When your body doesn't feel like your own

learning to embrace change within the body

If you’re new here, welcome. All Parts explores the human experience through somatic psychology, spiritual teachings, and trauma-informed healing—grounded in curiosity and healthy skepticism. Written by a human who also happens to be a therapist.

When your body doesn't feel like your own

I’ve been keeping a secret from (most of) you, and I think it’s time I let you in on it.

The truth is that over the last several months, my body has not felt like my own. Put more simply, my body has been rapidly changing in ways that I can no longer keep up with.

Living in a rapidly changing body is one of the most disorienting things that can happen to us as human beings, regardless of whether these changes were intentional or not.

It is with wild awe and wonder that I share with you that I am 24 weeks pregnant. I won’t dive too deeply into my pregnancy experience, or even talk much about the emerging mother within me quite yet. After all, honoring all parts of ourselves is recognizing when certain parts aren’t quite ready to be shared with the world.

But there is something that has been unfolding throughout my pregnancy that now feels ready to be explored here.

As my belly grows and I experience aches and pains and sensations and feelings I’ve never felt before, I’m reminded that sometimes this vessel that we call our physical body does not feel like our own. It simply is not the body that we’re used to inhabiting; that we’re accustomed to being in.

Injuries, chronic illness & pain, hormonal imbalances, “mystery” symptoms, and physical/sexual traumas are all examples of conditions that make us question our connection to our Selves. Hell, unexpected weight gain or loss, a new haircut, or a new tattoo can have us questioning our very identity in ways that feel complex and disruptive.

When our bodies change in ways that feel unfamiliar, it can stir a profound sense of estrangement that ripples through every layer of our being. As Hilary McBride writes in The Wisdom of the Body, “the body is not just a thing we have, it is who we are.” This truth, when disrupted, can leave us grappling with a disorientation that isn’t simply physical but also deeply emotional and existential.

To feel disconnected from the body is to feel disconnected from ourselves, from our sense of identity, and even from our ability to locate ourselves in the world. This estrangement can leave us questioning the safety of a once-familiar home, as we attempt to reconcile our inner knowing with a body that seems to have rewritten the script while we were off doing other things.

I don’t mean to equate pregnancy with any of the above conditions, and I certainly don’t mean to minimize what those living with chronic pain, illness, and trauma have to endure on a daily basis. I recognize the difference. I’ve experienced the difference.

I know that my body is doing what it’s supposed to be doing right now. My body is changing at a rapid, break-neck speed, and that’s actually a good thing. When I look at my stomach in the mirror the corners of my mouth curl up into a big ol’ goofy smile knowing that the bigger it gets, the closer I am to meeting the being who’s taken up residence there.

This is very different from the time I looked at my stomach in the mirror ashamed and confused with my weight gain and bloat from an undiagnosed thyroid condition.

Which is very different from the years I spent trying to reclaim my body after realizing that I was stuck in cycles of depression and dissociation stemming from repressed trauma.

And yet…

The somatic experience of disorientation - the felt sense of feeling like my body was not my own- has been similar in all of these circumstances.

Gabor Mate says that our “bodies communicate to us clearly and specifically if we are willing to listen,” but what if I am willing to listen; what if I have been willing to listen and things still sound muddled and disjointed?

When messages come through new and unfamiliar sensations, at first they can feel or sound like static or gibberish, ultimately leaving us disoriented. What new channel have I tuned into here?

From a somatic perspective, even natural processes like pregnancy can register as threats within the nervous system. The rapid changes in the body - stretching, shifting, and sensations we’ve never felt before - can trigger the same physiological responses as more overt dangers. Our nervous system, always attuned to shifts in our internal state, often interprets unfamiliarity as risk, activating protective mechanisms like hypervigilance, freeze, or dissociation.

These responses are not wrong or an indication that something is amiss - it’s a signal that the body is working hard to navigate and adapt to change. It’s a message that something inside of us needs care, attention, and integration.

The experience of being in a body that feels unfamiliar is, at its core, an invitation—a call to meet ourselves with tenderness in the midst of profound change. It asks us to honor the complexity of living in a physical form that is constantly evolving, sometimes in ways that feel beyond our control. As Hilary McBride writes, “healing is not about erasing discomfort but learning to be with ourselves in the midst of it.”

I’ve been noticing a need within my own changing body to care for myself in ways I’ve never had to before. Some moments have felt as though my tried and true toolbox of self-care practices have been thrown into the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again. I’ve tried my best to meet these moments with curiosity; tending to the parts of myself that feel the most threatened by the emerging mother part. Often this is all that needs to be done for my nervous system to soften back into safety.

Whether the unfamiliarity comes from pain, trauma, or the awe-inspiring process of creating life, it’s an opportunity to deepen our relationship with the body—not as something to master or fix, but as a partner to tend to and trust. In doing so, we may just discover a new kind of home within ourselves, one that holds space for the discomfort, the beauty, and the unfolding of who we are becoming.

When our bodies don’t feel like our own, we’re invited to sit and listen to the static, and trust that it will eventually sound like a sweet & clear melody created for and by you.

Have there been moments in your life when your body did not feel like your own? I’d love to hear about your experiences in the comments. I’ll meet you there.

Xo,

The Emerging Mother Part

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