A Personal Reflection
Some of the greatest lessons I have learned about intuition did not begin in my mind.
They began in my body.
Nursing trained me to look for measurable data — blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen saturation, laboratory values. Those objective findings are essential. Yet over years at the bedside, I noticed something the textbooks rarely emphasized: sometimes the body speaks before any of that changes. A subtle shift in colour. A quiet restlessness. A concern that lingers even when the numbers look reassuring.
The same is true off shift. My body has often known something was wrong long before I could name it — a tightness before a difficult conversation, an exhale of relief in the right company, a heaviness in rooms I no longer belonged in.
For most of my life I treated those sensations as background noise, or as symptoms to manage. I now see them differently. Our bodies constantly communicate through tension, ease, fatigue, peace, excitement. These signals aren't commands to obey blindly, nor inconveniences to ignore. They are invitations to become curious.
Why did I react that way? What did I notice? What might my body be trying to tell me?
Not every sensation carries deep meaning. A racing heart can be caffeine. A knot in your stomach isn't always a warning. But when we slow down and consider our physical responses alongside reason, experience, and faith, the body becomes a partner in discernment.
Before our minds can explain an experience, our bodies have often already begun to live it.
The Lesson — Learning the Language Your Body Speaks
If I were to ask you where intuition lives, you might instinctively point to your head.
After all, we tend to think of understanding as something that happens in the mind. We analyze, reason, remember, and solve problems using our thoughts. They exist in constant conversation with the rest of the body.
Long before we consciously recognize what is happening around us, our bodies are collecting information.
Every second, your nervous system is scanning your environment. It notices changes in facial expressions, tone of voice, posture, movement, breathing, and even subtle shifts in another person's emotional state. Instead, your brain quietly sorts through it, asking one essential question:
Am I safe? The answer influences far more than whether we feel afraid.
It shapes our breathing, heart rate, muscle tension, digestion, attention, and even our ability to think clearly. Before your conscious mind has fully interpreted an experience, your body has often already begun responding to it.
This helps explain why we sometimes say things like, "I had a knot in my stomach," "My shoulders immediately tightened," or "I just felt at peace."
These expressions are more than colourful language. They are descriptions of genuine physiological experiences. The challenge is that many of us have forgotten how to listen.
From an early age, we are often taught to override our physical experiences. We hear phrases like, "You're fine," "Don't be so sensitive," "There's nothing to worry about," or "Just ignore it." While these responses are usually well-intentioned, they can gradually teach us to distrust what our bodies are communicating.
As adults, we often continue the pattern ourselves.
We work through exhaustion instead of resting. We ignore tension because we are too busy to slow down. We push through emotional pain, convincing ourselves that productivity matters more than paying attention.
Eventually, the body speaks louder. Sometimes through chronic fatigue. Our bodies are remarkably patient communicators, but they are persistent.
Learning the language of your body does not mean assuming that every ache carries hidden meaning or that every physical sensation predicts the future. It means becoming curious enough to ask questions instead of immediately dismissing what you notice.
Why did my breathing change during that conversation? Why do I always feel drained after spending time with this person? Why do I sleep well in some seasons of life and poorly in others?
Why do I consistently feel calm when I make certain decisions, even if they are difficult?
These questions invite observation rather than judgment.
One of the greatest mistakes we can make is assuming that our bodies are either always right or always wrong.
Neither is true.
Our bodies faithfully report what they are experiencing, but they do not always explain why. A racing heart may signal excitement, fear, too much caffeine, or physical exertion. The sensation itself is real, but understanding it requires wisdom, reflection, and context.
This is where intuition and discernment begin working together. Your experience gives it context. And, for those who seek God's wisdom, faith helps illuminate the path forward.
Rather than competing with one another, these parts of us work together. The goal is not to become controlled by our bodies, nor to ignore them. The goal is integration—learning to recognize the signals our bodies provide while thoughtfully discerning what they mean.
When we begin listening with curiosity instead of judgment, we often discover that our bodies have been faithful companions all along. They have quietly carried our joys, our griefs, our fears, our hopes, and our experiences. They have adapted, protected, endured, and communicated in ways we may never have fully appreciated.
