The Curious Body

On listening, noticing, and shifting with your body.

The Curious Body

There’s a kind of knowing that doesn’t come from books or tests. It lives in your skin. Your breath. Your gut.

It’s the knowing that speaks before you’ve had time to reason with it. The kind that says, Something’s not quite right. Or maybe, something’s finally at ease.

It’s quiet. But it’s there.

And the more you listen to your body, not to fix it, but to understand it, the clearer it becomes.

We are born into bodies that notice. Long before we learn to speak, we sense. We feel hunger, warmth, pressure, safety. We flinch. We reach. We rest.

And then, somewhere along the way, we start learning how to override that. We praise productivity over presence. We chase performance over regulation. We ignore signals because they’re inconvenient, or worse, embarrassing.

The body becomes something to manage. Something to discipline, to sculpt, to silence, to second-guess. But it never stops talking. And when you start listening again, really listening, something profound happens.

You come home to yourself.

This is what I mean by The Curious Body

Not a perfect one. Not a symptom free one. But a body that you’re willing to get to know.

A body you don’t just eat for, train, or tolerate, but one you meet, moment by moment.

A body that doesn’t need to be hacked or optimised, but understood.

Curiosity is what lets you pause in the space between “why am I like this?” and “what do I need right now?”

It’s what softens judgement. It’s what invites change without shame. It’s what turns a symptom into a signal, a pattern into a pathway.

When I work with someone, when we talk about food, fatigue, mood, gene, I’m not just looking for what’s “wrong". I’m looking for where we stopped noticing.

Because that’s where the shift begins. Not in more effort. But in more awareness.

It’s not just about what you eat. It’s how it lands. How you feel two hours later. What your sleep reflects. What your energy does before your period. What your skin or digestion says about your resilience. What your cravings or fog or reactivity might be pointing toward.

Your body keeps the score, but it also keeps the map.

I call this work nutrition. Sometimes it looks like broccoli. Sometimes it looks like boundaries.

But at its core, it’s about restoring the conversation between you and you.

The you who notices that wheat bloats, even if the test said you were fine. The you who gets teary every time you miss a meal. The you who doesn’t feel hunger until 2pm, because stress has taken up all the room. The you who wakes wired at 2am, because your blood sugar dipped and your body panicked.

That version of you doesn’t need fixing. It needs listening.

The curious body doesn’t demand answers

It asks better questions.

• What does this moment feel like in my body?

• What might this symptom be trying to show me?

• What happens when I eat slower? Sleep more? Move differently?

• What if the fatigue isn’t laziness, but a request for fuel or safety or rhythm?

• What if the reaction isn’t random, but cumulative?

We don’t always get instant clarity. But curiosity keeps us close. It lets us respond instead of react.

The truth is: this work isn’t just about food. It’s about relationship.

Food is the entry point.

It’s the way in. The tangible, daily, beautiful medium for learning how to feel again.

To notice when something supports you, and when it doesn’t. To honour the way your genes express. To soften around the shame and step into observation.

This is where healing begins. Not in a plan, but in a pattern of attention.

This is the work. Not to fix the body. But to befriend it.

Because the body is not a problem. It’s a partner. And curiosity is the first step toward remembering that.