Finding Words for What the Body Knows

It’s a strange thing, not having words for what we feel. Sometimes we can sense all sorts of stuff going down, but we can’t respond. We just freeze, ignore, act out, dissociate, shut down — not because our window of tolerance is too meagre or even lacking altogether, but because we lack the appropriate vocabulary.

Learning to name what moves through us (both emotionally and physically) is a form of empowerment. It’s how we begin to “get a grip” not by control, but by awareness. When we can locate our experience on the inner map, we stop being at the mercy of what’s happening inside us. We can start relating to the experience rather than being consumed by it.

When we say, “I’m feeling resentment,” or “I notice a heat in my chest,” something in the body centres. We’re no longer lost in the fog. We’re being witnessed — by ourselves.

I often remind my clients (and myself, ha): you can’t regulate what you can’t locate. A map is useless if you don’t know where you are. Building an emotional and sensorial vocabulary is like placing a little red dot that says: you are here. From there, presence can begin to flow in. And with presence comes safety.

Because that’s really what self-regulation is: learning to make your own body a safe place to be.

One practice I use is simple but surprisingly powerful. It has three steps:

First, I name the emotion. Not vaguely (“I feel bad”), but as precisely as possible. Irritation. Sadness. Fear. Hostility. Disappointment. 

Secondly, I ask: how do I know I feel this way? What does my body tell me that confirms it? Perhaps my throat feels tight, my belly clenches, my eyes burn. These are my cues — the body’s language of emotion.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, the sensations take shape. They might have color, texture, even voice. Hostility might feel like hot tar, sadness like cold mist. 

And then comes the third step: I get curious. I listen. What might this sensation want or need? Does it ask for rest, for space, for expression? Often, it just wants presence — to be felt without being fixed.

The beauty of this practice is that it doesn’t demand that you fix anything. Just notice. Just stay. Sometimes all that’s there is “I don’t know.” That’s fine too. Even that can be named: I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. See? You’re already locating yourself.

Over time, this becomes second nature. You start noticing your inner weather patterns with more precision, more compassion. You begin to meet yourself where you are, instead of where you think you should be.

Because the truth is: we can’t heal what we don’t first acknowledge. And we can’t acknowledge what we don’t have language for.

So, expanding your emotional and sensorial vocabulary isn’t just a mental exercise — it’s a critical part of the user's manual of being human. It’s how we learn to stay with ourselves when things get overwhelming and messy, and helps us to better help and relate to others.

"The limits of my language mean the limits of my world." This is a key concept from Brené Brown's book Atlas of the Heart which explores how naming and understanding our emotions is crucial for making sense of them, connecting with others, and managing our experiences. The book delves into the nuances of 87 distinct emotions, moving beyond basic feelings like "mad" or "sad" to provide a more comprehensive emotional vocabulary. If you found with blog interesting, you’ll love the book!