If My Body Had a Group Chat

– A Witty, Wobbly Symphony of Internal Affairs

Ever tried adulting with a body that runs like a WhatsApp group full of relatives? Noisy, needy, nostalgic - and nobody ever agrees?

Well, welcome to my life.

On the outside, I may look composed (read: clean-ish T-shirt, caffeine in hand, fake confidence activated). But on the inside? There’s a full-blown group chat happening. It’s called:

“Reetu’s Body – Internal Affairs”

Here’s what it sounds like when your Mind, Heart, Gut, Knees, Back, Lungs, and the eternally-offline Sleep Cycle have 4G data and feelings. 

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Mind

Group Admin. Never silent. Believes she’s the CEO.

“Good morning, team! Let’s conquer the world today!  Yoga at 6, journaling by 7, office work by 8, and yes - clean the closet you’ve been avoiding since 2019.”

She thinks she’s Oprah, Marie Kondo, and Kalpana Chawla rolled into one. But all her plans get derailed before breakfast. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Heart

Status: Listening to Arijit Singh at 3 a.m. again.

“Before we clean the closet, can we revisit that message we never sent in 2014?”

“Also… that stranger who smiled at us in the supermarket - was that love?”

The Heart is a poetic mess. She bleeds for handwritten notes, overthinks typos in texts, and finds metaphors in ceiling fans. No task ever gets done because she’s too busy feeling everything too much. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Gut

Status: Hungry. Forever.

“Lovely plan, Mind. But unless breakfast includes aloo paratha or double cheese toast, I’m not participating.”

“Also, just a reminder - we had lauki thrice this week. Stop trying to impress Instagram.”

The Gut is savage, loud, and ruthlessly honest. She’s the only one who tells it like it is. Her emotional bandwidth is directly proportional to spice and sugar intake. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Knees

Status: “Left the chat (but still hurting).”

“Mind, remember when you said ‘Just one more rep’ during squats? My cartilage has filed for divorce.”

“We were made for strolling in parks, not deadlifts in denial.”

They creak more than the front gate in horror movies and have trust issues with stairs. Still, they carry me - every single day. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Back

Status: Passive-aggressively folded in a chair since 9 a.m.

“You said this chair was ergonomic. This chair is lying.”

“One more Zoom meeting and I’m staging a spasm.”

The Back is dramatic. Always in pain, always sighing like a Shakespearean heroine in the last act. She wants heat pads, gentle stretches, and an apology. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Sleep Cycle

Status: Last seen yesterday at 10:42 p.m. before doomscrolling.

“Don’t come crying to me when your brain turns into potato mash at 3 p.m.”

“I had ONE job. You chose reels.”

Sleep is the ignored elder sibling. Wise, calming, absolutely essential - and usually ghosted in favor of mindless content consumption and existential dread. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Lungs

Status: Deeply disappointed but still breathing.

“Remember when we did three deep breaths during that panic attack? That was sweet. Let’s do it more often.”

“Also, maybe… go outside? Touch a tree?”

Lungs are the quiet heroes. They ask for so little - air, movement, silence. But they give you everything - life, calm, a way to cry without making a sound. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Me (aka The Human in Question)

And there I am - scrolling through the group chat that is my own body. Every ping a plea. Every emoji a signal. Every sarcastic response a cry for help… or biryani.

Sometimes, I ignore them. Sometimes, I promise change and fall back into old patterns. But lately, I’ve been trying to listen.

Because these voices?

They’re not distractions.

They are the soundtrack of survival. 

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Final Voice Note in the Chat:

Brain: “Okay team… let’s try 10 minutes of real yoga, one less screen, and more real food today?”

Heart: “Only if we write that poem afterward.”

Knees: “No lunges. Or we riot.”

Gut: “Add ghee to the dal. Then we talk.”

Lungs: “Say thank you to the mirror today.”

Sleep Cycle: Sending dreamy GIFs of clouds and comas.

 Back: “Fine. But we get a nap later.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Epilogue: Body of Work

In the end, our body isn’t a machine to be pushed.

It’s a chorus of parts waiting to be heard.

Each creak, craving, flutter, and fatigue

Is not rebellion - it’s a reminder.

A reminder that I am still alive.

That I still feel, breathe, ache, love, bend, rise.

So yes, my internal group chat is a mess.

But it’s my mess.

And honestly?

I wouldn’t mute it for the world.

-Reetu Verma