Curiosity as the Compass
Choosing partnership over panic
I’ve been easing back into a more regular strength-training routine, a kind of physical structure I’ve been craving for a long time. For a while, movement looked different for me: constantly adapting to my symptoms and energy levels, and prioritizing a lot more rest.
Even now, I still approach exercise in constant conversation with my body. But I’ve finally reached a level of maintenance where I can welcome more consistency.
(LOL, I should have knocked on wood)
Last week, after a pretty moderate upper body session, I noticed some swelling in my arms — nothing unusual at first. But over the next few days, the swelling stayed. My arms felt dense, almost waterlogged, and my everyday bracelets left indents. I’d never felt so acutely aware of them.
When it lingered for more than a week and was joined by a wave of more familiar symptoms (dermatographia, stiffness, fatigue, anxiety, brain fog), some alarm bells began to ring.
The old pattern
In the past, something like this would have sent me spiraling.
My mind would race ahead, trying to solve, interpret and fix. I’d scan for every possible cause, open too many tabs, dive into forums, and start a mental list of theories about how it could have happened.
Underneath all that urgency was a deep-seated fear. Fear that something had gone terribly wrong. That my body had “failed” again. That it couldn’t be trusted. That my health was slipping further and further out of my control.
For a long time, that pattern felt really safe. I just wanted to understand my symptoms so I could control them. But the constant hypervigilance only made me more exhausted.
I was always braced for the next ball to drop instead of being present with what my body was actually communicating.
This time, though, I noticed the results of a major shift: the fear still came (hello, I’m human), but instead of letting it overtake me, I breathed with it and let it pass through.
I didn’t force myself to be calm or pretend I wasn’t scared… I just didn’t become the panic.
Fear as information
In this shift, I’ve realized that fear isn’t always the enemy. Sometimes, it’s just information. It can be our body’s way of saying, hey you, pay attention.
Fear used to feel like a fire I needed to put out immediately. But I’ve started to see it more like a spark — something that can either ignite panic or simply illuminate another path.
When fear shows up, I’ve started asking:
What are you trying to show me?
What part of me needs reassurance right now?
Is this a signal from my body or a story from my mind?
Is this an emergency, or is this just uncomfortable and new?
This time, I didn’t rush to put out the fire. I got curious. I let it point me toward what might need attention: maybe my workout intensity, inflammation, an MCAS flare, maybe something deeper. It sparked a shift in my attention without taking over the whole story.
That’s been a powerful reframe: from fear as a threat to fear as direction.
It keeps me from becoming numb or detached, but also keeps me grounded enough to engage with what’s happening without spiraling.
And getting curious about it gives me the space to respond instead of react.
Choosing partnership over panic
Choosing curiosity didn’t mean doing nothing — it meant doing things differently.
I still went in to see a doctor, got thorough bloodwork, and kept tabs on how my symptoms evolved.
In the past, those same actions might have felt frantic. This time, they felt steady and collaborative — like I was gathering information alongside my body rather than building a case against it. The shift is subtle, but the impact is profound.
Turns out: the energy behind the action matters.
Instead of jumping right into the spiral, I’ve learned to pause and get curious with what’s coming up. In a dynamic body, things rarely move in straight lines, but curiosity has become my compass, helping me stay oriented when nothing seems clear.
It helps me return to my baseline: trust.
I’m not talking naivety or blind optimism, but a strong inner knowing that my body is on my team — even when it’s uncomfortable or confusing or loud in its signals.
I still feel fear, often, but it seems less like an intruder now. It can be information, and when I pause with it, it can guide me toward what might need my attention.
When I meet the fear with curiosity, it loses its edge.
Being able to return to trust, curiosity, partnership — this feels like a real marker of healing. It’s not about never feeling fear, having symptoms or experiencing uncertainty, but my ability to come home to myself again and again.
We can’t always control what comes up, but we can return to trust: in our ability to meet whatever comes with presence, curiosity, and in partnership with our bodies.
Returning to trust
When things feel uncertain or scary, I’ve learned to start by pausing. Just one deep breath before reacting. That tiny bit of space helps the first wave of emotion move through so I can respond with presence instead of artificial urgency.
From there, I try to get curious. Instead of asking what’s wrong with me? I ask what might my body be asking for? or what is this trying to show me? It turns the moment into a conversation instead of a crisis.
I still seek care, testing, and support, but I try to do it from a place of partnership, not panic. And that difference in energy changes everything. Acting from fear feels like scrambling to fix. Acting from trust feels like collaborating with my body.
I also let myself feel what comes up. The frustration, confusion, fear, grief…all of it. Letting those emotions move through me instead of holding them tight. Sometimes that looks like crying, journaling, walking, breathing, dancing — anything that helps my body process and release.
When I start to doubt myself, I think back on all the moments I didn’t think I could handle, and did. That’s proof. Proof that even when things feel uncertain or hard, I can find my way through.
Trust, for me, isn’t about always feeling safe or certain, it’s a practice of returning.
An inner knowing that I can come back to myself, to presence, to curiosity.
Even when things don’t make sense, I’ve walked through uncertainty before and I will again.
Sometimes I think our bodies speak in sensations that don’t always have words to match. And maybe those signals (the flares, the fears, the things that catch us off guard) aren’t failures or punishments. Maybe they’re just invitations to listen deeper.
To remember that even in the unknown, we are still guided.
We all have a well within us :)