There’s a peculiar magic in awkwardness. It shows up when least expected or welcome — the sudden rise of heat in the room, the blush creeping up the neck, the stressful search for somewhere to put your hands. Just last week, I found myself standing at the edge of a networking group, heart thumping wildly, convinced everyone else had been handed a secret manual on “how to belong.” (Spoiler: none of us had.) Have you ever felt that way? That small, awkward jolt that feels like a misfit alarm ringing loud and clear?
As a somatic coach and psychotherapist, I’ve learned to welcome these moments. Awkwardness is like an uninvited guest insisting on a deeper conversation—if you’re willing to listen amidst the discomfort. The body rarely misses a beat: a twitch in the fingers, a tightening chest, a catch in the breath. These sensations are both the messenger and the message—a signal to pause and check in with yourself. What story does this bodily whisper want to tell?
There’s something profoundly honest in naming awkwardness out loud, whether to yourself or another. It’s tempting to shrink away or plaster on a quick joke—I admit, I’ve done both—but what if, just once, you stayed? Stayed with the sensations, letting them flow through you without judgment? This is the essence of somatic practice: leaning into discomfort, breathing into it, and allowing it to be woven into the moment itself.
I remember a client describing social discomfort as feeling “like a giraffe squeezed into a phone box.” Together, we learned to name the sensation, laugh at it, and experiment with grounding—the solid feel of feet on the floor, the rise and fall of breath. The awkwardness didn’t disappear, but it softened, becoming less of a burden and more of a companion on the journey.
If you resonate with this, I invite you to a small experiment: next time awkwardness visits, pause. Notice where in your body it shows up first. Can you greet it with curiosity instead of critique? Try saying either out loud or to yourself, “this feels pretty awkward,” and see what happens next. You might be surprised by the shift.
There’s an art to embracing awkwardness—not because it’s easy, but because it’s real. Within its imperfect, wobbly edges lies fertile ground for growth, humour, and connection. And in that messy, glorious space, we become even more our messy, glorious selves.