Last week, we talked about advice. All those well-intentioned suggestions, recommendations and little nuggets of wisdom that come our way, and how something can be absolutely wonderful advice without necessarily being the right advice for us.
And I’ve been thinking about that conversation ever since, because there’s another side to it that I think is worth exploring.
What happens when we stop listening quite so closely to everybody else’s opinions and begin paying a little more attention to our own?
Because I wonder how often we go looking for answers to things that, somewhere underneath all the noise and busyness of everyday life, we already have a fairly good idea about.
We know we’re exhausted, but instead of allowing ourselves to rest, we search for ways to improve our energy. We know our working days are too full, but rather than looking at what we might be able to put down, we read another article about time management. We know that certain situations leave us feeling uncomfortable, that particular relationships require more from us than they give back, or that we’ve been quietly craving something different for a while, but instead of exploring those feelings, we find ourselves asking everybody else what they think we should do.
And sometimes, of course, we’re genuinely looking for information or a different perspective. We want to make a thoughtful decision, understand our options or benefit from somebody else’s experience, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
But sometimes I wonder whether we’re looking for something else entirely.
Permission, perhaps.
Permission to rest. To change direction. To want something different. To stop doing something that no longer feels right. To make a decision that other people might not understand, or to admit that something we’ve spent years working towards isn’t actually making us particularly happy.
And perhaps that’s where things become interesting, because there’s a difference between not knowing what we need and not feeling able to give ourselves what we need.
I think many of us have spent so long being sensible, responsible, helpful and accommodating that we’ve become rather good at explaining away our own feelings. We can find perfectly reasonable arguments for why we should carry on doing something, even when a quieter part of us has been asking for change for quite some time.
So this Monday, I’d love us to have a gentle conversation about that quieter part of ourselves. The one that doesn’t always speak in clear sentences or arrive with a beautifully organised plan, but that might have been trying to get our attention for longer than we realise.
When did we stop trusting what we know about ourselves?
I don’t think most of us consciously decide to stop listening to ourselves. It’s something that can happen gradually, through all the ordinary experiences of being human and learning how to fit into the world around us.
As children, we begin to discover which parts of ourselves are welcomed and which are less convenient. We learn when to be quiet, when to be helpful, when to try harder and when to put somebody else’s needs first. Some of those lessons are useful, of course, because learning to live alongside other people involves consideration, compromise and understanding that we can’t always have everything our own way.
But sometimes we become so accomplished at considering everybody else that we forget to include ourselves in the conversation.
Perhaps you grew up in a family where keeping the peace was important, so you became very good at noticing what everybody else needed and adjusting yourself accordingly. Perhaps you were praised for being capable, independent or easy-going, and somewhere along the way you began to believe that needing help, changing your mind or admitting something was too much might disappoint people.
Or perhaps life simply became busy. There were children to look after, jobs to do, relationships to maintain, bills to pay and all the practical demands that come with being an adult. You got used to doing what needed to be done, often without stopping to wonder how you actually felt about it.
None of this means you’ve lost the ability to understand yourself. But it might mean you’ve become more accustomed to listening to the louder voices around you than the quieter one within.
And I think this can become particularly noticeable as we move through different stages of life.
The things that mattered enormously to us at twenty-five might not hold quite the same appeal at forty-five or sixty-five. Our bodies change, our relationships evolve, our responsibilities shift and our understanding of what makes a good life becomes a little more personal.
Sometimes the changes happen gradually, and sometimes they arrive rather suddenly, perhaps through illness, menopause, loss, a relationship ending or simply reaching a point where we realise we don’t want to spend the next twenty years living exactly as we have been.
We can find ourselves questioning things we’ve never questioned before, and that can feel surprisingly unsettling.
Because when we’ve spent years being a particular version of ourselves, it can take a little courage to acknowledge that we might be becoming somebody slightly different.
But perhaps that’s not something to be frightened of.
Perhaps it’s something to become curious about.
Your body has been part of the conversation all along
One of the things I find endlessly fascinating about working with the body is how much of our experience exists beyond the words we use to describe it.
We tend to think of knowing ourselves as something that happens in our minds. We reflect, analyse, weigh things up, make lists of advantages and disadvantages, talk things through and try to arrive at a sensible conclusion.
And all of that can be incredibly useful.
But our bodies are participating in those experiences too.
