"I'm not stressed," he said, while his shoulders sat somewhere near his ears.
You feel fine. Busy, but fine. Then the body starts submitting reports: the acidity, the tight chest on Sunday nights, the cold that arrives every holiday.
This surprises many people — stress is not always a feeling. Often it is simply a load. And loads can be carried so long they start to feel like posture.
I rarely meet unfelt stress in isolation. It hides inside efficiency, inside "I'm used to it," inside people who are proud of coping.
The body is like a bridge. It doesn't complain about weight. It develops cracks.
Sometimes the load is work. Sometimes it's caretaking. Sometimes it's the quiet effort of pretending everything is manageable. Different weights, same cracks.
If your body wrote a report on this month, what would it say?
Three times — before lunch, before your commute, before sleep — ask one question: where am I gripping right now? Then soften that one place.
Chest pain, persistent digestive trouble, blood pressure changes — these deserve a doctor first, philosophy later.