I’VE NEVER LIVED IN A BODY THAT WAS MY SANCTUARY (UNTIL NOW)
I looked in the mirror after my mother went to skilled nursing and I didn’t recognize myself. Bags under my eyes. Thinning hair. A body that felt 20 years older than it was. But it wasn’t just the physical aging that shocked me. It was the realization that hit me like a freight train:
I have never—not once in 57 years—lived in a body that was MY sanctuary.
My body has always been a responsibility. A vessel for serving others. A tool to be used. A thing to manage, maintain, push through, or ignore. But never mine. Never sacred. Never a place I could rest in, honor, or feel powerful in.
For 16 years, my body was a tool for caregiving—lifting, bathing, feeding. Through grief, my body held pain I didn’t know how to process. Through three bouts of sepsis, my body was a battleground.
I’ve spent my entire life treating my body as a sacrifice. And now, at 57, I’m finally learning what it means to treat it as a sanctuary.
This is my journey to embodiment. And maybe, it’s your invitation too.
What My Body Has Been
For 57 years, I’ve only known my body as a responsibility. A vessel for serving others. A battleground during illness. A thing to manage, maintain, or push through.
My body was always FOR something:
For lifting my mother when she fell
For serving clients at weddings and events, standing on my feet for 12-hour days
For pushing through exhaustion when there was no one else to do the work
For looking presentable even when I was falling apart inside
For functioning despite pain, despite illness, despite everything screaming at me to stop
But never for ME. Never for rest. Never for pleasure or power or peace.
I never asked, “What does my body need?” I only asked, “What can my body do?”
And the answer was always: more. Push harder. Keep going. Don’t stop now.
When I survived sepsis the first time in 2016, I got back to caregiving as soon as I could stand. I didn’t rest. I didn’t heal fully. I didn’t honor what my body had just been through. I treated my recovery like an inconvenience, not a miracle.
When sepsis came for me again in 2020—twice—I still didn’t stop. I kept caregiving. Kept working. Kept making my body last priority because someone else’s needs felt more urgent than my own survival.
I postponed surgeries. I ignored chronic pain. I pushed through exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix.
Because that’s what I thought love looked like. That’s what I thought devotion required.
I thought my body was something to sacrifice, not something to steward.
And I paid for that belief with years I can’t get back.
The Cost of Treating Your Body as a Tool
My body tried to tell me for years.
Through pain that woke me up at night
Through illness that nearly killed me three times
Through exhaustion so deep that I couldn’t remember what it felt like to feel rested
But I kept overriding it. I kept treating my body like an employee I could push harder instead of a temple I was meant to steward.
By August 2024, when I finally looked in the mirror after my mother went to skilled nursing, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
I had aged a decade in just a few years. The bags under my eyes weren’t from one bad night—they were permanent. My hair was thinning. My skin looked gray. My body ached in ways I couldn’t explain.
I looked like someone who had survived something. Because I had.
But survival isn’t thriving. And I was so far from thriving that I couldn’t even remember what it felt like.
This is what happens when you treat your body as a tool instead of a temple: you break.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. But slowly, steadily, until one day you look in the mirror and realize you’ve lost yourself completely.
Your body doesn’t forget the years you ignored it. It doesn’t forget the times you pushed through pain, postponed rest, made yourself last.
It keeps the score. And eventually, it presents the bill.
For me, that bill came due at 56 years old, when my body finally said, “No more. I can’t keep doing this.”
And I had to choose: keep sacrificing my body, or finally learn to honor it.
What Embodiment Actually Means
I spent years in the wellness and coaching space hearing the word “embodiment” without really understanding what it meant.
I thought it was about body positivity—learning to love how you look.
I thought it was about self-care—bubble baths and face masks and treating yourself.
I thought it was something you did on yoga mats and meditation cushions, not in real life.
But embodiment is none of those things.
Embodiment is the practice of fully inhabiting your body. Of being present IN your body, not just living from the neck up.
It’s the difference between occupying your body and truly living in it.
For most of my life, I occupied my body. I used it. I managed it. I pushed it to perform. But I never actually inhabited it.
I never asked what it needed.
I never listened when it spoke.
I never treated it as sacred space.
Your body is a temple. Not as a metaphor. As truth.
1 Corinthians 6:19 says, “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own.”
I knew that verse. I’d heard it my whole life. But I never lived like I believed it.
Because if my body is a temple, then treating it like a tool is desecration. Sacrificing it for others is not devotion—it’s destruction.
Embodiment means:
Feeling your feet on the ground when you walk, not rushing through every moment on autopilot
Noticing when your shoulders are tense and choosing to release them instead of carrying stress in your body for days
Asking “What does my body need right now?” and actually listening to the answer—even if the answer is rest, even if the answer is “stop”
Living FROM your body, not despite it. Not overriding its signals. Not pushing through its warnings.
Treating your body as sacred space you’re responsible for stewarding, not a sacrifice you’re required to make
Embodiment is emerging from the cocoon and INHABITING your transformed self.
Not just knowing you’re different. BEING different.
Living fully present in a body that’s your sanctuary, not your sacrifice.
