The Story My Body Told Me

by Joi McGowan

Sometimes I hold my youngest like she’s an infant, and immediately my body is transported to her earlier years — those moments when she was itty bitty. When she was born and I got to catch her with my own hands, my heart was so proud. Proud that she had made it. Proud that I had held her first. Holding this little human first continues to sit with my body.

It’s amazing how the body remembers everything. I went to a chiropractor once who told me the story of my bones. She was a Black woman chiropractor who X-rayed me and told me the story written on my collarbone.

She could tell I nursed by indentations in my collarbone. She could tell I had given birth and had some misalignment in the way my hip bones curved.

She said she could tell my body had been in recovery because the curved bowl shape of my pelvic floor was not too far off. She could tell from my bones all the work I had been putting into my body to heal her.

This year has been hard for me — hard for me to listen to doctors tell me a story of my body.

These doctors have read a chapter of my life that I didn’t even know was hidden in my blood, written in between my thighs, and it sometimes showed up in my eyes.

A story of a working mother of four who is still in postpartum recovery. A story that made my doctors concerned about type two diabetes for how it runs in my family.

A story that says I need more support in losing weight after four kids.

I had a culturally sensitive doctor look at me and say, “Your weight loss journey doesn’t require you to be strong.” She said, “Joi, this is not something you have to do alone. You have a lot on your plate, and your body is still healing.”

Sitting with the story of my body is humbling. It makes me want to hug her tighter. It makes me want to cry. In fact, I did cry. In front of that doctor, I lost it. She offered me encouragement and support and a treatment plan.

Then I left and cried to my husband, feeling disappointed in my inability to not be better. He reminded me that I was enough and that we could do this together.

And then I cried to a few of my girlfriends who looked at me and said, “Joi, you are carrying so much. You are not alone in this.”

From there I went to work — started being all the more intentional with movement: weight lifting, walking, running, and moving my body.

I made a decision that my body deserved it. She was worth the hype and needed all the space and time to heal.

I started my journey with expectations of rapid weight loss. I told a friend, and she cautioned me to be slow and intentional. She slowed me down. She made me pause. She reminded me that consistency is credibility to my body.

Moving bit by bit, seeing my personal progress came with walking every day. Then it progressed to running non-stop for 10 minutes. Then every day I kept adding an additional 5 minutes of non-stop running until I hit 50 minutes of running non-stop.

Then I noticed I was running 3.5 miles three times a week. Then I stopped. Why? Because life started moving faster than I could run. I needed to prioritize my rest. I needed to prioritize relationships. I needed to be present with my body in a new way.

Then I returned to the gym, where I’m currently trying to run longer than 2 miles — rebuilding strength and stamina.

Reading the story of my body one movement at a time. Leaning into the stretch, breathing deeper into the belly, and exhaling “Ah” with a sigh of relief. These are the moments I’m recognizing how my body has changed.

She has carried, held, and loved.

She has rested, cried, and leaned on others when she did not feel the strength from her own body.

She has shown up. She has been consistent. She has been practicing a self-love that allows her to pour out from the overflow.

I am writing this entry as a reminder to us women: we must practice the art of listening to our bodies. It’s telling us a story — a story of pain, triumph, sorrow, joy, courage, adventure.

We need to listen to our bodies.

Our bodies will send us signals for checkups and doctor visits. When our bodies are truly misaligned, we feel that in our soul.

Do not ignore the story of your body. She’s speaking to you, ever so quietly, with so much compassion.

This brave body that has held you, carried you, witnessed all your joy.

Your body remembers. Yes, it stores memory, it holds emotions. But it’s not just the keeper of trauma.

It’s the sacred resting place.

It’s the keeper of wisdom.

It’s the jar holding your joy and gratitude.

It’s the grounding source of your peace.

Your body remembers everything — not just pain.

The body has a unique way of telling the full story if you slow down to listen.

Your body holds you up.

She’s telling a story of presence, connection, and adventure.