Permission to Not Use Words

"How are you feeling right now, Rachel?" she gently asks.

The words make sense. The question is understandable. But all I can get out is a: "I don't know..." as I find myself pointing to my core. Pointing repeatedly as if I can somehow dig down into the center of myself to show her where I feel it.

"It's deep down in there. It's loud. And it hurts..."

But that's all I have.

Not having words is beyond frustrating for me. I love to write. I love to express. I love to clearly communicate and use language to creatively articulate and express myself and aid others in understanding themselves. Somehow having clear and concise language makes me feel more grounded, more in control, and more safe.

But sometimes, honestly, there are no words. Sometimes the ache and the pain that our bodies hold and express defy language. The experience of our felt sense does not connect with the higher regions of our brain where words are stored. And so we are left with our deep bodily ache and the guttural inner groaning.

"Just sit with that, ok?" she whispers. "Just stay with it."

So I sit there. And I point. And I groan. And the tears come.

And still there are no words.

But my body begins to move. It tremors and it shakes. I try to stop it, to get my body back under control.

"Can you just let your body shake it out?" she wisely suggests.

So I do. I shake and I cry. Shake and cry. Occassionally still pointing to my core to show her - there. It hurts there.

I leave that day still with very few words to articulate my inner experience. Maybe one day I will have them? Maybe one day the words will come? But for now I trust that my felt sense is enough. It is valid without using man-made language to explain it. My body is wise. It remembers and it holds my experiences. And it too expresses. It too articulates. Through sensation, through movement, it tells me. It hurts.

And that can be enough.