When I was a little girl, my mother and my grandmother would always say the same thing:

“Pay attention to your body. Pay attention to the cues your body is giving you.”

I nodded like a child does—agreeing without understanding. I didn’t really know what they meant until I got older.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I paid attention to my body in church.

I was raised in the church—born in it, brought up in it, in it all my life. I had encounters with my Father in heaven at a very young age. I learned how to discern the spirit early on. I noticed how my body would respond during certain services, certain moments of worship, certain atmospheres. That’s how I learned I’m an intercessor.

I’d wake up in the middle of the night with people dropped into my spirit—people I hadn’t spoken to in years. Sometimes I’d be praying in the Spirit for people I’d never even met, only seen in a dream. Other times, I’d feel impressed to pray for or call someone—sometimes in entirely different countries.

It’s wild when you think about it.

God is funny like that. Honestly, He’s kind of comical.

So yes, I paid attention… but not like that.

I never really paid attention to my body—what it was doing, what it was holding, what it was trying to tell me.

Fast forward to now. I’m not young, y’all. I’m in my late 40s, and certain things are supposed to happen with your body at this age. Or so I thought.

I was having a conversation with someone recently—bear with me—and they shared a story about a young woman whose blood pressure would spike every time her boyfriend came around. She never felt bad. She felt fine. No symptoms she could identify.

It wasn’t until she was in the hospital giving birth that the truth showed itself. Every time the boyfriend walked into the room, her blood pressure spiked on the monitor. Every. Single. Time.

She had been under physical stress the entire relationship and didn’t even know it.

At the time, I just thought, Wow… that’s crazy.

Good conversation. Interesting story. Nothing more.

But after my most recent relationship ended, something clicked.

It wasn’t until after we parted ways that I realized I had been under duress too.

Listen… I hadn’t had a menstrual cycle in almost a year.

Ten to twelve months. Easy.

And I told myself what many women would tell themselves: You’re going through menopause. That’s just what it is.

I went to the doctor. Had my routine physical. The lady doctor ran tests. She agreed—yes, menopause.

But do you know what happened next?

Three months after the breakup—on December 25th, of all days—God gave me a cycle.

A Christmas gift.

And I have had a normal, consistent cycle ever since.

Why?

Because my body finally relaxed.

The tension left.

The stress released.

My body had been speaking the entire time… and I wasn’t listening.

So ladies—and gentlemen too, because this applies to all of us—if you’re reading this, please pay attention to your body. Pay attention to what shifts when certain people enter your space. Pay attention to what eases when they leave. Pay attention to what your body is carrying that your mouth may never say out loud.

Grandma and them?

Yeah… they were right.

Always were.