Listening to body signals has been something I’ve had to learn over time – through pain, resistance, and trust.
Read this post in Swedish →Lyssna på kroppens signaler
I have noticed something about my body over the years.
When the body speaks, it does so clearly.
It responds. It tries to communicate – all the time.
Listening to the body’s signals is something I’ve had to learn the long way – through pain, resistance, and eventually cooperation.
When my hip acts up, I feel it. There is nothing subtle about it.
What hasn’t always been as obvious is that my body and I haven’t always spoken the same language.
When I didn’t listen in time
I remember when my hip first started acting up.
I told myself it would pass.
One week went by.
Two weeks.
Eventually, maybe half a year.
Then my husband said what I didn’t want to hear:
That’s enough now. You need to see a doctor.
I went.
I was prescribed medication I didn’t like – and that my body clearly didn’t like either.
It protested immediately.
My stomach reacted.
I started losing hair.
Bald patches the size of ping-pong balls appeared.
I was referred to a specialist, a real hip doctor.
He prescribed another medication, and the pain almost disappeared at once.
But after three days, something else began.
When the body’s signals sounded the alarm
I could barely stay awake.
I developed bruises the size of mobile phones, even though I hadn’t bumped into anything.
I slept for two days straight, only waking briefly.
When I stood up, my vision went dark.
Breathing felt heavy.
Still, I went to work.
I tried to walk up the stairs.
I had to rest between every floor.
On the third floor, I called the medical advice line.
She wanted to send an ambulance.
I said no.
I explained that I was working alone.
That my clients would be frightened.
I even asked if it could wait until the next day.
Then she said, calmly but firmly:
Now you listen to me. Stay where you are. I’m sending an ambulance.
I reached a colleague.
My husband – who lives five minutes away – came and picked me up.
At the hospital they determined that I couldn’t tolerate the medication.
I had fluid in my lungs.
The doctor said:
You must never take this medication again. This is serious. You must always mention this in future medical visits.
That time, I listened.
Trying – and feeling my way forward
The pain returned later.
I, who am terrified of injections, eventually agreed to a cortisone shot.
The pain disappeared – but my thoughts hurt.
My body felt unfamiliar.
This isn’t me, I thought.
Things injected into the body shouldn’t feel like this.
After six months, the discomfort crept back.
I tried acupuncture.
And my body stopped protesting.
I fell asleep on the table, my entire hip area filled with needles.
I went twelve times.
When the rehab staff said:
You can’t receive more treatment here, but you can go somewhere else – they won’t know you’ve been here
…my body said no.
Don’t cheat.
Don’t bypass.
Don’t push.
I’ll endure.
When touch was allowed to take space
After many years of pain, medications, and attempts, I tried Thai massage.
Oh my God, how much it hurt at first.
I cried.
The masseuse said:
Your body is screaming. You need blood flow.
I cried – and she continued.
After the third session, it no longer hurt.
I could feel it, but it was different.
Then there was a break.
The pain returned.
I was prescribed morphine tablets.
Then not only my body said no – my entire soul did.
One tablet made me feel strange in my head.
The pain disappeared, but the world felt muffled.
As if my brain was wearing a thick winter hat.
When people spoke, their voices echoed.
After three days, I stopped.
Not my thing.
Learning to listen to the body’s signals
I found an acupuncturist who truly saw my body.
He said:
We can fix this.
It hurt at first.
But after the first needle, I fell asleep.
I only woke when he adjusted them.
Twelve treatments.
Almost a year without pain.
My sleep improved.
My body had more energy.
I was foolish and thought I was healed.
I took long walks every day.
The pain returned.
Adjusting – not fighting
Listening to body signals over time
Today I know that I live with osteoarthritis and arthritis.
A diagnosis that sometimes feels like a catch-all bucket for pain that’s hard to explain.
But I also know something else now.
Yes, the pain is still there.
Some days more, some days less.
The difference today is that I no longer override it.
When my hip makes itself known, I try to pause and show my body something other than resistance:
I hear you.
I see you.
I’m listening.
For me, listening to body signals means pausing instead of pushing when pain appears.
It’s a bit like painting a canvas.
The base layer must be applied, but it can’t dry too fast.
Then the brush and the paint have to cooperate.
Sometimes it doesn’t turn out as planned.
But I try not to call that a mistake.
Maybe something else also wanted space on the canvas.
And that’s how it is with the body too.
What first feels like pain or protest is often something that wants to be seen.
Not removed – but adjusted.
With tiny, careful movements.
With attentiveness.
With trust in the process.
AHA – between the lines
This is not a text about pain.
It is a text about trust.
About stopping the war with the body
and instead beginning to cooperate.
For me, listening to body signals has become a way of staying present rather than pushing through pain.
Reflection
Listening to body signals over time
My body is not against me.
It is honest.
When I listen, it responds.
When I don’t listen, it raises its voice.
And perhaps that’s where healing begins –
not in becoming pain-free,
but in being in relationship with one’s body.
When I began listening to body signals, my relationship with pain started to change.
Being in relationship
Being in relationship with the body,
and with the soul – the self –
that’s when life feels truly good.
Then pain doesn’t become a war.
It becomes a dialogue.
Some days I shouldn’t go for a walk.
And that’s okay.
But some days both body and soul want air.
Movement.
Wide open spaces.
That’s when I notice that my body and I are speaking the same language.
Not through performance.
Not through demands.
But through attentiveness.
Questions for you who are reading
What does your body’s language sound like right now?
When was the last time you truly listened – without trying to change anything immediately?
Is there something in your daily life that helps you cooperate with your body, rather than fight it?
What happens if you see pain or fatigue as a message, not a flaw?
You don’t have to answer out loud.
Sometimes it’s enough to let the questions settle.
What I do today, right now, pays off tomorrow.
Today matters – and history needs to exist so that I can make good choices going forward.
If you’d like to read more on similar themes, you might enjoy:
– Morning drink for joint pain – a ritual, not a medicine
– Here and now – reflections on presence and the body
In the text, there is a link to the English version.
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