Thirty-One: Learning to Build a Life That Honors My Body

Today, I turned 31.

Birthdays always make me reflective, but this one feels different.

As I’ve been thinking about this past year, I keep asking myself, “What have I actually learned?” And the more I sit with that question, the more I realize that every lesson seems to point me back to the same place.

My body.

If you had asked me a few years ago what healing looked like, I probably would’ve said fixing my PCOS, getting my hormones under control, feeling less anxious, or finally getting rid of the symptoms that made me feel like my body wasn’t doing what it was “supposed” to do.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Instead of asking, “How do I fix my body?” I started asking, “What is my body trying to tell me?”

That question has changed everything.

It’s led me to learn more deeply about my hormones, my menstrual cycle, and my nervous system. It’s challenged me to stop viewing my body as something that needs to be controlled and start seeing her as something that deserves to be understood.

I’m realizing that my body has never been working against me.

She’s been communicating with me all along.

One of the most unexpected teachers this year has been pottery.

When I first signed up, I thought I was just trying a new hobby. I wanted something creative. Something that got me away from a screen.

I didn’t expect it to become one of the places where I feel most present.

There’s something about sitting at the wheel that quiets my mind.

When my hands are on the clay, I can’t think about my inbox, tomorrow’s schedule, or the next goal I’m trying to accomplish. The clay has a way of bringing me back to what’s happening right now.

And if I’m distracted, it lets me know.

If I’m rushing, it lets me know.

If I’m trying to force it, it lets me know.

It doesn’t respond to pressure.

It responds to presence.

The more I’ve worked with clay, the more I’ve realized that maybe my body has been asking for the same thing.

Not to be forced.

Not to constantly perform.

Not to be pushed past her capacity.

But to be listened to.

Pottery has become one of the few places where my nervous system completely exhales.

It reminds me that slowing down isn’t wasting time.

It’s making space to notice.

And honestly, I think that’s been one of the greatest gifts of this year.

Learning what my nervous system actually needs.

Not what productivity tells me I should need.

Not what hustle culture celebrates.

But what allows me to feel grounded, connected, and fully present.

Sometimes my nervous system needs rest.

Sometimes it needs creativity.

Sometimes it needs movement.

Sometimes it needs quiet.

Sometimes it simply needs permission to do one thing at a time.

As I’ve been building my therapy practice, I’ve realized this lesson applies there, too.

For so long, I believed success meant working harder, producing more, and constantly thinking about the next milestone.

Now, I’m asking different questions.

What would it look like to build a business that honors my nervous system?

What if I created from a place of regulation instead of chronic stress?

What if I trusted that slowing down could actually make me a better therapist?

A better partner.

A better friend.

A more present version of myself.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to build a beautiful business if it requires abandoning the very body that’s carrying me through it.

I don’t want a life that looks successful on the outside while my nervous system is quietly begging me to slow down.

I’m beginning to believe that healing isn’t just about understanding our hormones.

It’s about learning to build our lives around our nervous systems instead of expecting our nervous systems to constantly adapt to the lives we’ve built.

That feels like one of the biggest realizations I’ve had this year.

And maybe that’s what turning 31 means for me.

Not having everything figured out.

But trusting myself enough to keep listening.

Listening to my body.

Listening to my cycle.

Listening to my nervous system.

Listening to the quiet places where creativity lives.

Because every time I do, I become a little more myself.

So here’s to 31.

To building a life that feels good to live—not just one that looks good from the outside.

To creating without rushing.

To resting without guilt.

To honoring my body instead of fighting it.

To trusting that presence may be one of the most productive things I’ve ever learned.

To continuing to build a life, a business, and a future that my nervous system doesn’t have to recover from.

Happy Birthday to me. 🤍

And Happy Birthday to all of my fellow Cancers. 🦀 May this next year invite us to soften where we’ve been taught to harden, to trust ourselves a little more deeply, and to continue building lives that honor who we are—not just what we can produce.

Here’s to another year of growing, healing, creating, and coming home to ourselves.