On Shedding: When the Body Knows Before the Mind
There are moments when something begins to fall away before we have words for it.
A skin loosens. A role cracks. An old story exhales. And the body feels it first.
Emotions may rise without invitation:
grief at noon, anger at dusk, tenderness where there was once armor.
Tears come with no clear origin. Laughter, too.
The body may grow heavy. Or ache. Or feel briefly unwell, as if moving something long held in the marrow.
Sleep deepens.
Dreams sharpen: old faces, forgotten places, messages spoken in symbol instead of speech.
This is not weakness.
This is not failure.
This is not something “going wrong.”
This is shedding.
The nervous system does not release in neat lines.
It releases in waves. In heat. In tears. In tremble and rest.
Like a snake rubbing against stone.
Like a tree dropping leaves it no longer needs.
Nothing is being forced here.
Nothing is being taken.
Something is being returned to the earth.
I’m curious...
Have you felt your body respond when something inside you was ready to go?
Do your dreams change during times of release?
What does your body ask for when shedding is underway: silence, movement, water, sleep?
Speak from where you are.
Whisper or howl.
Both are welcome at the edge of the woods.
🜃
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WillowKate Wheeler
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On Shedding: When the Body Knows Before the Mind
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