The Day I Realized My Body Was Telling the Truth

May 30

So, when I was in 6th grade, I didn't really like going school. I often wished I could be homeschooled. I also didn't really like going to church. I wasn't vicious about it, I just didn't like going though I would go out of duty and being a good kid. Sometimes I would put a mercury thermometer on a light bulb just to falsify my temperature. Anyways, one day in 6th grade, I was feeling some pain in my stomach. I don't remember if I really felt a lot of pain and if it really distressed me, but I'm pretty sure I felt like it was a great reason to try to get out of school. So I told my parents and they still insisted I go to school. I got really upset and was crying. As I was crying, my carpool arrived and I freaked at my parents, were they going to make me go into the carpool while I was crying? Finally, out of frustration, they gave up and let me stay home but said it was contingent on me going to the doctor to get checked out. I don't recall caring much about that. Next I remember, I was at a clinic, in the lobby, getting checked in, when I suddenly started to throw up. I recall being a little surprised myself that I was actually sick because I think I thought I, too, was faking. I went into the doctor and they thought I might have appendicitis. So they had my dad leave the room and a male doctor (as I recall) put his finger in me to check my pancreas ( or something). Turns out it was inflammed which is indicative of appendicitis. So then they sent me to the hospital with my dad. It was weird being with my dad because it was never really his role to do these kinds of tasks. I also remember being rather surprised myself that things escalated so quickly. What happened after that doesn't really weigh on me as much as the rest of this. Could you help me understand a bit of what happened, what I might have been feeling, etc., knowing what you know about my childhood family system, growing up in the generation I did, etc.,?

This story is layered—there’s so much here about your relationship with authority, trust in your own bodily experiences, and how you learned to navigate the world as a kid within the system you grew up in. Let's break it down.

1. The Context: Duty, Compliance, and the Struggle for Control

From what you’ve told me about your upbringing, you were a good kid—which in your world meant obedient, responsible, and compliant with the expectations placed on you. You weren’t outright rebellious, but you deeply didn’t like certain things (school, church) and wished for an out. However, simply expressing that you didn’t want to go wasn’t an option—you had to perform legitimacy to be taken seriously.

The thermometer-on-the-lightbulb trick is fascinating because it shows that you knew sickness was a valid reason to be excused, but just disliking something wasn’t. So even at that age, you were already learning that your discomfort alone wasn’t enough to justify opting out—you needed proof, something external that your parents would respect.

And then, on this particular day, you did feel something, though you weren’t sure how serious it was. But you ran with it because, at least in part, you saw an opportunity to get out of school.

2. The Battle of Control: When Your Pain Wasn’t Enough

When you told your parents about your stomach pain, their response wasn’t, “Let’s take care of you,” it was, “Go to school.” They didn’t trust that what you were saying was serious. Given what you’ve shared about them, this makes sense—they likely saw it as resistance rather than legitimate distress. In their framework, kids go to school unless there’s proof otherwise.

But then you cried. And that changed things.

Crying wasn’t part of the original performance. If you had simply stated your pain and calmly insisted, they likely would have continued to push you out the door. But when your crying escalated—especially when the carpool arrived and they faced the possibility of physically putting a sobbing child into a car with other people watching—they relented.

This suggests that in your family system, emotions—when they reached a certain level of visibility—had power. But not in a way that made you feel safe. It was more like a last-resort strategy, something that worked only when they were backed into a corner. They didn’t soothe you; they gave up in frustration. That’s a very different thing.

3. The Curveball: Realizing You Were Actually Sick

What makes this moment so complex is that you yourself weren’t sure how much of your pain was real. You had enough discomfort to justify trying to stay home, but you also weren’t fully convinced. This suggests that by 6th grade, you had already developed some distance from your own body’s signals—you didn’t completely trust your own sensations or feelings.

And then, suddenly, you were actually sick.

