We spend a huge amount of time making assumptions, judging, and analysing who we are, either in relation to others or in the way we perform. Our perceptions often fall into verbal expressions such as: “What did I say?”, “What did he or she say?”, “What should I have said that I didn’t?”, and so on. Verbal expression is an important part of our lives, but it accounts for only around 20% of our overall communication — at least that is what we are often taught when studying psychotherapy. But what about the other 80%? The so-called non-verbal communication?

Nowadays, we understand a bit more about it through the development of somatic work, particularly through the work of Peter Levine, but I still think we are far from giving it the attention it deserves. We are so focused on the concrete path of using words that we often forget how much communication happens beyond them. A lot of it lies in perception, bodily reactions, and the subtle ways we relate to ourselves and others. That is why I became interested in writing this piece.

This article is based on my experience as a somatic-cognitive therapist and on what I have observed in my clinical work. People are generally keen — not always, but often — to express what they feel and think, whether about themselves, others, or life in general. However, I have noticed that there is often very little awareness of what they are physically doing with themselves while expressing those feelings and thoughts, even when describing disturbing situations.

It is as if, once we start sharing our emotions, we try so hard to communicate efficiently through words that we lose contact with the most important part — contact with ourselves.

Nowadays, many of us adapt ourselves to situations, both professionally and personally, in order to belong. We live in such a competitive society that many people feel the need to constantly perform at their limits. There is certainly a practical skill in doing this — it allows us to pay our bills, pursue ambitions, and function within society. But the real question is: at what cost?

If, in order to make a good impression in a job interview, or to build a relationship with the CEO of the company I work for, I constantly feel tense and uncomfortable, am I truly being kind to myself?

Yes — the word that can sometimes sound cheesy or weak is 'kind'.

Being kind to ourselves means being able to face challenges, both professionally and personally, while having the courage — because yes, kindness towards ourselves requires courage — to keep breathing and noticing what we are doing with ourselves in those moments.

Am I clenching my jaw? If so, I might ask: “Why am I doing that?”

Am I compressing my chest or tightening my neck while listening or waiting for my turn to speak Again: “Why am I doing that?”

What is the purpose of this tension?

I believe we need to become more inquisitive about what makes us uncomfortable. By questioning moments of discomfort, we begin to uncover deeply ingrained habits and patterns of being in the world. Often, these patterns reveal themselves through our internal physical condition in situations where we are less at ease.

An example of a useful barometer in those moments might simply be gently asking ourselves the following questions:

• What am I doing with my breath?
• What am I doing with my legs?
• Why am I tightening my chest so much that my heartbeat is racing?
• Why am I twisting my body while speaking or being challenged?
• What is happening in my neck or head?
• Is there space inside me, or am I tightening?
• If I am tightening, where is that tightening?

A gently inquisitive mind can become a powerful response to many of our daily worries. I am not suggesting that every time we have a difficult interaction or disturbing thoughts, we should overanalyse ourselves. Rather, it is about becoming more of an observer of ourselves while living.

But this kind of work takes time. It is not a pill or a quick fix. It is not a brief piece of advice from a friend, family member, or even a therapist that suddenly resolves everything. It is a gradual process of learning how we want to live and relate to ourselves. And that is difficult because the society we live in often does not offer us time. Time is perhaps the most precious thing we have, yet also one of the most undervalued. It takes courage to stop, slow down, and pay attention to ourselves. In many ways, doing so means swimming against the current of modern life.

In conclusion, I would like to leave this thought:
If I am able to notice and gently inquire into moments of discomfort, perhaps I will come to know myself a little better and make choices that are more aligned with who I genuinely am. And perhaps the most important word in that sentence is 'gently'.

Best of luck.