Some emotions don’t need words.
In fact – they can’t stand them.
Long before we name, understand, or explain anything, the body has already felt it.
It trembled. Tightened. Or, perhaps, softened like after a long, warm dream.
It took me years to realize that many of my tensions, outbursts, or “strange states” weren’t caused by too many thoughts – but by the absence of touch.
And I don’t mean massage.
Or intimacy in the romantic sense.
I mean something much simpler – and far deeper:
a confirmation of presence.
The Skin Doesn’t Forget
Skin is not just a protective layer.
It’s our oldest organ of contact.
Before we ever spoke – we could already feel.
Every human being begins life in touch.
Or in the absence of it.
How you were held, cuddled, touched as a child
becomes a map you carry for life.
A map that whispers: “this is safe” or “be careful”.
The thing is – we don’t see the map.
It shows up in the body instead.
In shoulders that never relax.
In stomach aches without reason.
In the fear of being touched – or the desperate hunger for contact.
In hypersensitivity.
In sudden, inexplicable outbursts.
It’s not always trauma.
Sometimes it’s just a lifetime of not being seen.
Sometimes it’s the absence of one gesture – right when it was needed most.
Touch as a Language
Not all touch soothes.
The body knows instantly where a touch is coming from.
Is it control? Is it the urge to fix something? Or is it true presence?
Some bodies are like sea anemones.
They close up when the touch is too quick, too firm, too demanding.
But if you approach with gentleness –
if you simply are –
the body may open.
Not because you convinced it.
But because – finally – something wasn’t trying to change it.
Touch can be the only language understood by someone who doesn’t speak.
But it can also be the only language your own body understands
when your mind has gone quiet.
The Body Is Not a Machine. It’s a Microcosm.
Every skin cell is a living field of information.
Your body knows when you’re truly with it – and when you’re just “managing” it.
It knows when you apply cream without rushing.
When you place your hand over your heart – not to calm down, but to be present.
When you wrap yourself in a blanket and don’t try to do anything else.
In those moments, your body learns.
It learns that it no longer needs to protect itself.
That touch no longer means danger.
That it can begin to register the now, not just memory.
You Can Start With a Small Gesture
You don’t have to go to somatic therapy (though you can).
You don’t even need to “release” anything.
You can simply ask yourself tonight:
“Is there a place in my body that has never been touched with love?”
And place your hand there.
Not to fix anything.
Just to be.
Sometimes, that’s enough.
On the Way
The skin remembers more than you think.
But it can also learn a new story.
One of gentleness.
Of warmth.
Of presence.
You don’t have to do anything.
Just allow yourself to feel.