Your body remembers. It’s the reason we practice. It’s the reason we sit on the basketball court and shoot free-throw after free-throw so that when we’re in the moment we can sink the basket without thinking about it. It’s the reason we practice our typing when we are young. Before we know it, we can type out words on a screen without even thinking about where each letter is. It’s the reason that our bodies just know how to drive a car because it has done it so many times. Muscle Memory.When we’ve been through an experience, our bodies remember. They remember the feeling, how each muscle was impacted, and when placed in a similar experience, our bodies take over. They do their thing.Last August, was anxiety August and my body remembers. Last year had already been a year since we lost Ezra and with great anxiety and anticipation, we were awaiting the birth of our fourth. At this time last year, my body ached. My back and neck cramped up trying to move away from the anxiety. Each muscle seemingly at war with another, some crazy internal dispute, where no muscle would back down.My body remembers.It remembers each ache, each pain, each anxiety and as Ezra’s birthday/anniversary comes closer, it’s determined to remind me.My body remembers and I’m grateful. Well…I’m not grateful for the pain. That part sucks, but I’ll take it because it reminds me of an intersection of life where words barely begin to describe the sorrow and joy. The intersection of our third and fourth children. This time in my life where I was reminded that feeling love was dangerous, risky, and oh-so-worth-it. A reminder that love is not just a mind and heart thing, but a full body experience.This August, my body remembers and it reminds. It reminds me of how I stuffed down the anxiety a year ago and it nearly ruined me. The pain of the shingles, a neck that wouldn't straighten out, the thoughts (oh my the thoughts), the drinks, the hiding, and the guilt.Each movement was pain and my body is determined to remind me of each one. And I don’t want to forget either, but I also don’t want the physical pain that goes along with each memory. And so, I’ve tried everything I can do to listen to my body: yoga, stretching, massage, medicine, vacation, reading, writing, kayaking. Sometimes it works, other times it just increases the pain. While my mind may wander, my body won’t let me forget.Last year, I stuffed it down. I ignored it. I carried on. This year, I’m trying to listen to my body. Listen for what it’s telling me. Listen to what it needs. Listen to what it needs to remind me of. Leaning into the pain, the memories, the muscle memory. It reminds me of the intersection between love and loss.