tracing the origins

a question keeps returning. it rises from my body the way light forms under closed eyelids. it moves through my thoughts the way a current passes under the surface. it shows itself in how i pull away, how i stay, how i explain things to myself when no one is around. what is the source of the way i am?

i watch the small traces that shape my days. the appetite. the sudden energy. the instinct that shows up before i understand it. each one shows a piece of something larger. i want to see where the image actually begins. someone once said therapy is an unweaving. loosen a thread and the tightness underneath becomes obvious. the pattern becomes easier to read. there are moments where i catch myself observing rather than living, and even that becomes part of the pattern.

so i begin with the body. colonics. fasting. food that supports me.
an osteopath pausing over places my attention rarely reaches.
a tracker showing how certain meals bring my mind alive while others blur the edges.
here, the question deepens. maybe the origin lives in chemistry. maybe it travels through the blood.

then the mind. a nutritionist every second week. a psychologist helping me map the earlier versions of my reactions. somatic work that turns old tensions into something i can recognise instead of avoid. again the question returns: is this inherited, or formed through experience? psychology, somatics, neurology, listening for whatever speaks, noticing what repeats. each one shows me something i didn’t see before. some parts feel ancient. some feel distinctly my own.

i come from people with their own intensities.
a mother whose thoughts jumped ahead of her.
a father who preferred the pieces over the whole.
their ways meet inside me and form a pattern .. a very specific way of sensing and responding to the world.

over time, the question shows up in places i didn’t expect.
what feels passed down?
what feels created in me?
what is sensitivity, what is adaptation, what is simply the natural way my system moves?

i observe the depth, the need for space, the pace of my inner life. everything points somewhere.

slowly, seven angles begin to speak in one direction.
the body
the mind
the gut
the nervous system
the family line
the emotional field
the sensory world
together they show me where i stand.

i start shaping my days around what actually works for me.
i look for what gives me room, what allows my system to breathe, what lets me move in a way that feels true. this becomes a form of self-understanding. and in that understanding, something softens.

i’m learning what feels right to grow from.