Think about how you feel when you’re with somebody whose company you genuinely enjoy. Perhaps your shoulders soften, your breathing becomes easier, you find yourself laughing without thinking about it or suddenly realise that two hours have passed without you once looking at the clock.
Now think about how you might feel when you’re anticipating a difficult conversation, walking into an environment where you don’t feel particularly comfortable or agreeing to something you really don’t want to do.
Perhaps your stomach tightens, your jaw becomes tense, your breathing changes or you notice a heaviness that wasn’t there a few minutes earlier.
These responses aren’t always dramatic, and we don’t necessarily notice them consciously. Sometimes they’re simply part of the background of our day, little shifts in sensation that come and go while we’re busy getting on with things.
But they can offer us useful information about how we’re experiencing the world.
This is part of what interests me so much about somatic work, which is really about developing awareness of our lived experience through the body, rather than relying entirely on what we can think about or explain.
Our bodies respond to our experiences, and those responses can be shaped by what we’ve lived through before. We learn through repetition, association and experience, and our nervous systems can become particularly alert to situations that resemble something previously difficult or threatening.
Sometimes we describe this as the body holding experiences, and I think it’s a helpful way of understanding how our past can continue to influence our present, even when we aren’t consciously thinking about it.
That doesn’t mean every ache, tension or uncomfortable sensation has a hidden emotional meaning waiting to be discovered. Bodies are complicated, and physical symptoms deserve appropriate attention rather than automatically being interpreted as emotional messages.
But it does mean that our physical responses can be part of the wider picture of how we’re feeling, what we’ve experienced and what we might need.
Perhaps you’ve noticed that your shoulders seem to rise towards your ears whenever you’re around a particular person, or that you feel unexpectedly tired after certain conversations. Perhaps there’s somewhere you go where you always seem to breathe a little more deeply, or an activity that leaves you feeling lighter even when you were exhausted beforehand.
These are interesting things to notice.
Not because they provide instant answers, but because they help us become more familiar with ourselves.
And I think that’s an important distinction.
Listening to your body isn’t about treating every sensation as an instruction. It’s about allowing your body to have a voice in the conversation.
Sometimes what feels familiar isn’t what we need
There’s a little complication here that I think deserves some attention, particularly when we talk about trusting ourselves and listening to our bodies.
Because our bodies don’t always respond to things according to whether they’re good for us.
Sometimes they respond according to whether they’re familiar.
If you’ve spent years putting everybody else first, for example, saying no might make you feel incredibly uncomfortable, even when it’s a perfectly reasonable and healthy decision. Your stomach might flutter, you might feel guilty or you might find yourself wanting to send another message explaining why you really can’t help this time.
That discomfort doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve made the wrong choice.
It might simply mean you’re doing something different from what you’re used to.
Equally, if you’ve spent a long time feeling anxious or uncertain, a genuinely lovely opportunity might still bring up feelings of fear. We talked recently about comfort zones and how sometimes we need to gently stretch ourselves towards things we want, even when they feel unfamiliar.
So I wouldn’t want you to come away from this Prompt believing that your body will always give you a lovely, clear yes or no.
Sometimes it won’t.
Sometimes the sensations are mixed, the feelings are complicated and the thing we most need is a little time to understand what’s happening.
And sometimes we genuinely don’t know what we need yet.
We might need more information, professional advice, medical support, a conversation with somebody we trust or simply the opportunity to experience something before we can decide how we feel about it.
That’s all part of learning.
But I do think there’s something valuable in becoming more interested in our own responses rather than immediately dismissing them.
Instead of telling ourselves we’re being silly for feeling nervous, perhaps we can wonder what we’re nervous about.
Instead of criticising ourselves for feeling tired, perhaps we can become curious about what has been demanding so much of our energy.
And instead of automatically assuming that the sensible thing is the right thing, perhaps we can allow ourselves to consider whether it’s actually the right thing for us.
Knowing what you need doesn’t always make it easy to choose
I think this might be the heart of today’s conversation.
Because sometimes, when we really allow ourselves to be truthful, we know perfectly well what would help us feel better.
We know we need to have the conversation we’ve been avoiding, or ask somebody to share the load. We know that our current routine isn’t sustainable, that we’re spending too much time doing things out of obligation or that we’ve been putting something important to us at the bottom of the list for far too long.
But knowing doesn’t automatically make acting on that knowledge easy.
Perhaps making the change would disappoint somebody. Perhaps it would mean letting go of an identity you’ve carried for years, or admitting that something you worked very hard for no longer feels right.
Maybe you’re worried about what other people will think, whether you’ll regret your decision or whether you’re being unreasonable for wanting something different.
And sometimes there are very real practical barriers. You might know that you need more rest but have responsibilities that cannot simply be abandoned. You might recognise that a relationship or working environment is affecting your wellbeing but not be in a position to change it immediately.
I think it’s important to acknowledge that, because I never want these conversations to become another way of suggesting that happiness is simply a matter of making better choices.
Life is rarely that straightforward.
But perhaps recognising what we need is still valuable, even when we can’t immediately act on it.
Perhaps it allows us to stop telling ourselves that everything is fine when it isn’t.
Perhaps it helps us begin to explore our options, ask for support or make small adjustments that create a little more breathing space.
And sometimes, perhaps it simply allows us to acknowledge something we’ve been trying very hard not to know.
There’s a kind of relief that can come with that.
Not necessarily because anything has changed on the outside, but because we’ve stopped arguing quite so much with ourselves on the inside.
What happens when somebody gives us space to hear ourselves?
I’ve noticed something interesting over the years when I’m working with clients.
Sometimes somebody arrives with a question, a problem or a situation they want help understanding, and as we begin talking, it becomes clear that they already have quite a lot of insight into what’s happening.
They might not have put it into words before, or perhaps they’ve been so busy dealing with the practicalities that they haven’t had much opportunity to explore how they feel.
But given a little space, things begin to emerge.
They notice a pattern. They remember something that helped previously. They realise that the thing they’ve been describing as a problem might actually be a perfectly understandable response to what’s happening in their life.
And sometimes they arrive at an idea that feels much more useful to them than anything I might have suggested.
I love those moments.
Because I don’t think support should always mean somebody else providing the answer.
Sometimes the most valuable thing another person can offer is their attention, curiosity and willingness to sit alongside us while we work something out.
There’s something quite powerful about being able to speak without immediately being interrupted, corrected, reassured or given a solution.
And perhaps that’s something we can begin to offer ourselves too.
A little more space.
A little less judgement.
A willingness to be curious about our own experience before rushing to change it.
Because when we stop trying to produce the right answer immediately, we sometimes discover that there’s quite a lot we already understand.
Three little things to try this week
I thought it might be lovely to give you three gentle ways to explore this over the coming week. Nothing complicated, nothing that needs special equipment or an elaborate routine, and certainly nothing that should become another item on your list of things you’re supposed to be doing.
Just a few small opportunities to become a little more familiar with yourself.
1. Notice what happens before you explain it away
At some point this week, you might notice a change in how you feel around a particular situation, person or decision. Perhaps you feel unexpectedly energised by something, or perhaps there’s a little heaviness, tension or reluctance that appears when you’re thinking about something you’ve agreed to do.
Rather than immediately deciding what that feeling means, see whether you can simply notice it.
You might ask yourself where you’re experiencing it in your body, whether it feels familiar and what was happening just before you noticed it. Perhaps your breathing has changed, your shoulders have tightened or you’ve suddenly become aware that you’re holding your stomach.
You don’t have to analyse it or find a reason for it. In fact, I’d encourage you not to rush into explaining it at all.
Just allow yourself a moment of curiosity.
Over time, becoming familiar with these little changes can help us recognise our own patterns and understand how different experiences affect us.
2. Ask yourself what you need before asking what you should do
This is one I’d particularly love you to try.
The next time you find yourself thinking, What should I do about this?, see what happens if you gently change the question.
Instead, ask yourself, What do I need right now?
You might be surprised by how different the answers feel.
If you’re exhausted, what should I do? might immediately lead you towards getting more organised, exercising, improving your diet or finding ways to become more productive.
But what do I need? might lead you towards sleep, nourishment, reassurance, help with something practical or a little time when nobody needs anything from you.
If you’re feeling unsettled about a decision, the first question might send you looking for more opinions, while the second might help you recognise that you need more information, a little time or a conversation with somebody who understands your circumstances.
And sometimes the answer might be wonderfully ordinary.
A proper lunch.
Some fresh air.
A cuddle.
A quiet evening.
A conversation.
An early night.
