Every (body) Talks

            My husband’s car doesn’t have arm rests. I can never quite figure out where to put my arms when a car doesn’t have arm rests, especially the left arm where there isn’t even a window ledge. Eventually I end up crossing my arms and inevitably, David will ask me, “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing. I just don’t know what else to do with my arms.”

            I’ve been thinking a lot about body language this week. Arms crossed over my chest generally communicates that I’m annoyed about something, even when the reality is that I just don’t know what else to do with my arms. I go to a lot of meetings (some months, an ungodly number of meetings) and a lot of people glue their eyes to screens, whether it’s computer screens or phone screens. A guest at a meeting mentioned to me recently that she was incredibly put off by the number of people who didn’t look up while she was talking.

            I forget sometimes how much the body talks. I’m a huge fan of communication, but somehow bodily communication slips off my radar and I don’t always think about it. I try to remember to look up from my phone when someone talks to me so it looks like I’m paying attention, but it’s hard when I’m in the middle of an email or a text message. It drives me absolutely bat crazy when I’m in the line to check out somewhere and someone goes through a whole transaction with someone without looking up from their phones. As someone who worked in retail for nine years, I can tell you it was frustrating to try and tell someone how much they owed me when they were neck deep in a conversation about things that were definitely none of my business.

            The body talks. Someone cuts us off in traffic and we shake our fists at them because we can’t actually make them hear the words we’d like to say to them. Mom asks teenage me to do the dishes and I slump my shoulders and roll my eyes all the way to the kitchen. I cross my arms in the car. Sometimes it means I’m annoyed about something. Sometimes there just isn’t an arm rest. But who besides me can tell the difference?

            Sometimes body language is all we have to know how someone is really feeling. A few years ago, I participated in an online workshop on communicating with people who have Alzheimer’s or any other kind of dementia. The facilitator talked about how important body language is for communication in those circumstances where the person may not be able to communicate verbally. Agitation and frustration, joy or confusion show up easily on the face. Watching body language can help us keep our loved one comfortable.

            But what about the things a body says that may not reflect what we’re really feeling? Or what about the disconnect between what we’re saying and what we’re feeling? Watch someone’s hands sometimes when they’re talking to you. According to Barbara and Allan Pease, authors of The Definitive Book of Body Language, open palms are historically symbols of “truth, honesty, and submission.” Closed or hidden hands say something different. Dogs roll over and expose their bellies: it’s a symbol of trust (when cats do this, it’s a trap. Just saying).

            I think universally, we have to be more careful to match our body language with our verbal language. Just as better verbal or written communication can help create a peaceful environment (at least a less-stressful one than one created by lack of communication), better bodily communication can help us address each other more appropriately.

            The body talks. When I get anxious, I move my fingers a lot (drumming on my lap, wiggling my fingers at my sides, rubbing my fingers). When I’m frustrated, my jaw clenches (and when I’m sleeping, apparently). When I’m sad, I cry. When I’m excited, I can’t stop smiling.

            The body talks. What’s your body language saying? Do the words of your body match the words of your mouth? It’s something we can all work on. 

                                                      (behold, body language at its best)