Knock, knock, knock:”it’s your body and I am bout to throw a tantrum “

The dog and the toddler metaphor

There are moments when our body seems to knock at our door, whispering or shouting, messages through sensations, pain, emotions, tightness, heat, cold, or sudden waves of unease. Anxiety, fear, grief, and old wounds often find their voice through the body. Yet what do we usually do when it comes knocking?

We distract ourselves. We scroll. We medicate. We rationalize… We hope it will just… go away. But it doesn’t.

It either gets louder or hides deeper, waiting for the next chance to be heard.

The Dog Metaphor

Take my little dog, Mikey, a small rat terrier with a surprisingly big bark. Like many small dogs, his voice can easily get on your nerves. When he barks, he’s trying to warn us of a potential threat: the mail carrier, a delivery truck, or even a car parking outside.

My first reaction is sometimes to yell louder: “Mikey, stop!”

But that rarely works. It usually takes several Mikey, stop! before he retreats to his favorite chair, still muttering soft growls as if to say, “I’m telling you, someone’s there!”

What actually stops the barking almost immediately is simple: I get up, glance out the window, and check. The moment he sees that I’ve paid attention, he stops. His job is done.

Our body is like Mikey.

When it barks through pain, tension, or anxiety, it’s not trying to annoy us: it’s warning us, asking us to look. When we ignore it, it just keeps barking louder.

The Toddler Metaphor

The same goes for a baby or toddler. When a child cries, ignoring or raising our voice usually makes things worse. But if we come close, listen, and offer our full, calm presence, the crying often stops quickly.

Our body works the same way. When we respond to discomfort with compassionate attention, staying with the sensation, breathing through it, placing a hand on our heart, listening to its rhythm, something begins to soften. The body feels heard.

The Practice

Like training a little dog, this takes practice and repetition. It’s best to start small, with minor disturbances, not waiting for the house to be on fire. Each time we pause, listen, and breathe instead of reacting, we teach our nervous system that we are safe, present, and listening. We say to our body, I hear you, I hear you, I hear you,…

And when life brings its big storms, its pounding on the door, its emotional typhoons (what happens in the news dont always stay in the news, it can come knocking at our own doors), this practice becomes our anchor.

It allows us to stay centered and, perhaps, become a quiet source of peace for those around us.

As always, with love,

Eva