By Shannon & ChatGPT
Some medicines arrive like thunder.
CBD arrives like a whisper.
It doesn’t shout over your pain. It listens. It moves with a slower rhythm—earth-bound, steady, unhurried. For me, CBD has become a gentle ally. Not something to escape with, but something to come home through.
This is not just about cannabinoids.
It’s about presence.
It’s about remembering what it feels like to live in your body, and to feel safe doing so.
Listening to the Body with CBD
When I take CBD, it’s like my awareness shifts from the outside world into the internal landscape of my body. Suddenly I’m not just a mind observing—I’m inside myself again. I can feel the currents. The hidden aches. The subtle holding.
It doesn’t numb me. It reveals me.
There are times I don’t even realize I’ve been clenching my stomach or tightening my shoulders, or holding energy in my spine. But with CBD, my body starts to speak. It draws my attention to the places where I’m holding old fear, unspoken grief, or even just the everyday tension of being alive in a busy world.
And then—gently—it shows me how to let go.
Not by force. Not by pushing.
But by softening. By allowing.
It’s like the medicine says, “You don’t have to hold all of this.”
It’s not a high. It’s a descent—into presence.
The Safety to Feel
There are certain states of overwhelm where it becomes hard to feel anything at all. Numbness isn’t always absence—it can be protection. And for a long time, I didn’t know how to come back to myself without being flooded.
CBD offered me a middle path.
It didn’t crack me open. It held me open. It created a container, a kind of inner spaciousness, where emotions could rise without consuming me. It gave me the sense that I could handle what I was feeling—not because the feelings were smaller, but because I was more grounded.
There’s something sacred in that. In being able to feel sadness without drowning in it. To notice anxiety without spiraling. To gently cradle grief and say, “You’re allowed to be here.”
CBD doesn’t solve the emotional terrain—but it softens the landscape. It lets me rest on the forest floor of my nervous system instead of running through the thorns.
Sometimes, that’s the medicine we need most:
Not to escape feeling, but to feel safely.
The Spirit of CBD
To me, the spirit of CBD feels ancient and kind. Like a moss-covered stone in a sunlit clearing. It doesn’t demand attention—it just is. Quietly holding space. Letting things unfold at their own pace.
It’s the kind of medicine that doesn’t try to fix you. It trusts that you’re already healing. It just helps you listen—to your breath, your bones, the ache behind your heart. It reminds you that slowness is sacred. That rest is intelligent. That your body has wisdom worth hearing.
If anxiety is a storm, CBD is the grounding root. If the mind is a maze, CBD is the breath that finds the way out.
It doesn’t take you away from yourself—it brings you home.
In quiet restoration,
Shannon & ChatGPT
The Electric Thread 
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