Amid the swirl of colorful lights and screeching rides at the annual fair, I learned an unexpected lesson about body awareness from my seven-year-old son. It wasn’t just his refusal to go on a daunting ride that caught my attention, but the calm and reasoned way he explained his decision. As we waited in line for the boat ride, known for its heart-pounding swings, my son shook his head with quiet certainty. “No,” he said, explaining that his heart beat too fast on that ride and it didn’t feel right. This wasn’t just ordinary childhood defiance; it was a clear act of self-awareness.
It's creating enough space to hear the sensation before deciding what to do with it.
That moment forced me to examine my own approach as a parent, how I had sometimes nudged my children to ignore what their bodies were telling them to fit in. Phrases like “everyone’s doing it” or “you don’t want to miss out” too often replaced letting my kids trust their instincts. Seeing my son stand there with such certainty made me realize how much I want him to keep that skill, and how hard it is for adults to find it again after years of learning to ignore those signals.
A lesson from the fairground
This encounter with my son was not just about a child’s fear of a ride, it made me think about what it means to respect one’s internal sense of safety. By refusing to push past his pounding heart, he set a boundary grounded in self-knowledge. Watching him, I saw how easy it can be to lose that natural self-trust as we get older.
His certainty made me pause and reconsider the cost of pretending physical instincts don’t matter.
Looking back, I noticed how my parenting sometimes encouraged my kids to brush aside what their bodies told them in favor of keeping up with everyone else. But this moment with my son reminded me how valuable and rare it is to hold onto that kind of wisdom, a kind we often bury under years of habit and other people’s expectations. Praising him for standing by his choice, I felt something shift in myself too. I realized I needed to pay attention to my own bodily cues again. That awareness could help me recover something important, something often lost while trying to please others or fit in.
Losing and recalling the body's voice
Children have a remarkable ability to listen to their bodies without overthinking it, stopping when they’ve had enough food, speaking up if something feels wrong, moving freely when they have energy. Yet as we grow up, pressure from adults and social expectations can train us to override those instincts: finish everything on your plate, stay seated even if you want to move.
Recovering that self-awareness isn’t difficult because it’s new, it’s difficult because so much gets piled on top of it as we grow up.
No one sets out deliberately to create this disconnect, but it happens anyway, with parents and institutions urging kids to put compliance ahead of gut feeling. Gradually, the quiet signals from our bodies get drowned out by voices urging us to do what we “should.” Think of bodily awareness as our default setting, a language we all understand until external pressures teach us otherwise. When my son turned down the ride, he wasn’t just making a choice; he was communicating in a language most adults have forgotten.
The journey to self-trust and awareness
Learning, or remembering, how to listen to our bodies again takes conscious effort. It means stopping long enough to notice what we’re feeling, whether excitement or discomfort, and considering those signals before acting. The goal isn’t to follow every impulse but to treat each one with curiosity and respect.
This approach helps create an environment where both children and adults can rediscover their instincts and make thoughtful choices. By asking ourselves “What am I feeling?” or “Why do I feel this way?”, we sharpen our understanding of our real needs and boundaries.
Building this kind of trust doesn’t mean blindly obeying every sensation, but rather learning when those sensations offer useful information. My son’s choice at the fair was more than a simple preference, it was a reminder that the body’s quiet wisdom is always present if we make time to listen.
