Where the Mind Goes, the Body Follows

Lately I’ve found myself thinking a lot about the people around me who are discovering health problems.

And I keep coming back to the same question:

How much attention do we give to what is happening inside our minds when we talk about what is happening inside our bodies?

We talk about food. Exercise. Weight. Smoking. Alcohol. Genetics. Vitamins. Blood tests.

All important.

But what about stress?

What about the childhood we survived but never really processed?

The relationship that kept us walking on eggshells for years?

The grief we buried because life didn’t stop long enough for us to deal with it?

The anger we swallowed.

The depression nobody knows about because we still get up, go to work and laugh at the right moments.

The constant feeling that we should be doing more, being more, coping better.

Or simply spending decades putting everybody else’s needs before our own.

I don’t believe those things should be left out of the conversation about health.

Our bodies are listening

Stress isn’t simply an unpleasant thought in our head.

When our brain perceives danger, our body responds. Stress hormones are released. Heart rate and blood pressure change. Muscles tense. Our nervous system prepares us to survive.

That’s exactly what it is designed to do.

The problem is when the emergency never really ends.

Sometimes the tiger we’re running from isn’t a tiger.

It’s financial pressure.

It’s an unhappy relationship.

It’s unresolved childhood trauma.

It’s caring for everybody except ourselves.

It’s lying awake at 2am replaying conversations.

It’s constantly worrying about what might happen next.

It’s living in a state of I’m fine when somewhere underneath, we really aren’t.

Science increasingly recognises that prolonged stress can affect sleep, hormones, metabolism, immune function and inflammatory processes.

That doesn’t mean stress causes every disease.

It doesn’t mean somebody became ill because they didn’t “think positively enough”.

And it absolutely doesn’t mean we should blame ourselves for being sick.

Health is enormously complicated. Genetics, infections, environmental exposures, hormones, nutrition, lifestyle, ageing, chance and countless other factors can contribute.

But surely mental and emotional health belong in that picture too.

Sometimes survival becomes our normal

This one is personal for me.

I didn’t have the easiest childhood.

For a long time, I didn’t necessarily think of myself as someone carrying trauma. I was just independent. Strong. Capable. I dealt with things myself.

Looking back, I can see that some of what I called independence was probably survival.

And survival mechanisms are bloody useful when you need them.

But sometimes we carry them long after we need them.

We stay hyper-independent.

We struggle to ask for help.

We people-please.

We keep the peace around us while creating a war inside ourselves.

We become so accustomed to functioning under pressure that calm can almost feel unfamiliar.

I’ve spent a lot of time looking at those parts of myself.

Not because I want to live in the past.

Quite the opposite.

I don’t want my past running my future.

Trauma isn’t just a memory

Research into Adverse Childhood Experiences — often called ACEs — has found associations between childhood adversity and health problems later in life.

There are many possible reasons for that.

Prolonged stress can affect the body’s stress-response systems. Our experiences can influence our coping mechanisms, relationships, sleep, mental health and even the ways we learn to look after — or neglect — ourselves.

But there’s something very important in all of this:

Our history is not our destiny.

Understanding ourselves gives us an opportunity to change what happens next.

And that has become a huge part of my own health journey.

Sometimes the label isn’t as simple as we think

Recently I’ve been exploring the possibility that I have ADHD.

And, if I’m being truthful, I’m pretty certain that I do.

The more I’ve looked into it, the more pieces of my life suddenly make sense.

The procrastination.

The chaotic organisation.

The mind that wanders off halfway through something.

The fidgeting.

The hyperfocus when something fascinates me.

The alarms and notes because otherwise things simply disappear somewhere into the abyss.

But then I discovered something else that fascinated me.

There can be considerable overlap between ADHD symptoms and the effects of childhood trauma.

Difficulty concentrating. Restlessness. Forgetfulness. Emotional dysregulation. Sleep difficulties. A brain that seemingly refuses to switch off.

Trauma can also leave us hypervigilant — constantly watching our surroundings, reading people’s moods and noticing tiny changes that other people may completely miss.

Others cope by mentally checking out or disconnecting, which can look a lot like inattention.

Even professionals sometimes have to carefully untangle what is ADHD, what may be related to trauma, and whether both are present.

And sometimes it isn’t ADHD or trauma.

It can be both.

But here’s something else I’ve realised:

I actually love parts of my quirky brain.

Yes, it can be chaotic.

I can procrastinate something ridiculously simple and then become completely absorbed in something that fascinates me.

But that same brain is incredibly curious.

It makes connections between things.

It questions things.

It wants to know why.

When something genuinely interests me, I can disappear down a rabbit hole for hours, learning everything I possibly can about it.

And some of the traits we develop through difficult experiences can become strengths too.

When you’ve spent part of your life reading a room, you can become remarkably perceptive.

When you’ve had to adapt, you can become resourceful.

