Why the body?

Oct 2

I'm talking to my therapist about my annoying co-worker, how did we end up focusing on the sensations in my body?

I think it’s fair to say that some spaces of the internet have become oversaturated with wellness-therapy-guru speak that often integrates some aspect of nervous system regulation and embodiment. While some pieces of this information are valid and helpful to the masses, what I’m afraid can happen (and maybe this is just me) is it can result in real science being taken out of context or mixed in with pseudo-science and therapy speak, which in turn can delegitimize the very real and impactful work being done in many therapeutic approaches. It can result in folks side-eyeing anything that comes across as “too woo-woo” and therefore sticking only to approaches that emphasize a rational/cognitive way of working through life’s difficulties, which I’m afraid cuts us at the knees in terms of healing potential. That isn’t to say healing can’t be done at a cognitive level — 100% it can. If you’re someone reading this thinking to yourself “I’ve never felt limited by my therapist’s cognitive, talk-therapy approach” then awesome! This post may not really be for you then. But you’re welcome to keep reading if you would like.

For many as well, the body can be a very scary, unsafe place to go…

and therefore body-based processing work should be navigated with caution, gentleness and awareness.

My hope with this post is to demystify some of the embodiment (i.e. “in the body”) work a therapist might ask you to do. We are only explicitly conscious of very little of what actually goes on in our brain and body, and the more awareness we cultivate can be supportive in processing and understanding ourselves.

Humans are wired for connection, and our brain has powerful mechanisms to try to seek both closeness with others as well as distance from pain. We don’t want to suffer, and we also want to belong in a group or community of some kind. Our brain is organized into three layers: the prefrontal and frontal cortex, the limbic system, and the brainstem.

The prefrontal and frontal cortices are responsible for executive functioning, including impulse-control, decision-making, and problem-solving. Very cognitive. The limbic system is responsible for processing memory, emotion, and sensory information. The brainstem is responsible for managing our autonomic nervous system including heart rate, breathing, temperature regulation — the things that would be impossible to be in conscious control of at all times. The limbic system and brain stem work closely together, relaying information to the prefrontal cortex when possible through the diencephalon, a kind of “fourth layer” between sub-cortical areas and cortex.

Many of the mechanisms supporting staying away from pain and close to others take place at sub-cortical levels, meaning below the conscious cortices. The limbic system, and particularly the amygdala, serves as a rudimentary (i.e. super basic) smoke detector in the brain, going off when it perceives “too much” threat. When threat is perceived as “too much,” this information actually bypasses the frontal cortices in order to enact response quickly. This is done for the sake of survival: we need to be able to act quickly, whether that be running away, hiding, shutting down, or fighting, in case of an emergency (and thus, lack of safety).

What is “too much?” Well, that is subjective and based on a person’s sense of internal safety in the world, genetics, sensitivity… lot’s of things. What is “too much” for one person may be barely a blip on the radar of another person. This does not mean one person is weaker or “less good” than another. It just is. When we define different ways of being as “less good” or “bad/good,” we create the very experiences of unsafety I’m about to discuss.

We can get “stuck”

Yet what can happen is instead of moving through an experience with a beginning, middle, and end and a feeling of completion at the other side, an experience can then feel stuck because of that bypassing process, depending on the impact of the event. In a normal, non-threatening or traumatic human experience such as learning to drive, a person may experience learning lessons from their parent or caregiver, taking classes, taking an exam or two, obtaining their learner’s permit, gaining (body-based) experience through practice, taking another exam, and then obtaining their license. They will be able to remember all the knowledge they learned, their experience moving through this process, the emotions connected to this whole development, and feel changed from the beginning to the end, hopefully in a positive way with a sense of expertise and mastery.

In a scenario where information bypasses the cortex, however, there is no feeling of completion and having learned something new. There is only the explicit memory of the past and present, and then “somatic memories” (i.e. bodily sensations and emotions and implicit memory) of the experience that we went through, but no expertise, wisdom, clarity, or growth from the experience. We’re stuck.

Threats are different now, and impact our sense of belonging

Humans are social, and our survival depends on our ability to be connected in society. Threats and emergencies no longer (for the most part) look like a tiger stalking you in the jungle. Threats now look like lack of trust with a colleague or workplace bullying. Threats now look like being excluded from social plans for whatever reason. Threats now look like your in-laws asking how your home garden is going (no personal experience here). Not to mention experiencing exclusion, prejudice, and possible detainment or even death based on your race, gender, or citizenship status. These experiences can trigger the same threat response that used to save us from acting too slowly when a tiger was nearby.

Because what it means to be viewed as less-than or not belonging in a certain way does not just mean “those people don’t like me.” It impacts our very sense of safety, and this happens in our bodies before it ever reaches the cortex of the brain where we are able to problem-solve it. Our experiences of “stuckness” can then become very difficult to notice or register, as we quite quickly disconnect from parts of ourselves that we perceive as creating a threat to connection, and never move through the relational process of healthy differentiation from the other in an authentic and empowering way.

Humans, being the social species that we are, have developed an array of impressive mechanisms for finding safety in social situations without needing to process who we really are in relation to others. These can include obvious and even mundane methods like lying or changing ourselves to fit in, as well as very subtle and nuanced ones like people-pleasing (i.e. “fawning,” the updated threat response), overcompensating in a myriad of ways, manipulating without being consciously aware of it, compulsively lying, etc.

