Why Can't I Trust Myself? Learning to Trust Your Body Through Somatics

For years, I wrote the same sentence in my journal.

"I don't trust myself."

At first, I thought it meant I didn't trust my decisions. But over time I realized that there was something deeper happening with my body and I couldn't decode what it was.

I didn't trust my body.

Living with PMDD meant my life unfolded in cycles. Every month I would count the days I had before the symptoms arrived. Rage would appear seemingly out of nowhere. Grief would crash over me without warning. My womb would ache and burn constantly. Anxiety, exhaustion and despair would wax and wane with my cycle, leaving me feeling as though I was being thrown against wild waves I had no control over.

For decades, I lived at the mercy of those tides.

Anyone who lives with PMDD understands that ticking clock. You begin calculating how much of the month belongs to you before wondering when your symptoms will return.

Alongside PMDD, I also navigated fibromyalgia. A poor night's sleep. Too much social interaction. Staying out too long. Conflict in a relationship. Being too cold for too long. Any one of these could trigger a flare.

When it happened, I would retreat into bed. I would cancel plans, pull away from the world, and wait. Sometimes it took days. Sometimes weeks before my body felt like mine again.

After years of living this way, I stopped trusting myself because I never knew what my body would do next and I didn't understand why it was constantly in turmoil.

Retrieval by Ashley Blanton

When Your Body Feels Like the Enemy

One of the hardest parts of chronic symptoms is the relationship they create with your body.

Every sensation becomes something to fear.

Every emotion becomes something to question.

Every decision is filtered through uncertainty.

Can I commit to dinner?

Will I have enough energy tomorrow?

Is this feeling real, or is it just my hormones?

There's a constant erosion of trust when your body feels continuously unpredictable.

I spent years believing my body was betraying me.

What I didn't yet understand was that my body had never stopped trying to communicate with me.

Understanding that now, kind of breaks my heart.

Somatics Changed Everything

Unlike many of the other modalities or healing I sought out, somatics didn't ask me to control or even change my body.

It showed me how to listen.

Slowly, I began developing what we call interoception—the ability to notice and understand what is happening inside your body.

Rather than seeing symptoms as enemies to fight, I became curious about them.

What were they trying to tell me?

What had I ignored?

Where had I abandoned myself?

Over time, I discovered something profound.

Many of my symptoms weren't random at all. They often appeared after I had ignored my own limits, pushed through exhaustion, silenced difficult emotions, or overridden my intuition.

I started to understand that my body was never trying to punish me or betray me, it was only asking for my attention.

The Feelings We Were Never Allowed to Feel

Most of us were never taught how to listen to ourselves.

We were taught how to behave.

Be good.

Be quiet.

Don't yell.

Don't cry.

Don't be difficult.

Especially for people who are raised female, emotions like anger were treated as unacceptable. Sadness made other people uncomfortable. Fear was dismissed. We learned to become agreeable long before we learned to become honest.

Pretty quickly, most of us stopped asking ourselves how we actually felt.

But emotions don't disappear just because they're inconvenient.

They are biological and psychological signals.

Like notifications on your phone, they're constantly providing information about what matters to you, what feels safe, what feels threatening, and what needs your attention.

There are no "good" emotions or "bad" emotions.

There is only information.

When we repeatedly silence those internal notifications, our bodies often find louder ways to get our attention.

For some people that may look like chronic muscle tension, digestive issues, headaches, fatigue, or persistent pain.

For me it was cyclical distress and constant myofascial pain.

While these conditions can have other contributing factors, often ongoing stress and nervous system dysregulation are at their center.

Your Body Expresses What You Cannot

One of the ideas that transformed my relationship with pain is this:

Your symptom may be both communication and protection.

Our nervous systems are constantly asking one question:

"Am I safe?"

If your brain perceives that expressing anger, grief, fear or boundaries isn't safe, those protective patterns engage.

The nervous system adapts.

Stress responses become chronic.

Muscles stay contracted.

Inflammation may increase.

Digestion changes.

Sleep becomes disrupted.

The body prepares to survive the danger it believes is present.

Your nervous system is simply trying to protect you using the strategies it knows best.

We Are Not Responsible for the First Arrow

When I work with people living with chronic pain or illness, I often return to a teaching from Buddhism known as the second arrow.

The first arrow is the pain itself.

Perhaps you wake up with a migraine.

Perhaps your back goes into spasm.

Perhaps a wave of grief suddenly arrives.

You didn't choose that, it is simply a response, a signal.

The second arrow is everything that comes after.

