There’s a way the body holds itself that we don’t always notice at first.
It’s not tight enough to call it tension, and not sharp enough to name as stress. It’s just… held.
We can feel it in small ways — in the shoulders that don’t quite drop even when we sit down, or in the jaw that stays slightly set without us realizing it. Even when nothing is happening, the body stays just a little alert, as if it’s waiting for something.
And after a while, it starts to feel normal. Like this is just how the body rests now — not fully relaxed, just not actively bracing.
That kind of holding doesn’t come from nowhere.
It comes from paying attention. From being responsible. From staying aware of what might be needed next, and learning that it’s safer to be a little prepared than completely at ease.
So the body adapts.
It doesn’t fully let go. It stays just a step ahead.
Most of the time, we don’t question it. We move through the day, get things done, respond when needed. It works.
But every now and then, there’s a moment — maybe when you finally sit, or when the room goes quiet — where you can feel how much you’ve been holding without even realizing it.
Not in a dramatic way. Just enough to notice.
And in that moment, something softens, even if only slightly.
Not because everything is resolved.
Just because you noticed.
And sometimes, that’s where it starts.
Tenderly,
Tabby