The Space Between Knowing and Feeling 

 

“The body keeps the score: it remembers what the mind forgets.” 
– Bessel van der Kolk 

 

I understood this line differently one afternoon in therapy. 

I was sitting in my therapist’s room, the soft light, the hum of traffic outside, the comfort of a space that had begun to feel safe. I was describing something small that had unsettled me, a comment, a pause, a familiar discomfort that didn’t quite match the situation. 

She listened and then said, “You seem to know you’re safe, but your body hasn’t quite caught up with that yet.” 

Her words landed deeper than I expected. They weren’t new information, but they named something I hadn’t realised fully. I did know I was safe. I understood that logically, even professionally. But I didn’t always feel it. 

That sentence lingered with me for days. It gave language to something I’d lived without quite naming, that quiet space between what I know and what I feel. 

The more I sat with it, the more I realised how familiar that space was, how often I’d told myself, “I know I’m okay,” while still feeling unsafe. It’s a strange in-between, where understanding doesn’t always translate to relief. 

 

Understanding That Awareness Isn’t the Whole Story 

In therapy, awareness is often described as the first step toward change — and it is. But that day, I began to see that awareness alone isn’t always enough. Knowing something and feeling it are different kinds of understanding, and bridging that gap can take time.  

I knew the theory. I’d spoken to so many clients about it that once you know something, you can begin to change it. But sitting there, I realised awareness doesn’t always bring relief. 

You can tell yourself, “It’s not my fault,” or “I’m safe now,” and still feel the same old unease rising in your chest. It isn’t defiance, it’s just how the body holds on. 
 
I remembered the words of psychologist Carl Rogers, who described true growth as “congruence”, when what we understand in our mind finally aligns with what we feel inside.  
Until that happens, there’s often a quiet dissonance, a split between knowing and experiencing, between sense and sensation. 

It wasn’t that I was resisting change. It was that my body was still catching up. The mind can grasp safety in a moment, but the body, I was learning, needs time, gentleness, and repetition to truly believe it. 

 

Understanding What the Body Still Holds 

After that session, I began noticing how my body spoke its own language. My shoulders tensed when someone’s tone changed. My breath shortened in long silences. My body remembered, even when my mind didn’t. 

Trauma specialist Bessel van der Kolk describes this as “the body keeping the score.” Our emotional memories are stored not just in thoughts but in sensations, in how we breathe, react, and guard ourselves. 

I later came across Peter Levine’s work, which describes how the body heals through release, not reasoning. It helped me see that I didn’t need to think my way out of discomfort. I needed to let my body relearn safety...through rest, breath, and patience. 

 

Understanding How to Be Gentle with Myself 

So, I began meeting my feelings differently. When anxiety appeared, instead of saying, “This shouldn’t bother me,” I’d tell myself, “You’re safe and it’s okay that your body doesn’t feel that yet.” 

That simple act of kindness changed everything. The tension didn’t disappear overnight, but it began to soften. I realised I wasn’t failing by still feeling fear I was healing slowly, as my body learned to trust what my mind already knew. 

Psychiatrist Judith Herman once said that recovery begins with safety. For me, that safety began not in big breakthroughs but in small, repeated moments of reassurance the quiet reminder that feeling slow doesn’t mean being stuck. 

 

Understanding Healing as Alignment 

That therapy session reshaped my understanding of healing. It’s not about removing emotion or mastering logic. It’s about helping both move together  like two sides of the same current. 

Sometimes the mind leads with clarity. Sometimes the body leads with truth. Both are trying to protect us. Both need time. 

Healing, I’ve come to believe, isn’t about never being triggered again. It’s about recognising the moment when you are and remembering that you’re still safe, even then. 

 

A Gentle Practice to Try 

What helped me most was learning to pause instead of pushing through. When I noticed the familiar unease, the tight chest, the restless thoughts, I’d stop for a moment and remind myself, “You’re safe. It’s okay that your body doesn’t believe it yet.” 

Sometimes I’d close my eyes and just breathe until my shoulders softened. Other times, I’d place a hand on my chest, a small gesture that somehow told my body I was here, and I was listening. 
It didn’t fix everything, but it helped me stay with myself instead of fighting what I felt. 

If this resonates, you might try it the next time your emotions feel out of sync with your thoughts. You don’t need to force calmness or clarity. Just notice what’s happening, breathe through it, and let both parts of you, the one that knows and the one that feels, exist together for a while. 

Over time, those moments of gentleness begin to add up. The body starts to trust what the mind has known all along: that you are safe, and you can return to yourself. 

 

Authoritativeness & Trustworthiness Note 

This reflection draws from both personal experience in therapy and established psychological frameworks, including Carl Rogers’ theory of emotional congruence (1957), Bessel van der Kolk’s work on trauma and the body (2014), Peter Levine’s body-based healing model (1997), and Judith Herman’s stages of recovery (1992). It is intended to provide reflective and supportive insight, not replace professional care. 

If you ever find yourself caught between what you know and what you feel, iDare’s Support and Engage Spaces provide inclusive and affordable mental-health support. 

Image Credits: UnSplash