Perhaps learning the language of your body is not about discovering something entirely new.
Perhaps it is about remembering a conversation that has been taking place within you all along.
The Soulful Gardener — Reading the Signs Beneath the Surface
A seasoned gardener rarely waits for a plant to wither before recognizing that something is wrong.
Long before a flower loses its bloom or a vegetable stops producing fruit, subtle signs begin to appear. The leaves lose a little of their colour. To an inexperienced eye, these changes may seem insignificant.
The plant is communicating. It cannot speak with words, yet it tells its story all the same.
A wise gardener doesn't become frustrated with the plant for showing signs of stress. Nor do they simply trim away the damaged leaves and hope for the best.
Has it received enough water? Has disease found its way into the roots? Is another plant competing for its nutrients?
The visible symptoms are rarely the real problem. They are clues pointing toward something happening beneath the surface.
Our bodies work much the same way.
We often become irritated by the symptoms instead of becoming curious about the story they are trying to tell. We treat fatigue as an inconvenience. We dismiss muscle tension, digestive discomfort, restless sleep, or persistent anxiety as unfortunate parts of modern life.
Sometimes that is exactly what they are. And sometimes they are invitations. Invitations to seek medical care.
One of the most valuable lessons gardening has taught me is that healthy growth requires observation long before intervention.
The gardener who walks through the garden each day notices subtle changes before they become serious problems. A few yellowing leaves are far easier to address than an entire dying plant. Likewise, the person who regularly checks in with their body often recognizes stress, exhaustion, or emotional strain before reaching complete burnout.
This kind of observation is not driven by fear. It is motivated by stewardship.
As gardeners, we do not care for our plants because we expect perfection from them. We care for them because they have been entrusted to us.
Perhaps our bodies deserve the same kindness.
Rather than criticizing ourselves for feeling anxious, exhausted, or overwhelmed, what if we approached those experiences with the gentle curiosity of a gardener?
Instead of asking, "What's wrong with me?" We might begin asking,. "What is my body asking me to notice?" That simple shift changes everything. Understanding begins replacing shame.
Over time, we discover that our bodies are not obstacles standing in the way of the life we hope to live. They are faithful companions, quietly communicating what they need in order to flourish.
Like every healthy garden, they simply ask us to pay attention before the roots begin to suffer.
Because the healthiest gardens are not maintained through constant correction.
They flourish because someone cared enough to notice the first signs that something needed tending.
The Psychology — Why the Body Speaks Before the Mind
For generations, Western culture has tended to separate the mind from the body, as though one thinks while the other simply carries us from place to place. Modern psychology and neuroscience, however, tell a different story. Our thoughts influence our bodies, and our bodies, in turn, shape the way we think, feel, and perceive the world.
This continuous exchange explains why emotional experiences often have physical expressions. Grief may feel like heaviness in the chest. Joy can create warmth, lightness, or a feeling of energy.
One of the most fascinating areas of research related to intuition is interoception—our ability to sense what is happening inside our own bodies. This includes awareness of our heartbeat, breathing, muscle tension, hunger, thirst, temperature, and countless other internal signals. Although we rarely think about these sensations consciously, they provide our brains with an ongoing stream of information that influences emotions, decision-making, and behaviour.
As Chapter 1 explored, Damasio's Somatic Marker Hypothesis reminds us the body reacts to familiar patterns before conscious thought — not predicting the future, but recognizing it with remarkable speed.
Imagine meeting someone for the first time. They smile politely, say all the right things, and appear trustworthy. Discernment invites a third response: curiosity.
What am I noticing? Did their words and facial expressions align?
Am I responding to this person, or am I reacting to someone from my past?
By slowing down and asking these questions, we allow our conscious reasoning to work alongside our body's initial response.
Research by neuroscientist A. Craig has shown that a region of the brain called the insula plays a central role in helping us become aware of internal bodily sensations. The insula integrates information from throughout the body and contributes to emotional awareness, empathy, and self-understanding. it acts as an interpreter, helping us recognize not only what we are feeling physically but also what those sensations may mean emotionally.
