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I Knew Before I Knew: How Healing Changes Our Relationship with Reality

  • Writer: Sara McRae
    Sara McRae
  • Aug 1
  • 4 min read

When Your Body Knows Before Your Mind


Have you ever looked back on a decision and realized...


“I knew all along.”


A relationship.

A job.

A symptom.


Looking back, we often realize we knew long before we admitted we knew.


We can identify moments when our bodies were aware of something before our minds were willing to acknowledge it. We noticed the tension, the knot in our stomach, the quiet exhaustion, or the sense that something was out of alignment.


Something was “off.” Yet we explained it away, minimized it, or convinced ourselves to keep going.


I’ve become fascinated by that gap.


The distance between what the body recognizes and what the mind is willing to admit.


I realize there has been an enormous amount of awareness, wisdom, and choice that I overrode. Information I allowed to remain just beneath the surface of consciousness. The quiet feedback my body was offering. Fleeting thoughts I dismissed. Moments I talked myself out of.


I argued.

With my body.

With reality.


It’s fascinating.


Denial.

Dismissal.


Those patterns often kept me safe.


Comfortable.


Relationships intact.


They helped me keep going.


Years ago, I realized that I had spent much of my life valuing doing over being.

Action over listening. Override over pause.


I intentionally began cultivating what Eastern traditions call yin—the receptive, observant, sensing qualities that allow us to receive information before we react to it.


It wasn’t dramatic.


It was a daily practice of becoming quieter.

Of pausing.


Of asking simple questions like:

What is my body telling me that my mind hasn’t caught up to yet?


Over time something unexpected happened.


The gap became shorter.


Relationships that once took years to understand became clear in months.

Patterns revealed themselves sooner.

Decisions that once required ongoing analysis became obvious much more quickly.


Not because I had become more intuitive in some mystical sense.


Because I had become more willing to notice.



Why We Talk Ourselves Out of What We Already Know


Every living system survives because it remains responsive to reality.


Stand beneath a tree after several cloudy days and watch which direction the leaves emerge. The light is the light, and they grow toward it.


Our bodies work the same way.


We often think of symptoms as problems.


But many symptoms begin as information.


A tightening jaw.

An unsettled stomach.

A sigh we didn’t know we were holding.

Difficulty sleeping.


The feeling that something is “off,” even when we can’t explain why.


These aren’t always signs that something is wrong.


Sometimes they are simply the earliest ways our bodies tell us something deserves our attention.


The tragedy isn’t that we fail to sense these things.


The tragedy is how often we’ve learned to explain them away.


“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s probably nothing.”


Eventually the whisper becomes a shout. Whether in the body or in life circumstances. Because the quieter ways of getting our attention didn’t work.


I sometimes look back and absolutely marvel at how ridiculously well I’ve dismissed things.


This is why I don’t think yin is about being soft.


I think it’s about becoming accurate.


It is the capacity to notice reality before reality forces itself upon us.


That requires openness.

Awareness.

Curiosity.


And sometimes the courage to acknowledge something long before we know what to do about it.


I don’t think most of us fail to perceive reality. I think we’re remarkably good at perceiving it.


What we’re often less skilled at is allowing it to remain unchanged.


We soften it.

We reinterpret it.

We rationalize.

We explain it away.


“They didn’t mean that.”


“Maybe I’m overreacting.”


“I’ll be fine.”


Sometimes those stories are helpful, compassionate, even wise.


Often, they are the ways we protect ourselves from what we’re not yet ready to know.


Or deal with.


As my capacity to perceive reality has grown, I’ve noticed something unexpected.


The biggest change wasn’t that I began seeing more.

It was that I spent less time explaining away what I had already seen.


Healing taught me to spend less time arguing with my body.

To remain faithful to what I had already perceived, even before I fully understood it.


Like any meaningful human capacity, it grows with practice.


Every moment we choose to notice instead of dismiss we strengthen our ability to recognize reality.


When we become better at noticing, something interesting happens.


We become more responsive.

We recover sooner.

We recognize unhealthy patterns earlier.


When we perceive reality more clearly, different choices become obvious.



The Quiet Paradox of Healing


Healing expands our capacity to perceive and tolerate reality.


Once we do, it becomes much harder to pretend we don’t.


The more willing I have become to stay with reality, the less tolerance I have for what doesn’t align.


It’s not that I’ve become more judgmental.


It’s that I’ve become less willing to abandon what I know to be true.


I once thought yin would make me more intuitive.


Now I think it has made me more available to reality.


As yin and yang become more integrated, our capacity for discernment grows.


Consciousness doesn’t make us rigid.


It makes us less willing to abandon what we know.


It makes us more precise.


We recognize misalignment sooner.

We spend less time explaining away what our bodies, our relationships, and reality itself have already revealed.

We are less willing to edit reality in order to remain comfortable.



Author’s Note:

Throughout this essay, I use the terms yin and yang. Yin is the receptive, sensing, perceiving aspect of our nature. Yang is the organizing, expressing, and sustaining aspect. Every person carries both. Healing, to me, is not becoming more yin or more yang, but learning to let each inform the other.


This essay is dedicated to my dear friend Antonia, who reminds me that courage doesn’t always look loud, and that as yin and yang more deeply integrate, a different kind of badassery emerges.


Blog post by:

Sara McRae | Creator of Balance First™ and HigherCx™Wellness practitioner and teacher of Touch for Health. Her work focuses on nervous system, energy medicine, trauma recovery, and Long COVID.

Exploring resilience, energy, and conscious integration through body and culture.

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