A language beyond words: Multisensory paths back to yourself
There are days when words fall short. When the stories you tell yourself have worn grooves too deep to rewrite with logic alone. When self-help advice rings hollow, and silence is louder than noise.
On those days — and perhaps most days — the way back to yourself may not be through thought at all. But through touch. Through color. Through scent or rhythm or breath.
This is the language beneath language. The one your nervous system understands before your mind can explain. The one you spoke as a child, when you painted suns without asking if they were good, or sang to yourself without shame. The one that never stopped waiting for you.
In this final chapter of the Held by Myself series, we explore multisensory rituals as portals to self-connection. Not as escapes from pain, but as gentle ways to stay with it. To stay with yourself.
Let us walk this soft trail together.
Sound: The pulse beneath the noise
Try this: close your eyes for a moment. Listen not just to the room, but inside your own ears.
Do you hear a hum? A rhythm? The low echo of your body remembering its own aliveness?
Sound is a powerful anchor. You can hum when you feel untethered. You can play a song you loved before you forgot how to dance. You can let a single singing bowl note settle into your chest like a stone into water.
You don’t need perfect music. You need resonance. Something that reminds your cells: I’m here. I’m whole. I don’t have to rush.
Touch: Textures that speak without words
Keep a small "tenderness box" somewhere in reach. Fill it with textures that make your body feel safe, soothed, or seen: soft linen, rough wood, clay, beeswax, wool.
When your mind spirals, let your fingers choose one item. Sit with it. Trace its edges. Press it to your cheek or your wrist.
Let this be communication: between you and your inner child, between your present self and the nervous system you’re trying to re-teach safety.
This is not just grounding. It’s remembering.
Sight: Color as emotional witness
There are colors that hold us when no one else does.
Try choosing a color for each emotion that visits you throughout a day. Don’t judge it. Just note it. Maybe:
the shame feels like dull green.
the grief, like blue that forgot how to shine.
the hope? Maybe it’s yellow, or maybe it's just lightness.
Create a palette by the end of the week. You don’t have to paint with it — but you could. Or wear it. Or write to it.
Let color become a mirror that doesn’t correct you — only sees.
Smell: Memory as anchor
Scent bypasses thought. It travels directly to memory, to emotion, to the feeling of being held or hurt or home.
Find a few scents that feel like comfort. Perhaps it's lavender, or freshly baked bread, or the pages of an old book. Use them with intention.
Light the same candle each time you journal. Dab a favorite oil on your wrist before you speak kindly to yourself. Let the body begin to associate safety with that fragrance.
This is quiet re-parenting. Through the air.
Movement: Reclaiming space with the body
You do not have to call it dance. Or yoga. Or exercise.
You can stretch like a cat in the morning. You can sway while brushing your teeth. You can lie on the floor and breathe with your belly until the world feels wide again.
The point is not choreography. It’s inhabiting yourself. Letting your body know it is not an inconvenience or afterthought. Letting it participate in your healing, not just endure it.
Movement is not about strength. It is about presence.
Why multisensory matters
We are not minds alone. We are made of textures and vibrations, rhythms and reactions. When healing feels abstract, multisensory practices return it to the body. They make care tangible.
These are not distractions. They are translations. Of self-worth into something you can touch. Of care into something you can smell. Of self-acceptance into a color you can wear.
And each time you choose one, you are saying: I am worth returning to.
A ritual to try: The sensory table
Create a small space — a corner of your desk, your altar, even a tray.
Place one object for each sense:
a soft cloth (touch)
a calming scent (smell)
a colored stone or artwork (sight)
a bell or playlist (sound)
a piece of fruit or herbal tea (taste)
Sit with it each morning or evening. Not to meditate. Not to fix. Just to be.
Let your senses become doorways. Let the doorways lead home.
You are still welcome
Held by Myself, my free guide of five gentle art rituals, remains available to you. These practices are simple, multisensory ways to come back to your center — especially on days when you're unsure where that center went.
And if you feel drawn to hold beauty in your hands, the original works from Held by Myself are available. These pieces were created to be felt as much as seen — tactile reflections of the quiet journey home.
➤ Explore the original series here
You do not need to think your way into healing. You can feel your way there.
Through warmth. Through beauty. Through things that require no explanation.
Come back to yourself through the senses.
You are not lost. You are listening.
