The Divine Wisdom of Our Bodies

Have you ever noticed how, when you cut your finger, your body immediately begins to repair itself? You don’t have to think about it or tell it what to do—it just knows. Beneath the surface, platelets gather, tissues knit, and within days, what once was broken begins to mend.

I find myself thinking about this often—not just in the physical sense, but in the emotional and psychological realms as well. Our bodies and brains are wired for healing. It's not a lofty ideal. It’s a biological truth. But here’s the catch: healing doesn’t happen in isolation, and it certainly doesn’t happen under constant threat or disconnection. Like seeds needing fertile soil, sunlight, and water, our healing needs the right conditions.

I learned this slowly over the years—first through my own body, and then through the sacred privilege of walking beside others as a therapist. In trauma work, especially in EMDR and somatic psychotherapy, there’s this beautiful principle that we aren’t here to “fix” people. Instead, we’re here to create the space where their own innate healing intelligence can come online. We’re here to help them remember that nothing inside them is broken beyond repair.

When I first started practicing, I thought I needed all the tools—every training, every technique. But what I’ve come to trust more deeply than any method is this: safety heals. Relationship heals. Regulation heals. When the nervous system feels held—in a session, in the body, in community—it begins to exhale. And in that exhale, healing begins.

Think about a time you felt truly safe. Maybe it was with a friend who let you cry without rushing to solve it. Maybe it was on a walk where your thoughts finally quieted, or in a yoga class where your breath met your body with grace. In those moments, the protective armor loosens just a little. The body, once braced and guarded, softens. That softening is the doorway.

The brain is incredibly adaptive. Neuroplasticity tells us that, given the right inputs—especially safety, repetition, and attunement—it can rewire old beliefs, soothe hypervigilant patterns, and even change the way we relate to past pain. The body follows suit. It doesn’t want to live in a state of tension or collapse. It wants to move. It wants to rest. It wants to heal.

But here’s what I want you to know, especially if healing feels far away right now: there is nothing wrong with you if it’s taking time. Your system may still be searching for those conditions it never got to experience. You may still be learning what safety feels like. That’s okay. Healing isn’t linear. And sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is stay in the room—with ourselves, with each other, with the possibility that something inside us knows the way home.

So maybe today, healing looks like letting your shoulders drop. Maybe it’s taking that walk. Maybe it’s asking for help. Maybe it’s trusting your body just enough to believe that it's not against you—it’s working for you, always has been, and always will.

Because even after everything, your body remembers how to heal.

Warmly,

Allison