pain changes everything because it exposes what we have built our identity on.

If your worth is tied to output, pain will feel like an enemy.
If your worth is tied to resilience, pain will feel like betrayal.
If your worth is tied to independence, pain will feel humiliating.

But if your worth is inherent, pain becomes information.

Information that says: rest.

Information that says: nourish yourself.

Information that says: ask for help.

Information that says: this is not the season for proving anything.

Choosing Healing

This week has not looked the way I would choose. The boxes are still here. The walls are not decorated. The house does not feel finished.

But I am not on an operating table.

I am not ignoring my body.

I am not pretending I can push through without consequence.

And that matters.

During self-harm awareness month, my invitation is this: pay attention to the subtle ways you abandon yourself. Notice where you override your own needs to meet expectations. Catch the moment when exhaustion whispers and you answer with “just one more thing.”

Pain will come. Physical. Emotional. Situational.

The question is not whether we can eliminate it. The question is whether we will compound it.

Will we respond with compassion or criticism?
With nourishment or neglect?
With patience or punishment?

Listening to your body is an act of protection. Resting is an act of resistance. Eating when you do not feel like it is an act of care. Leaving the pictures unhung is sometimes an act of survival.

Pain may creep in quietly, but how we respond to it determines what it changes.

This week, it changed my pace.

It did not change my commitment to healing.

And that is the difference.

Tune In With Me

If you want to keep this kind of conversation going, come hang out with me on the podcast.

Tuesdays are just you and me… real talk, honest reflections, the things we’re all navigating but don’t always say out loud.

And on Fridays, I bring in guests who show up with their own stories, wisdom, and lived experience. It’s a space to feel seen, supported, and a little less alone.

Tune In Tuesdays
Watch It Live Fridays


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