The Numb Body Problem
“Can you feel your legs?”
I’m lying face up on a padded table in a small, dimly lit room. Soft, new-age music plays in the background and there’s a pleasant scent wafting from a diffuser in the corner. It’s a relaxing environment, yet I don’t feel relaxed. Why is this?
Usually, a setting like this suggests a treatment like a massage. A reward after a hard month or relief from that nagging shoulder-check pain from your commute. An experience where you’re not expected to do much—just lie there while your body gets tended to. This, however, is something else.
My practitioner, an Osteopath, asks again:
“Can you feel the sensation of your thigh or calf against the table?”
And the truth is, I can’t. Not really. Of course, both my legs function completely well. I drove here and walked up a long flight of tiled stairs to reach this office. But lying down here now, trying to focus not on what I’m thinking, but what I’m feeling, throws me.
What an interesting paradox, when you consider the nerve endings, tendons, blood vessels and hair follicles—all of which should be flooding my brain with inputs about my current situation.
I am aware I’m horizontal on the bed and that there is some pressure being exerted, by gravity, my pants, or my own weight. But I can’t be more specific. Right now, in this moment, my brain isn’t listening to my body. It’s speaking for it.
In another session, my practitioner asks me to close my eyes and simply try to sense her hand as she moves it closer to my body.
At one point, I was certain her hand was just centimeters away from my midsection. I could almost feel the tension gathering.
When I opened my eyes, though, her hand was nearly a foot above the table.
What I felt wasn’t presence. It was my body bracing for a threat that wasn’t there.
But here’s the thing. By the end of the session, something had shifted. Not dramatically, but enough to notice. The pressure of my legs against the table wasn’t as vague. I could actually feel it. Which tells me the numbness isn’t stuck. It moves.
Still, needing that much help to feel that had me wondering:
How did I end up here?
If I can’t even feel my own body (something I’m supposedly living in all the time) what else have I been skimming over? Unfortunately, it wasn’t curiosity that brought me here. It was lack of sleep, stress, anxiety and just generally not feeling ‘great’.
Things many of us hint at in passing, but rarely stop to really address. We tell ourselves they’ll turn a corner, or reach for a self-help book, a new supplement, or whatever’s circulating on TikTok.
There’s something else that brought me here, however. A thought I had expressed to my therapist—yes men, therapists are for us too—in one of our sessions:
“Most days, from the moment I wake up, it’s like my brain grabs the wheel and hauls me through the day. Traffic, meetings, appointments, even exercise. All the while my body just tries to keep up.”
It’s like my body has become just another task or instrument of my mind’s to-do list.
If your instinct is to think that observation simply encapsulates modern life, trust that. We all have obligations—to ourselves, our employers, our families and sometimes even strangers. To show up. Be present. Do the thing.
But lately, sitting passively through back-to-back meetings, while my brain spouts analysis and guidance, something else has been bubbling up.
Get up, run.
I don’t mean sprinting for the door or tearing down the street—Tom Cruise style. It’s more like a nervous, almost primal urge. Something that bubbles up when sitting still for hours doesn’t feel right anymore.
As if some part of me, buried deep inside, remembers what it feels like to move freely. Without a schedule, an audience, or a plan.
I don’t think I’m alone in acknowledging that I spend far too much time ‘in my head’. Mentally ensuring that everything is on schedule. Rehearsing my lines before I speak up. Simultaneously worrying about everything and nothing. It shouldn’t be any wonder that our bodies—my body—becomes background noise.
Maybe you’ve noticed it too?
Sitting at your desk or behind the wheel, shoulders tensed and raised, bracing for something.
If a car had just tried to swerve into your lane, or you had gotten a cryptic email from your boss, that tension would make sense.
But often, it’s just…there. Your body waiting for an impact that never comes.
I’ve been educated enough to understand that our bodies have evolved to perform beautifully for occasional threats to our survival. Fight. Flight. Freeze.
But these days? It feels like we live in low-grade survival mode all the time.
Traffic, notifications, work stress. Being chronically aware of every bad thing that’s happening on the planet in real time.
It has me wondering. What would it take to feel safe enough to fully live in your body again?
As adults, we’ve mostly given in to structured, acceptable ways to connect with our bodies. The gym. A run. An intramural sports league. Without a doubt, these things help. But sometimes, they also feel like just another thing my brain signs me up for.
What we’re less encouraged to do (and maybe less practiced in) is to simply move without an agenda. Like we used to as kids. Somersaults in the middle of the living room. Spinning in circles until we couldn’t stand up. Dancing to music in our heads. I think part of us is still looking for that.
Movement that looks less like exercise and more like exploration.
In my own wellness journey, I’ve tried a lot of things, some more conventional than others. The ones that helped the most haven’t been about intensity or output. Instead, they were focused on paying attention to how I felt. Not to reach a goal, just to notice how it feels to move.
Here are a few things that have helped:
1) Apple Fitness+ Workouts (Yoga). I’ve tried in-person yoga classes, but with my schedule and abilities (read: lack thereof), these sessions feel more accessible—and grounding. You’re bound to find an instructor that matches your vibe, but I’d recommend Jessica Skye. She brings a calming presence, and each practice feels like a small escape from the noise of daily life.
2) Yoga Nidra (Non-Sleep Deep Rest). These relaxing protocols can be done sitting or lying down and involve turning inward to notice sensations. They can help you feel more connected to yourself in the moment. I’ve found Aly Boothroyd’s sessions on YouTube especially helpful. During a particularly sleep-deprived stretch, they were indispensable.
3) Breathwork. From Breathe With Sandy to Wim Hoff, there are plenty of options online. Learning how to breathe from my belly and engage my diaphragm has been surprisingly difficult. But breathwork has had one of the most noticeable effects on my nervous system, especially in helping me sleep.
If you’ve found something that’s helped you reconnect with your body or quiet your mind, hit me up! I’m always open to trying something new.
The author, pictured here, connecting with his legs…and unintentionally propagating the feet pic economy. 👀
If this hit close to home, pass it on. Someone else might need the nudge too.