Humans aren’t “bad” because they do these things. 20 years ago I would have said we are like this because of our sinful nature. Yet we are wired to connect and to obtain safety at all cost. When we have experienced unsafe relationships early on in life, that provides the framework for our limbic system and brainstem that life is unsafe, people are unsafe, and we must do what we need to do to protect ourselves and thus maintain some sense of control and therefore safety.

Sometimes some people learn from their subjective experiences that relationship itself is unsafe, so they engage in behaviours that ensure they don’t maintain relationships. Being alone and isolated feels safer than being in relationship with others.

What qualifies as “unsafe” or a threat?

Let me be clear, by “unsafe” I do not mean outright abusive, though obviously it can mean that too. This can include experiences such as being in relationships where someone is unpredictable in their moods or behaviours, or with someone who is consistently competitive (when can you relax and feel yourself just be when in relationship with someone who views everything as a competition?), or when certain human presentations (i.e. “fat,” “slow,” “uncultured,” “tacky,” “try-hard,” etc.) are viewed as less-than or unacceptable. We learn it is not “safe” to present in these ways, and therefore we must do what we can to avoid ever being these things. Because we need to belong.

And much of this is all happening at a sub-cortical, subconscious level. Wild what humans are capable of.

Because this is all happening below the surface, we need to be able to slow down and turn towards ourselves in order to become more aware of what is really going on inside of us. The insula is another part of the limbic system related to our sense of self and connection to the body. When we turn towards our body, we increase our connection with areas of the limbic system as well as areas connected with our sense of self.

Anxiety can bubble up because the body feels unsafe, but anxiety can also bubble up because we don’t feel able to be who we truly are in relationship. Resmaa Menakem discusses the difference between “dirty pain” and “clean pain” in his book My Grandmother’s Hands. “Dirty pain” is the pain we experience when our defences, anxiety, guilt and shame shield us from truly processing pain, hurts, or vulnerabilities that we need to process in order to grow and develop. We live with this anxiety, guilt or group of defences because it is comfortable and what we are used to, yet we feel pain due to never allowing ourselves to uproot the underlying feelings, sensations and experiences that stem from an initial wound or experience. Allowing ourselves to get curious about what is underneath the defences, guilt and anxiety leads us to “clean pain:” the pain we feel when processing things we have been avoiding or staying away from. Yes, it’s painful, but often if given the right circumstances there is a cleansing quality to this pain. This pain feels true and real, and when it is processed, it is finished. We are able to integrate the wisdom and experience gleaned from these experiences we have been avoiding.

And one of the most accessible ways to access all of this is through the body, because of the multi-layered nature of the brain. By slowing down and noticing what is happening in the body, we can feel our way through the process of experience that supports integration as a whole. There are often parts of us that are carrying pain because of being disconnected from or feeling othered, and we can’t heal without allowing them to be present, to be heard, to be seen. This safe, mindful awareness supports the integration of this information in the brain with the rest of the cortex.

We’ve been told our bodies are “bad”

What I love about this and why I think it is important, is that many of us in Western and particularly Christian cultures have received the message to separate ourselves from our bodies; that our body is bad, our flesh is sinful, our emotions are dangerous and untrustworthy. However, affective neuroscience finds quite the opposite: that when our bodies are listened to and connected with, healing can occur. It’s the disconnection under the guise of “discipline” or restraint that can perpetuate wounding and internal disconnection, and thus disintegration. Our bodies have so much to offer us if we are able to listen.

I want to name something that might be coming up for you as you finish reading this post. The aforementioned ways we may experience unsafety (i.e. categorizing people and presentations as “good/bad”) can in and of itself be viewed as “bad,” and therefore perpetuate the judgment. You may be reflecting on ways you have perpetuated these judgments on others and on yourself. My intention is not to shame anyone for thinking these things — many of them are really unavoidable in our society as it is. These ways of relating with others have been a part of being human for centuries. We love to categorize and moralize things as a means of making meaning, and one way we shape our identities is by defining what we are not. I only seek to make these experiences and judgments explicit, in case we notice this may be a point of disconnection and self-criticism within ourselves.

It’s also true that the body might not feel safe to “go into,” and many people feel including the body in their processing is unnecessary. Find what works for you. It’s true that there is a lot of information our bodies are holding for us, and there is also a lot of insight we can glean just through talking with someone. Regardless, I would also like to invite you to consider that you are always in your body and your body is always with you, holding you and keeping you alive. I think it’s worth at least being curious about.

This post was heavily informed by books such as The Body Keeps the Score by Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, The Wisdom of Your Body: Finding Healing, Wholeness and Connection through Embodied Living by Dr. Hillary McBride, My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending our Hearts and Bodies by Resmaa Menakem, and Anchored: How to Befriend your Nervous System by Deb Dana. For research articles I recommend looking into the work of L.S. Greenberg, Steven Porges, Shari M. Geller, and the book “The Healing Power of Emotion: Affective Neuroscience, Development and Clinical Practice” edited by Diana Fosha, Dan Siegel and M.F. Solomon.

Hannah Raine