I’m Listening

I’m listening—

not for answers shouted from the mind,

but for the quiet language

that has always been speaking in me.

The ache, the flutter, the heaviness,

the sudden ease—

none of it is random.

My body is not an obstacle,

it is a letter written in sensation.

I’m listening to the places that tighten

when I say yes too quickly,

to the warmth that spreads

when something is true,

to the fatigue that asks—not for discipline—

but for rest, for kindness, for pause.

I’m listening without judgment now.

No fixing. No forcing.

Just staying present long enough

to hear what wants to be heard.

My breath is a messenger.

My heartbeat keeps time with honesty.

Even discomfort carries wisdom

when I stop trying to silence it.

I’m learning this language slowly—

the grammar of hunger and fullness,

the punctuation of pain,

the long, patient sentences of healing.

I don’t have to fight myself

to move forward.

I don’t have to override my body

to be strong.

I can collaborate.

I can ask.

I can wait.

“I’m listening,” I say—

and something inside me softens,

because it knows at last

we are on the same side.