By Shayna Kaufmann in San Diego
Twenty-seven years ago, my husband Eric and I got engaged after just three months of dating and married seven months later.
Our engagement happened so quickly that he hadn’t even met my parents (who lived out of town) or any of my extended family. We honestly didn’t know each other that well and still joke about who took the bigger risk. (Me, hands down. 😊)
But that’s not really the point of this story. The point is that we both knew we wanted to be together. Not because we had analyzed our compatibility. Not because we were swept away by infatuation, and not because we felt any pressure to quickly wed. We simply knew, deep in our bones, that we were meant to spend our lives together.
At the time, I couldn’t have explained it. If someone had asked how I knew, I wouldn’t have had much to offer.
And then, twenty-seven years later, I experienced that same feeling again. (Though definitely less romantic.)
About six weeks after being diagnosed with Stage 4 terminal cancer, I suddenly knew that I was going to beat it.
There was no dramatic moment, no miraculous scan, no doctor offering unexpected hope. Statistically, the odds were stacked against me. And yet, beneath all of it — the constant treatments, the hard conversations, the harsh side effects, and the days I could barely get off the couch — there was a quiet certainty I couldn’t explain.
The oncologist who told us that I had about a year to live was looking at my scans and labs. His opinion was based on hard data, research and statistics. I, on the other hand, had a feeling. At the risk of sounding a crazy, I also “heard” that I was going to be OK and could “see” my tumors shrinking before any scans verified it. Most betting people would put their money on the oncologist’s prediction. And they would have lost it. 😊
For months after being declared in remission, I chased after the origin of that knowing.
How did I know? And perhaps most importantly, how could I access that kind of knowing more often? Ambivalence, not certainty, is my default setting. So, this kind of knowing felt unusual and amazing.
The answer finally came during a meditation retreat. I was walking the labyrinth pictured above, holding the intention of understanding where this knowing had come from. As I slowly made my way along the winding path, the answer appeared.
It was not profound. In fact, it was so simple it was almost obvious: I listened to my body.
In both situations, the knowing didn’t come from my mind. It wasn’t something I figured out through analysis or logic. In the case of Eric, it was a kind of quiet opening, a feeling that this was simply right. With cancer, it was something more like a calm under the storm, a sense of solid ground beneath very rocky footing.
I also began to “know” what my body wanted. There were times when I knew my body needed a cranial sacral session as opposed to acupuncture, or a gentle beach walk instead of an oxygen chamber treatment. I also “knew” when I was in the right medical hands and could stop medically advocating for myself and seeking yet another opinion. I could just sit back and trust the experts I had chosen.
The body speaks in subtle ways. The challenge is that our minds are often so loud we miss it.
I am certain that each of you have had experiences of knowing. Perhaps it was knowing you needed to attend an event, serve on a board, or have coffee with a certain person without understanding why. The decision was not based on logic or “should.” But when you followed your instinct, you came to understand why.
Earlier this week, I had coffee with someone who had attended the Joy Jam event, where I spoke about my cancer journey. She had received the invite from a friend and instinctively said yes, without understanding why. Over our chat, she shared that she has a very close friend with cancer, and after hearing me speak, knew that was why she needed to be at the event.
The next time you feel a hunch to do something that may not make intuitive sense, do it. Even if it the decision is not logical, your body likely knows “why.”
And the next time you’re wrestling with a decision, before you make your list of pros and cons, try this:
- Slow down
- Take a few breaths
- And listen
The labyrinth is still there if you need it. But you might not have to walk that far.
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Shayna Kaufmann is a lecturer, clinical psychologist, and founder of Embrace the Middle.