"I've ruined another day."

"I'm letting everyone down."

"My body is broken."

"I'll never get better."

The first arrow may be unavoidable.

But the second is not. This is where we get to choose to relate to our experience in a new way.

Can we meet our pain with curiosity instead of criticism?

Can we ask, "What do you need?" instead of "What's wrong with you?"

With practice and over time, that shift changes everything.

Learning the Language of the Body

As our interoceptive awareness grows, something remarkable begins to happen.

Sensations become stories.

A tight chest becomes the memory of never feeling safe to speak.

A clenched jaw becomes years of swallowed anger.

A heavy stomach becomes the grief that never had permission to move.

Often in sessions, when we follow a sensation it leads us back to its origin.

This is the exquisite intelligence of the body.

We are never forcing memories to appear, but when the body is safe and attuned to it can begin to remember what the mind learned to forget.

We get to meet the younger version of ourselves that we left behind.

We get to sit with them and hear what they once wanted to say:

"I'm scared."

"I need help."

"Please don't leave."

"No."

But couldn't.

By finally listening we begin a process of healing.

Every time we allow an emotion to be felt rather than suppressed, we teach our nervous system something new:

You are safe with me now.

Over time, the body begins to trust that relationship.

When We Don't Say No, Our Body Often Says It For Us

My body continues to teach me this:

When I don't honor my boundaries, eventually my body will create one.

Fatigue.

Pain.

Illness.

Overwhelm.

Often that symptom is the boundary I wasn't able to set myself.

Trust Is Built Through Listening

Today, my relationship with my body is almost unrecognisable from what it once was.

I rarely experience symptoms, but when they arise, I no longer immediately assume my body is betraying me.

I pause.

I close my eyes.

I notice what is happening inside me.

Sometimes I'll move through a somatic practice.

More often than not, I discover something I hadn't yet acknowledged.

A conversation I needed to have.

A boundary I had ignored.

Grief I hadn't allowed myself to feel.

Fear that simply wanted to be witnessed.

The symptom becomes less of an enemy and more of an invitation.

Over time, this creates trust, something I never thought would be possible for me.

The Relationship You've Been Looking For Is Already Inside You

So many of us spend years searching outside ourselves for the answer.

The next practitioner.

The next supplement.

The next diagnosis.

Sometimes those supports are absolutely necessary.

But alongside them, there is another relationship waiting to be rebuilt.

The relationship with yourself.

The answers to our suffering are often hidden within the suffering itself, usually carrying information we tried to ignore.

When we slow down enough to listen, with compassion instead of fear, our bodies begin to speak in a language we can finally understand.

Self-trust isn't something you find. It's something you practise.

Every time you pause.Every time you honour a boundary.Every time you allow yourself to feel instead of suppress.

Your body learns something new.

"I don't have to shout anymore. You're finally listening."

3 Gentle Ways to Begin Trusting Your Body Again

Healing your relationship begins by becoming someone your body can trust.

Like any relationship, trust is built through consistency, curiosity and care. Here are three simple places to begin.

1. Pause before you problem-solve

The next time you notice discomfort—whether it's tension, fatigue, anxiety or pain—see if you can resist the urge to immediately make it disappear.

Instead, pause.

Take a slow breath and ask yourself:

What am I noticing right now?

See if you can track where in your body that experience is living.

What might my body be trying to communicate?

You don't need to find the "right" answer. The practice is simply learning to stay present with yourself instead of immediately abandoning your experience, or even worse having fear over the experience.

2. Meet your emotions with curiosity, not judgement

Many of us have spent a lifetime believing certain emotions are unacceptable.

Anger means you're difficult.

Sadness means you're weak.

Fear means something is wrong with you.

But emotions are not character flaws—they're just information.

The next time a strong emotion arises, try replacing "I shouldn't feel this" with "This feeling is information."

You don't have to act on every emotion, but you can learn to listen to what it's trying to protect or point you towards.

3. Ask your body before saying yes

One of the simplest ways to rebuild trust is to include your body in everyday decisions.

Before agreeing to something, pause for a moment.

Notice what happens inside you.

Does your breath soften or become shallow?

Do you feel spacious or contracted?

Does your body lean towards the experience, or away from it?

Over time, these small moments of listening teach your nervous system something incredibly important:

My needs matter.

Every time you honour one of those quiet signals—even in a small way—you strengthen the relationship you're building with yourself.

Trust isn't rebuilt through one profound breakthrough.

It's built through hundreds of tiny moments where your body says, "Can you hear me?" and you gently answer,

"Yes."

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