Not everything needs to become a major life decision.
Sometimes understanding ourselves begins with noticing the small things we’ve been overlooking.
3. Give yourself permission to take one small step
If something does become clearer this week, I’d love you to resist the temptation to turn that realisation into an enormous plan.
Perhaps you recognise that you need more time to yourself, but reorganising your entire week isn’t realistic. Could you begin with twenty minutes that belong entirely to you?
Perhaps you realise that you’ve been agreeing to things out of habit rather than genuine enthusiasm. Could you give yourself a little more time before saying yes to the next invitation?
Maybe you’ve been carrying something alone for longer than you needed to. Could you begin by telling somebody how you’re feeling, without needing to have a solution ready?
Or perhaps you discover that you don’t actually know what you need yet, and your small step is simply allowing yourself some time to explore that rather than rushing towards an answer.
I think we sometimes underestimate how much can change when we begin taking our own needs seriously, even in very small ways.
We don’t necessarily need a dramatic transformation.
Sometimes we just need to begin showing ourselves that what we feel, think and need deserves a place in the decisions we’re making.
The quieter kind of confidence
I wonder whether one of the loveliest things about getting older is that, if we’re willing to pay attention, we gradually begin to recognise ourselves more clearly.
We start noticing the people whose company leaves us feeling good, the environments where we feel comfortable, the things that nourish us and the things that quietly take more than they give.
We begin to understand that our energy isn’t endless, that our preferences don’t need defending and that we’re allowed to want a life that looks different from the one somebody else might choose.
And perhaps we become a little less interested in finding somebody who can tell us exactly what to do.
Not because we think we know everything, but because we’ve begun to trust that our own experience matters too.
I don’t think self-trust means being certain all the time. In fact, I suspect it might have much more to do with becoming comfortable with uncertainty, knowing that we can make thoughtful decisions, learn from our experiences and change direction when we need to.
We can ask for help without handing over our judgement. We can listen to advice without abandoning our own perspective, and we can recognise that sometimes the right decision will still feel difficult.
There’s something beautifully freeing about that.
Because it means we don’t have to wait until we’re completely confident, completely certain or completely sure of ourselves before we begin living in a way that feels more like us.
We can simply start becoming a little more attentive.
A little more curious.
A little more willing to include ourselves.
And perhaps, as we do, we begin to discover that some of the things we’ve been searching for outside ourselves have been quietly asking for our attention all along.
Your Monday morning invitation
So as you move through this week, I’d love you to notice the moments when you instinctively look outside yourself for an answer.
Perhaps you’re about to ask somebody what they think you should do, search for another article or look for reassurance that the decision you’re considering is the right one.
There’s nothing wrong with any of those things, and sometimes they’ll be exactly what you need.
But before you do, perhaps give yourself a little space to wonder what you already know.
What have you noticed about yourself?
What has your experience been telling you?
What might your body be responding to?
And what would feel supportive, rather than simply sensible or expected?
You might not find an answer immediately, and that’s absolutely fine. Sometimes these things take time, particularly when we’ve spent years becoming accustomed to putting our own needs somewhere near the bottom of the list.
But perhaps you can begin by allowing yourself to be part of the conversation.
Because you are the person who lives in your body, moves through your days, experiences your relationships and carries the memories of everything that has brought you to this point.
Other people can bring knowledge, perspective, encouragement and support, and I hope you always have people around you who offer those things generously.
But your own experience belongs in the conversation too.
And sometimes, when we become a little quieter and stop searching quite so urgently for somebody else’s answer, we begin to hear something familiar.
Not necessarily a grand revelation or a perfectly formed plan.
Perhaps just a small, gentle recognition of something we’ve known for a while.
I think I need a little more rest.
I don’t think this is making me happy anymore.
I’d really like to try that.
I think I need some help.
Perhaps I want something different now.
And maybe we don’t have to do anything enormous with that knowledge today.
Maybe we can simply begin by listening.
Because the more we practise hearing ourselves, the easier it can become to recognise what feels right for us, what deserves our attention and what we’re ready to leave behind.
And perhaps that’s where a rather lovely kind of happiness begins.
Not in finally finding somebody who has all the answers, but in discovering that we can trust ourselves to be part of finding them.
What if you already know a little more about what you need than you’ve been giving yourself credit for?
Perhaps this week is a lovely time to find out.