What My Body Is Learning Now
At 57, in Las Vegas, I’m finally learning to live in my body as sanctuary.
This is what “until now” means.
I wake up in the morning and instead of immediately doing, I practice being. I check in: How does my body feel? Where am I holding tension? What does it need today?
Some mornings, the answer is movement. Some mornings, the answer is rest. And I’m learning to honor both.
I move my body with intention now, not punishment. Not to burn calories or prove I’m disciplined, but because movement is how I stay connected to this temple. I’m building strength—not to perform, but to inhabit. I want to feel powerful in my body at 57. Not because I’m performing strength, but because I AM strong. Embodied. Present.
I rest without guilt. Friday sundown through Saturday sundown is Sabbath—and my body honors that along with my spirit. I don’t push through exhaustion anymore. I listen when my body says “stop.” Rest isn’t a reward I earn. It’s a command I honor.
I prioritize my body’s healing. My body is still healing from years of sepsis, caregiving, and sacrifice. I’m not rushing it. I’m not pushing through. I’m giving it time, space, and grace to restore itself. By the end of 2026, I want to feel fully embodied in my power—not a certain size, but a certain BEING. Present. Capable. Sovereign.
I notice the small moments. The warmth of tea in my hands. The feeling of my feet on the floor when I stand. The way my body relaxes when I breathe deeply. These aren’t luxuries. These are the practice of embodiment—being fully present in the body God gave me.
I’m learning what it feels like to inhabit my sanctuary instead of just occupy it.
This is my metamorphosis. This is my embodiment. This is what it means to finally choose myself at 57.
The Difference Between Occupying and Inhabiting
Let me make this practical.
Occupying your body looks like:
- Going through the motions on autopilot
- Ignoring your body’s signals until they become emergencies
- Pushing through pain, exhaustion, illness
- Treating your body as a vehicle you’re stuck in
- Making your body last priority
- Living from the neck up—all mind, no body
Inhabiting your body looks like:
- Being present in each moment
- Listening to your body’s signals and responding with care
- Resting before you break
- Treating your body as sacred space you’re stewarding
- Making your body’s needs non-negotiable
- Living as a whole person—mind, body, and spirit integrated
Most women have spent their entire lives occupying their bodies, not inhabiting them.
I did for 57 years.
But I’m learning now. And you can too.
What Embodiment Looks Like in Daily Life
Here’s what living in my body as sanctuary actually looks like:
Morning body check-ins. Before I get out of bed, I pause. I notice how my body feels. I don’t judge it. I just notice. And I ask: What do you need today?
Movement as connection, not punishment. I move my body because it feels good to be alive in it. Not to burn off what I ate. Not to earn rest. But to connect with the temple I’m stewarding.
Honoring Sabbath fully. From Friday sundown through Saturday sundown, my body rests. No work. No hustle. No pushing through. Just presence, peace, and sacred rest.
Listening to pain instead of overriding it. When my body hurts, I don’t ignore it. I ask what it’s trying to tell me. And I respond with care, not with “push through it.”
Eating as nourishment, not obligation. I feed my body what makes it feel strong and alive. Not what I “should” eat. Not what diet culture says. What my body actually needs.
Releasing tension as it comes. When I notice my shoulders tensing, I release them. When I’m holding my breath, I breathe. I don’t carry stress in my body for days anymore.
Celebrating what my body can do. My body survived sepsis three times. It carried me through 16 years of caregiving. It’s healing now. It deserves celebration, not criticism.
This is embodiment. This is treating my body as sanctuary. This is living FROM my body, not despite it.
Your Invitation to Embodiment
If you’ve spent years treating your body as a tool, a sacrifice, a thing to manage—you’re not alone.
Most women have never lived in their bodies as sanctuaries. We’ve been taught to override, push through, make ourselves last.
We’ve been taught that devotion requires sacrifice. That love means making our bodies the cost. That rest is something we earn, not something God commands.
But that’s not what Scripture teaches. That’s not what the Proverbs 31 woman modeled. That’s not what embodied sovereignty looks like.
You can learn embodiment.
You can learn to inhabit your body as sacred space. You can learn to listen instead of override. You can learn to build from rest, honor your temple, and create the sovereign soft life.
You don’t have to wait until you’re broken. You don’t have to survive sepsis three times. You don’t have to lose yourself completely before you start choosing yourself.
You can start now.
Ask your body: What do you need today?
And then listen. Really listen.
That’s the first step to embodiment. That’s the beginning of treating your body as sanctuary instead of sacrifice.
At 57, I’m finally learning this. And I’m teaching it to other women so they don’t wait as long as I did.
Your body is a temple. Not a tool. Not a sacrifice. A temple.
It’s time to start treating it like one.
Welcome to Embodiment. Welcome to Your Sanctuary. 🦋
If you’re ready to stop treating your body as a sacrifice and start honoring it as a sanctuary, join my email list. Starting in January 2026, I’m teaching women embodiment—how to fully inhabit your body as the temple it is. This is Kingdom work. This is the sovereign soft life. This is what it means to build Proverbs 31 lives from rest, not exhaustion.
Let’s learn to live in our sanctuaries together. 🦋💜
