The Body That Carries It

Anxiety does not live only in the mind. It makes its home in the body. It presses into your chest until your breath shortens. It locks into your shoulders until they feel like stone. It tightens your jaw until your teeth ache from clenching in your sleep. Even when your thoughts try to tell you everything is fine, the body keeps confessing what you are holding.
At night, you lie in bed staring at the ceiling. The house is quiet but your body is restless. Your legs twitch. Your chest rises and falls too quickly. Your stomach churns. You sip a drink to steady yourself and slowly your body listens. Your breath lengthens. Your heart slows. Your eyes finally agree to close. The glass became the bridge to sleep. Without it, the body insisted the world was unsafe.
In the morning, you sit at your desk staring at the same email draft for an hour. Your shoulders burn from being raised too high. Your neck aches as if you are bracing for an attack. The indecision is not just in your mind. It is in the knots and aches your body holds. You pour a drink after work and notice the difference immediately. The body unclenches, decisions feel lighter, and for once you are not at war with yourself.
In conflict, the body betrays you most of all. You stand in front of someone you love, arguing, and your voice shakes even when you want to sound strong. Your palms sweat. Your stomach feels hollow. You want to explain yourself clearly but your body is already overwhelmed. Later, alone, you pour into the glass. The shaking stops. Your stomach loosens. You breathe again and wish that relief could last longer than the pour.
This is why alcohol feels like love sometimes. Alcohol does not create calm. It translates it. It speaks to a nervous system that has forgotten how to listen to itself. The relief you feel is not foreign. It is familiar because it already belongs to you. The glass simply lowers the volume enough for you to hear it.