When Your Body Needs to Cry
Not because you're broken—but because you're finally being met.
Sometimes, when something beautiful arrives,
my body needs to cry.
Not because I’m sad.
Not because I’m upset.
But because I am finally receiving.
Something in me is finally being acknowledged.
A fleeting moment of magic…
A quiet kindness…
A burst of unexpected joy…
A gentle hand on my back, saying, “You don’t have to do it all alone.”
And suddenly, the tears come.
Not from despair—
but from relief.
From gratitude.
From the melting that happens
when a body that has been holding so much for so long
gets to let go.
If you grew up in harsh conditions,
you learn to toughen up.
You do a great job at it.
You become the go-getter.
Brilliant.
Capable.
But at some point,
you’ve got to give yourself space to breathe.
To take off your armor.
To lay it gently beside you and whisper, “Thank you. But I don’t need you right now.”
And when that happens?
There may be a lot of crying.
Not out of desperation—
but like ice melting in springtime.
Like a wind that clears the heavy weather.
Like rain washing the dust from forgotten windows.
Your body might weep—not to fall apart—
but to come home.
Do you have those spaces in your life?
Is now the time to create them?
To gift them to yourself?
For your nervous system to relax,
to recalibrate,
to be reminded that the struggle is over.
Because if we don’t let our bodies know that we are home now—
if we don’t show our nervous systems that the war is done—
we will unconsciously keep creating more battles.
Start by acknowledging what you’ve already survived.
What you’ve already changed.
What you’ve already become.
Start noticing the blessings.
And receive them.
In little moments.
Don’t rush to the next task.
Take a 10-second pause to let it seep in.
Have your tea in quiet presence, with swaying leaves in the morning.
Take that exhale. Sigh out loud.
Let your hair be messy. Let your mascara run. Let your laughter be loud and unladylike.
Dance to that silly song from your teenage years—the one that makes you grin and wiggle like no one's watching.
Let your colleague gift you a cup of coffee, without needing to reciprocate.
Eat that dessert. Smell that flower. Bake the bread. Eat the soup.
Let a cat purr on your lap.
Talk to a butterfly.
Jump on your neighbours’ trampoline with the kids.
Take that swim, that cold plunge—even if it messes up your hair before your next Zoom meeting
Receive a stranger’s compliment with a smile and a simple thank you.
Listen to that song that makes your body cry.
Ask for contribution—from a friend, from the wind, from the universe.
Giggle for no reason. Snort in the middle of your coffee date.
Is this the kind of living your body longs for?
Not perfection.
But presence?
Kindness?
The struggle is over when we choose it to be over.
The rest?
Just remnants,
ready to be released—
from your body, your mind, and your nervous system.
This is what I love about Access Bars and Access Body Processes.
They don’t fix you.
They return you home.
Home to your body.
Home to your softness.
Home to your truth.
Are you ready?
