The Courtroom Under the Skin

Metaphorical Narrative

Everywhere you go, there’s a silent courtroom hidden under your skin. The judge never smiles. The charge is always the same: “He didn’t do it.”

No matter what you bring, the gavel slams. Shoulders tense like you’re about to testify. Chest locks as if the next question could expose you. Your stomach knots, awaiting the sentence.

What began as someone else’s voice—sharp, demanding, humiliating—slipped inside without consent. Now the body replays the trial on loop, even when the room is empty.

Core Insight

The verdict was never real. The trial exists only as a nervous-system pattern. The toll feels physical because it is physical: stress hormones firing, muscles bracing, breath trapped shallow.

The scam runs like this:

• Accusation: “You didn’t do it.”
• Anticipation: muscles lock, preparing defense.
• Toll: ache, fatigue, adrenaline hangover.

But the moment you see it’s just a phantom court, you can walk out. Me duty, no report. No more evidence, no more receipts, no more cross-exam.

Saturday Experiment

1. Sit quietly and imagine the courtroom under your skin. Notice the judge, the gavel, the rows of seats.
2. Take a breath and rise. Don’t argue, don’t defend. Just walk out.
3. As you step away, say aloud: “Trial dismissed. Me duty, no report.”
4. Feel what shifts in your chest and shoulders when the courtroom dissolves.

Sunday Reflection

• Where in your body did you feel the phantom trial the strongest?
• What changes when you refuse to hand over evidence?
• If your body belonged fully to you, with no judge inside, how would you carry yourself differently tomorrow?