Intuition.

Just breathe. I’ve got this. I feel an awakening within me — it’s a familiar, peculiar feeling. One that comes up to meet my boundaries when people, things, and thoughts cross them with abandon. The itchy skin feeling I get with each boundary ignored, the pressure rising in my body when I reject its wisdom. This feeling sparks a strange, incongruous mix of frustration and deep reverence, as my body’s inner knowing is a prophetic call to wake up when the easy choice would be to remain asleep.

Yet, that feeling — I love it.

It was born with me into this world. Innate. I didn’t ask for it.

That feeling, you know? That strange butterflies-in-the-gut feeling? That’s the feeling I’m talking about. The one that pulses through me, recycling and renewing itself, somehow. Testing me. Quietly whispering, “just breathe.”

When I was a little girl that feeling was my guardian. I just had it and I used it and I was at peace with that. It was like an inner microphone, and she shouted big when she needed to say something. There was no stopping that feeling from being heard. There was no way I could suppress what came up instantaneously, almost teasing me. As a little girl, I didn’t have to think twice about making decisions. The choices were simple.

Yes, that will make her smile. No, those tracks are not safe. Yes, that woman seems okay to talk to. No, this will definitely make him angry. Yes, I’m going to play with the ghost in my basement today. No, that’s not food, that’s definitely not food — don’t eat that. Yes, I should share. No, not deep enough for me to jump. Yes, “please” is a much nicer word to use. No, it’s not right to make fun of the gap between his teeth. Yes, I’m going to draw that tree now. No, I shouldn’t fall asleep in the bathtub. Yes, I should give her a hug when she’s crying. No, I shouldn’t pee in the shower.

The inner microphone would make a big fuss, and I took her loud and clear. So easily I understood. Clean connections, no clogged arteries. Straight from the heart. No cages. Nothing to stop that innate feeling from manifesting — without shame, without fixing.

How could I have missed the moments where slowly things started to change? As I grew older, the volume went down. I kept the butterflies in a jar closed tight and hidden from sight. The cage grew stronger in an attempt to protect me: from what, I hadn’t yet fully understood.

When I had to choose which University to attend, I sat on the two acceptance letters for two weeks when I already had my answer. When I interviewed for that company with a leader whose morals I questioned, I still took the job. When I walked into that party, all those people with long capes and fake smiles, I drank two glasses of wine too many before I left. When he called me crying while I was in Paris, telling me he had only kissed her, I told him everything was okay. When I woke up to a body desperate for nourishment, I fed her even less. When she died and I was told to be strong, I stopped crying. When he told me I was broken, I believed him.

The many ways I had pushed the feeling away. A gradual weakening. The inner wisdom that was seeded in my mother’s womb was trampled mightily by my youthful ignorance. The volume was deafening, too loud. Didn’t need my guardian. My beautifully misguided ego took control, at the cost of severing my body into many parts, muting my microphone, and silencing the keeper of the feeling. Heart caged in place and the power of breath long forgotten.

But deep inside, I knew why it happened that way. And it was okay. I lost, I listened, and then I learned. That recycling and renewing of that feeling began again as I gained the courage to share my truth and to shout it out loud.

All that pressure. The itchy skin, the pressure mounting. This time breaking the cage, letting out all the butterflies, turning the volume up. Reminding me of the old days, when I dared not force which path to choose, letting breath guide me to what was already written. Just breathe. I’ve got this.

You, that feeling.

Such a familiar, peculiar feeling. Coming back to me now. You’ve always been there, but now I’m here with you again. You’ve been gone a long time. Welcome back, my friend.