Something changed in me recently. Not softly. Not politely. My body stopped whispering and started calling me back. Lately I wake up already aware of myself — my breath, my pulse, the tension moving under my skin like electricity that refuses to settle. It isn’t asking permission anymore. It’s asking for release. Again. And again. And again. This doesn’t feel like chaos. It feels like returning to something I forgot I was allowed to feel. Sometimes the body doesn’t ask to be managed. Sometimes it asks to be answered. And I’m finally listening.