When life hasn’t always been predictable, you can become very good at thinking on your feet.

When you’ve had to rebuild yourself, you learn that you’re capable of doing it again.

Of course, trauma isn’t a gift.

I would never romanticise painful experiences or suggest that anybody needed to suffer in order to become who they are.

But I also don’t believe everything that came out of those experiences has to be viewed as damage.

And ADHD isn’t simply a collection of deficits either.

Maybe some of the very things that make life harder in one environment are the things that allow us to absolutely shine in another.

So I’m becoming less interested in asking:

“What’s wrong with my brain?”

And much more interested in asking:

“How does my brain work best?”

Which parts are genuinely me?

Which patterns did I learn to survive?

Which ones no longer serve me?

And which supposedly “quirky” parts of myself have I spent years trying to tone down when perhaps they were never something I needed to apologise for in the first place?

I may never be able to put every part of myself neatly into one box.

I’m not sure I want to.

Because perhaps understanding ourselves isn’t about finding everything that’s wrong with us.

Perhaps it’s about finally recognising what’s extraordinary about us, too.

Mindset isn’t pretending everything is wonderful

I think mindset gets misunderstood.

To me, mindset isn’t standing in front of the mirror telling yourself everything is fantastic while your world is falling apart.

It isn’t denying fear.

It isn’t suppressing sadness.

And it certainly isn’t forcing yourself to be positive every minute of every day.

That’s just another form of pressure.

Sometimes a healthy mindset means admitting:

I’m struggling.

Sometimes it’s grieving.

Sometimes it’s getting angry.

Sometimes it’s talking to somebody.

Sometimes it’s sitting quietly and asking yourself a question you’ve spent twenty years avoiding.

Sometimes it’s finally setting a boundary.

Sometimes it’s saying no.

Sometimes it’s walking away.

And sometimes choosing yourself means becoming comfortable with disappointing somebody else when the alternative is betraying yourself.

That has been one of my biggest lessons.

What do you believe in?

There’s another part of health that I think we sometimes avoid talking about because we’re frightened of sounding religious.

I’m not here to tell anybody which God to believe in — or that they need to believe in a traditional God at all.

But I do think there is something powerful about believing in something beyond ourselves.

For one person, that’s God.

For another, it’s the universe.

Nature.

Energy.

Prayer.

Meditation.

Their ancestors.

Their intuition.

The ocean.

Or sitting underneath an enormous old tree and remembering that the world existed long before our current problem and will continue long after it.

Maybe the label isn’t the important part.

Maybe it’s the connection.

I think human beings need meaning.

We need hope.

We need connection.

We need something that reminds us that we are more than our diagnosis, our job, our trauma, our bank balance or the worst thing that has ever happened to us.

And sometimes we simply need to believe that tomorrow can be different from today.

Food matters. Movement matters. And so does this.

I talk a lot about what we put into our bodies.

Nutrition matters enormously to me.

So does movement, sleep, sunlight, connection and everything else I’ve learned along the way.

But I don’t want to become so focused on what goes into my mouth that I forget about what goes through my mind all day.

Because perhaps nourishment isn’t only food.

Maybe it’s also the people we surround ourselves with.

The boundaries we finally enforce.

The thoughts we stop automatically believing.

The things we forgive ourselves for.

The old stories we decide we’re finished carrying.

The laughter.

The animals.

The trees.

The quiet.

The people who make our nervous system feel safe.

The moments when we stop trying to fix ourselves and simply allow ourselves to be.

This isn’t about blame. It’s about possibility.

I want to make this very clear.

If you are sick, I am not saying you thought yourself sick.

I’m not saying childhood trauma caused your illness.

I’m not saying meditation, positive thinking or resolving your past will cure disease.

And I’m certainly not saying medical problems should be ignored while we work on our mindset.

I’m saying that when we talk about whole-person health, surely we have to include the whole person.

Body.

Mind.

Environment.

Relationships.

Nutrition.

Movement.

Sleep.

Purpose.

Connection.

And whatever spirituality means to you.

For me, looking after my health now means looking inward as much as outward.

I’m still discovering things about myself.

Still questioning old patterns.

Still learning which thoughts deserve my attention and which ones can be thanked and shown the door.

Still working through pieces of my past.

Still figuring out how my quirky brain works.

Still learning how to choose myself without feeling guilty about it.

And still learning to appreciate that some of the things I once thought made me different might actually be some of the things I like most about myself.

I don’t expect to finish that work.

Maybe we’re not supposed to.

Maybe health isn’t a destination where everything is finally perfect.

Maybe it’s the daily practice of becoming a little more aware of what nourishes us and what drains us — and having the courage to change what we can.

Because the mind and body were never two separate things.

They’re having a conversation all day, every day.

Perhaps we should start listening.

Still learning. Still healing. Still choosing myself. 🤍
Anita
Choose Yourself Daily