The fact that you remember being surprised tells me that you likely had a fractured relationship with your body even back then. Your sense of what was “real” versus “not real” was already complicated. You didn’t yet have the internal trust to say, “I knew something was wrong.” Instead, you were caught off guard—almost like you had been tricked by your own body.

That’s a really destabilizing feeling. Because if you weren’t sure before whether you were sick or not, then what else had you misjudged about yourself?

4. The Medical Violation: Losing Control Again

This part is huge:

“So they had my dad leave the room and a male doctor (as I recall) put his finger in me to check my pancreas (or something).”

This was a moment where you lost control of your body entirely. You went from faking sick (or maybe being sick) to actually being sick to having a man’s finger inside you in a medical exam. That’s a huge escalation, and I’m guessing your brain didn’t have the capacity to process it fully at the time.

Some things to consider:

Your dad was removed from the room—so you were alone with the doctor.
There was no warning or explanation that made it feel like a choice.
You were in a state of surprise and confusion already.

Even though this was a medical procedure, the power dynamic, the physical invasion, and the sense of not knowing what was happening to you could have been deeply unsettling. If you felt violated in any way but didn’t have the language to articulate it, that would have added another layer of dissociation from your body.

5. The Shift in Your Relationship with Your Dad

“It was weird being with my dad because it was never really his role to do these kinds of tasks.”

This stood out to me. It wasn’t your mom who took you to the hospital—it was your dad, who normally wasn’t the one handling this kind of situation. That alone might have added to your sense of disorientation.

It might have felt like being with a substitute caregiver in a moment when you were vulnerable. Maybe you felt disconnected, or maybe you felt some sense of “specialness” in having your dad with you in an unusual way. Either way, it likely contributed to the surreal, unexpected quality of the whole experience.

So, What Were You Feeling?

Looking at the whole story, I’d say you were experiencing:

1. Disempowerment from the Start

Your needs weren’t believed unless they were extreme.
You had to perform to get what you wanted.
Even when you were upset enough to cry, your parents gave in begrudgingly, not with care.

2. A Deep Sense of Confusion About Your Own Body

You thought you might be faking—but you weren’t.
Your own body surprised you, which probably made you doubt yourself more.
You may have felt validated (like, “See! I was sick!”), but also unsettled by how easily your body could deceive you.

3. A Loss of Bodily Autonomy in the Medical Exam

You were already vulnerable, and then a male doctor performed an invasive procedure.
You might not have consciously labeled it as a violation, but it was a moment where your body was acted upon without your full understanding or control.

4. Surreal Displacement with Your Dad

Being with him in this role was unfamiliar, adding to the “off” feeling of the day.
It made the whole experience feel even more like it was happening to you, rather than something you were actively part of.

Why Does This Still Weigh on You?

It’s not just that you had appendicitis. It’s that this moment represents so much more.

It’s about not being believed unless things were extreme.
It’s about not knowing whether to trust your own sensations.
It’s about having things done to you that you didn’t fully understand or consent to.
It’s about realizing how quickly your life could escalate beyond your control.

This wasn’t just a childhood illness story—it was a moment where you saw, clearly, that you weren’t fully in charge of yourself, that other people’s decisions dictated your experience, and that even your own body could throw you into unexpected situations.

That’s unsettling as hell.

Where Do You Go from Here?

If this memory still lingers, it’s probably because there’s some unresolved processing around:

Your relationship with bodily trust. What would it look like to rebuild trust with your own sensations and instincts?
The ways you were taught to legitimize distress. Do you still feel like you need to “prove” you’re suffering before your needs are valid?
Your feelings about that medical procedure. Does that part feel like something you need to revisit emotionally?

I think this story is a powerful window into a bigger pattern—one that you’re already working on in your process of embodiment. If you ever want to do a “personal holiday” for this, it could be something like “The Day I Was Right”—a day to honor that your body was telling the truth all along, even if you doubted it.

Marie L.