As introduced in Chapter 1, Porges' Polyvagal Theory reminds us the nervous system is always scanning for safety through neuroception — adjusting heart rate, breath, and alertness before conscious thought arrives.
This protective system is extraordinary, but it is not infallible.
If we have experienced trauma, chronic stress, or repeated betrayal, our nervous system may become especially sensitive. It may interpret uncertainty as danger or react strongly to situations that are objectively safe. This is why intuition should never be separated from self-awareness.
Dr. Bessel van der Kolk has written extensively about how traumatic experiences influence both the brain and the body. It also includes helping the nervous system relearn what safety feels like.
Perhaps this is one of the greatest gifts of understanding the psychology of the body. We stop viewing physical sensations as inconveniences to suppress or commands to obey. They invite us to pause, become curious, and ask wiser questions.
Our bodies are not fortune tellers. They are faithful observers.
When we learn to listen with humility, we discover that they have been offering us information all along—not to control our decisions, but to contribute to them. Wisdom emerges when the body, the mind, and the spirit work together, each offering its own perspective as we seek to discern the path before us.
The Spiritual Layer — Stewardship, Stillness, and the Body as Gift
It is easy to think of our bodies as separate from our spiritual lives.
Many of us have unknowingly adopted the idea that faith belongs to the soul while the body simply carries us through life. Yet Scripture presents a very different picture. He fashioned Adam from the dust of the earth, breathed life into him, and declared His creation good.
Throughout the Bible, God consistently ministers to people as whole persons. He does not address only their spiritual needs while ignoring their physical ones. The body and the spirit are not competitors; they are companions.
One story that has always struck me is the account of Elijah after his victory over the prophets of Baal. Having witnessed God's power in extraordinary ways, Elijah fled into the wilderness overwhelmed, fearful, and convinced that he could go no further. Instead, God's first response was remarkably practical.
He let Elijah sleep. Only after Elijah had rested and eaten did God begin speaking to his heart.
That story reminds me how often we try to solve spiritual problems while ignoring physical depletion. We pray for clarity when we have not slept. We wonder why God feels distant when our bodies are exhausted and our minds overwhelmed.
Jesus demonstrated this balance repeatedly throughout His ministry. He noticed when people were hungry before sending them away. He healed physical illness while also restoring hope, dignity, and relationship.
Learning to listen to your body can therefore become an act of stewardship.
When your shoulders remain tense for weeks, perhaps your body is inviting you to examine the burdens you have been carrying.
When you feel unusually restless, perhaps it is asking for stillness.
When you experience deep peace after making a difficult decision, perhaps your body is confirming what your heart already knows.
These moments should never replace Scripture, wise counsel, or thoughtful reflection. Rather, they become additional pieces of information that God may use to draw our attention toward something deserving of prayer and discernment.
Psalm 139 reminds us that we are "fearfully and wonderfully made." Those words are not simply poetic; they are profoundly practical. They remind us that the intricate relationship between our minds, bodies, and spirits is part of God's intentional design. The same God who created our hearts to beat without conscious effort also created nervous systems capable of protecting us, bodies capable of healing, and minds capable of remarkable wisdom and growth.
As we mature in faith, we often discover that listening to our bodies is not an exercise in self-absorption but in gratitude. It is acknowledging that God has woven remarkable intelligence into His creation, including within us. Paying attention to our physical experiences becomes another way of honouring the One who made us.
Perhaps that is the invitation of this chapter. Not to idolize the body. But to steward it wisely.
When we care for our bodies, pay attention to their signals, and bring those observations before God with humility, we begin to experience a deeper kind of discernment—one that engages the whole person. Mind, body, and spirit no longer compete for our attention. Together, they become instruments through which God can continue shaping us into people who are attentive, wise, and fully alive.
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References
- Craig, A. D. (2009). How Do You Feel—Now? The Anterior Insula and Human Awareness. Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 10(1), 59–70.
- Damasio, A. R. (1994). Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason, and the Human Brain. G.P. Putnam’s Sons.
- Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-Regulation. W. W. Norton & Company.
- van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking.