You Belong in Your Body

by Maria Jawan

Let me shout this right now from the rooftops: This is not about waiting it out! Life is not about “transcending” our bodies, disrespecting them, dragging them around like empty sacks, waging a relentless war against their needs; it’s about inhabiting them.

It’s not about putting up with numbness and frustration, fantasizing about all the good things that will come ‘eventually’, but claiming our right to joy, authenticity and contact through feeling our every cell, right now. Claiming tenderness, caring, loving touch, and acknowledging the beauty of our bodies.

These are basic rights, they are blessings to give and receive in this life, and we all deserve them.

I’ve spent my twenties and most of my thirties trying to do ‘the right thing, at the right time, in the right way’, while in practice disengaging from all activities pertaining to the living — relationships, fun, a job I could actually enjoy. I’ve lived for more than a decade in an empty house, alone, in contact with very few people, having sex only once in a while and only after being considerably drunk.

This has created a huge and very painful void in my life, made bearable for what now seems to me a surprisingly long time by living in my mind. I hoped that sometime, after I’d had enough therapy to ‘solve my issues’, or after I’d finished my PhD, things would finally fall into place.

I’ve felt like I have no right to experiment with or enjoy all the things so natural to the people around me — falling in and out of love, meeting someone new, having fulfilling jobs, having babies — but also simpler pleasures like going out for a drink, going to the movies or on vacation. Not only that, but I was also convinced I had to transcend all these experiences, and the feelings that come with them of course, as if they were natural and valid for everyone else… but not for me. I even avoided discussions about my personal situation regarding love or sex, utterly embarrassed that I almost never had something worth reporting and slightly baffled at how the whole thing seemed to work for almost everyone except me.

It simply never occurred to me that I could have a ‘normal’ life. My reality was a constant sense of struggle, dread and self-accusation that I wasn’t trying hard enough to feel better and actually do something with my life.

I grew up in a household where constant yelling and severe beatings were considered normal. My father worked away from home until I was about 12 years old, at which point he returned, found a job close to where we lived, and spent most of his time working. My parents thought they’d made the perfect arrangement, one taking care of the house and the kids, the other one covering the material needs. Only, as years went by, neither of them was happy with it and at the same time neither knew how to renegotiate or get out of it.

My own experience of their agreement was sheer terror and powerlessness at the face of unpredictable rage eruptions and the beatings that ensued for just about any reason; immense sadness due to the absence, be it physical or emotional; and anger suppressed into numbness.

I’d brought my few toys, an old sheet and some candles under the basement staircase and created what I called a “refuge.” I did have my own room upstairs, but I never felt safe in the light of day. The dim light of my cave, on the other hand, seemed to be less aggressive and more comforting. At some point, I simply grew too tall to be able to hide. So, I began to retreat into a fantasy world, outwardly achieving (e.g., good grades), but inwardly hating every moment I had to spend amidst the madness.

I’ve only recently realized, after years of therapy, how this combination of verbal, physical and emotional abuse and (parental) frustrated sexual energy, thrown up all over me, sent me hiding under the staircase not only as a child but as an adult as well. I recreated this hiding place in every single space I’ve lived, feeling as I felt then: scared, confused, desperate… and trapped.

A big part of this information had been present throughout my path towards understanding myself, and what’s going on in my life. But the truth and tangibility of its consequences and potential became clear only after I started breathing consciously, feeling my body from the inside out.

I still remember the moment when my therapist suggested I begin to reacquaint myself with my bones, massaging lightly the surface of my skin and touching, feeling the structure underneath. I did just that for a few weeks and every time I found myself sobbing uncontrollably after a while. I was grieving for the love my body had lived without for so long, at the same time as I felt relieved for the softness that still existed beyond the violence.

Realizations and clarity became more intense after I started feeling my genitals. In the beginning it was a bit of a torture: there was I, used to numbing this part of my body, of myself, now feeling it constantly throughout the day. It took me a while to welcome this awareness back into my life, and I still lose contact sometimes. Taking my body back is a very slow process and there’s still a long way to go.

But I have started to feel more alive, and more active and I keep inviting more breath in, even though it can be hard to navigate through the intense grief it releases. Grief for my childhood and for all the years I’ve spent in an emotional, sensual and sexual desert. For all the time I’ve spent beating myself up, since this was the only way my body would recognize contact. For all the times I thought I was doing “the right thing for me,” while I was practically denying myself any and every experience that could bring me joy or connection with other human beings.

My quest during the past seven years has taken me to childhood deconditioning workshops and active meditations; body psychotherapy; body yoga; and free movement practices.

Although my childhood deconditioning years have passed, and I see much of it now with different eyes, I’m still grateful for the experience. I’ve had the opportunity to connect with lots of lovely people who have had the courage to face difficult personal stories, openly sharing and supporting, but also honestly confronting each other.

Through the active meditations I relished a sense of freedom of both movement and expression that I hadn’t experienced for a very long time, beginning to have glimpses of being in the body. Body psychotherapy still supports me in my effort to slowly inhabit my body. My yoga practice helps me ground all this work, in a very practical, earthy and enjoyable way.

But what has really, completely, absolutely made a difference in my life was persuading myself to get back into the body through the dance. Not following steps, simply letting my feet show me where, how and who I am.

I used to dance as a teenager — at a relative’s house because no music was allowed in mine — just putting some records on and getting on with the business of sweating. Free movement practice is how the adult me embraces the teenage me who instinctively knew that the way out of the ugliness that surrounded me was moving this body.

If there is one thing right now, just one, that makes my life worth living, it’s that I have begun to connect with my body once more. Feeling my feet while I’m walking, shifting the weight on the outside and feeling all the subtle changes to the back, front and all sides of my body and my breath. Opening up my chest and feeling my hands, down to the tips of my fingers. Breathing in and out and feeling my heart connecting with my hips, my genitals, and my legs. This, for me, is the greatest blessing.

This is what’s giving me practical support, not rationalized chatter, or the vague hope for some distant change, but a true connection to the world, a soothing whisper reassuring me (you guessed it!) “You belong here!”

During the years I spent disconnected from my own body I constantly thought I should be somewhere else; that if I just kept struggling, at some point, joy and a fulfilling life would be possible. But not here and not now.

I don’t know you, I don’t know how life has treated you thus far, I don’t know your wounds, your triumphs or your story. But I know this: you have the right to exist as an embodied being. Bless you and bless the universe that has placed your loving soul in the unique, exquisite vessel that is your body.

Maria Jawan is a former hermit who is using her simultaneous Uranus, Pluto and Neptune transits to come out of her cave — even putting some lipstick on, to go meet other vulnerable, strong, frustratingly human bodies on the dance floor.