Inspired by “The Voice Beneath the Skin” by Besmira Stermilli
There is a moment many of us know too well, the one where something inside us reacts strongly, maybe too strongly, and almost immediately we try to shrink it. We tell ourselves we are being dramatic, too sensitive, overthinking it. We soften our reaction before anyone else has the chance to question it. In The Voice Beneath the Skin by Besmira Stermilli, this instinct to doubt ourselves is gently unraveled, reminding us that what we often label as “overreacting” may actually be the body speaking in the only language it knows.
We have been taught to trust logic over feeling, composure over instinct. So when the body tightens, when the chest feels heavy, when the stomach drops or the throat closes, we do not always see it as truth. We see it as something to manage, to suppress, to move past quickly. But the body does not react without reason. It responds to what it senses, what it remembers, what it recognizes, even when the mind has not caught up yet.
What feels like an overreaction is often a signal. It is the body picking up on something subtle: a tone in someone’s voice, a shift in energy, a boundary being crossed, even if it is not obvious on the surface. It can also be a response rooted in past experiences, moments that were never fully processed but are still stored somewhere beneath awareness. The body keeps a record of these things, quietly holding onto them until something similar appears again.
In Stermilli’s writing, the body is not described as unreliable or exaggerated. It is described as an archive, a witness that remembers what we have tried to forget. It does not speak in clear sentences, but in sensations, tightness, heat, restlessness, unease. And because we do not always understand this language, we dismiss it. We override it with explanations that feel more acceptable.
But what happens when we stop doing that?
Instead of asking, “Why am I reacting like this?” in a way that implies something is wrong with us, we begin to ask, “What is this trying to show me?” That small shift changes everything. It turns judgment into curiosity. It creates space to listen instead of silence.
Maybe the tension in your chest is telling you that something does not feel safe. Maybe the uneasiness in your gut is pointing toward something you have been ignoring. Maybe the sudden wave of emotion is connected to something deeper than the moment in front of you. These are not flaws. They are messages.
The difficulty is that listening requires slowing down. It requires sitting with discomfort instead of rushing to fix it or dismiss it. It requires trusting that even if we do not fully understand the reaction, it deserves our attention.
There is also a kind of unlearning involved. Letting go of the idea that being calm all the time is the goal. Letting go of the need to appear unaffected. Letting go of the belief that intensity automatically means inaccuracy. Sometimes, the body reacts strongly because it is trying to get our attention in a way we can no longer ignore.
And when we start to listen, something shifts. The reactions begin to make more sense. Patterns become clearer. We start recognizing the difference between what is truly ours and what we have been carrying for too long. We become more anchored, not less.
You are not overreacting. You are responding to something real, even if it is not immediately visible. Your body is not working against you, it is working for you, trying to guide you back toward awareness, toward honesty, toward yourself.
And the more you listen, the less you will feel the need to question your own truth.