My Body Listens Before I Do

I notice how my shoulders stay lifted

even when nothing is happening.

Not braced exactly.

Just… ready.

Like a room that never fully goes dark

because someone might need something.

Or leave.

Or change the air without warning.

I don’t remember deciding to hold myself this way.

It feels older than choice.

My body listens before I do.

Tracks tone.

Shifts.

Pauses mid-breath.

Sometimes I catch myself waiting

for a cue that never comes.

Not fear.

Not panic.

Just readiness.

As if stillness is something to earn.

As if rest requires permission

that never quite arrives.

I live here a lot.

In the almost.

Almost relaxed.

Almost settled.

Almost here.

I don’t judge it.

I see what it’s been doing.

Keeping watch.

Holding connection.

Making sure nothing falls apart

while no one is looking.

There’s a tenderness in that.

And a cost.

Today I notice the chair beneath me.

The weight of my own back against it.

The room staying the same.

No one asking.

No one leaving.

My shoulders don’t drop.

Not yet.

But they hear me noticing.

And for now

that’s enough.

Safety will come.

Because I know

My body listens before I do.