04/09/2026
I used to pretend I was a rock.
Not stoic. Not strong. A rock — as in, nothing lands, nothing marks, nothing gets through, but the passage of time, and there is nothing here to reach.
It was a very effective strategy. It worked for years.
People stop asking how you are because you have made the question redundant, and then eventually they stop noticing when you stop answering.
Here is what I didn’t understand about it until recent years.
A rock doesn’t feel the sting. That was the whole point.
But a rock also doesn’t heal one.
Nothing gets metabolised.
It just sits in the tissue with no name on it, and then arrives eighteen months later at an inconvenient moment, and you decide the problem is that you are too sensitive now — when in fact you are simply, finally, receiving the post.
My shoulder and my hip start speaking when I am uncertain about the future and afraid the past is about to repeat itself.
For years I filed that under stress, which is a word that does almost no work.
The more accurate sentence is this: my body is not reporting an injury. It is making a forecast. It holds a prediction about what tends to happen next — built from things that genuinely did happen — and it braces in advance.
That is not weakness and it is not imagination. It is the machine doing precisely what it was built to do, using the data it was given.
The work is not becoming a rock again.
It is giving the machine newer data.
What does your body forecast before you consciously do?
Tell me in the comments — I’ll read all of them ❤︎