I’d like to start by defining how I’ll be using the word “posture,” because my use will elaborate on the vernacular use somewhat. In every day use, “posture” is the degree to which a person is standing upright. Posture can be markedly “good” or noticeably “bad.” It goes beyond just upright-ness, and for the purpose of this article in particular will be used to refer to the entirety of how every part of a body is oriented in relation to the space around it, everything in that space, and in relation to every other part of the body. That means that when I’m talking about posture, I’m including the tilt of the hands as well as the tilt of the shoulders. Perhaps “embodiment” or “characterization” are more accurate terms, but they’re also less-widely used and understood outside of theatrical contexts.

We all rely on postural cues to tell us what’s happening with the people around us; from a sagging chin telling us someone may be tired or sad to  a  tilted head signifying curiosity, we read the emotions of the people around us constantly through the way their bodies move - and don’t move.

Try this: look in a mirror. Notice where your shoulders are, your head, your hips. Close your eyes for a breath or two, and recall a time when you felt a powerful sense of sadness or loss. See what you saw, feel what you felt, hear in your mind what you were hearing when you were feeling this sadness or loss, and then open your eyes and look in the mirror again. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to note that your posture has shifted to one that reflects sadness; slumped shoulders, collapsed ribcage, downward-facing eyes and chin. The change in your posture may have been pronounced, or it may have been subtle.

Now, try closing your eyes and imagining yourself in a time or place where you were having the most fun you can remember having, or even the most fun you can imagine anyone having. Wait until you can really feel, see, and hear what you’re doing in your mind’s eye, then open your eyes. When you look in the mirror again, note how your chest has probably risen, your abdomen may have widened. Your neck is probably longer.

Now, try this: standing in front of a mirror, softly widen your chest, let your arms hang gently from your shoulders, square your hips softly, raise your head. Did you happen to notice, as you were doing this, that you felt more powerful? Proud? Aloof? Centered? Or perhaps you felt like you were standing more the way someone who was feeling one of those things might stand?

Many people in the healing arts, from massage to energy work to chiropractic, refer to emotions being stored in the body. Three models we might use to describe this idea are:

1. Since postures reflect emotions (as seen above!), if subtle postural features get “stuck” in our physiology, our bodies store the emotional content of that posture. When we receive some form of healing work that releases the structural holding pattern (which was brought about by excessive force entering the body), then we “re-experience” the emotional content of whatever trauma caused the posture to get stuck in the first place.
2. Since emotions are reflected by postural sets, if emotional habits become entrenched in our psyches, our posture will unconsciously express the emotional state that we’re habitually in. Thus, when we receive effective psycho-emotional work (therapy, coaching, energy work, whatever!) that allows us to break old emotional habits, our posture will change (i.e., the formerly anxious person who, upon making a significant breakthrough in therapy, walks taller, moves more easily, and feels less worn out).
3. Emotions are really just the way the conscious mind perceives the status of the physical body. If we’re standing upright with ease and soft focus, the conscious mind interprets that as “I feel content.” If we’re feeling sad, slow, depressed, and melancholy, that’s just the conscious mind’s interpretation of literal physical discomfort brought on postural habits, which may in turn reflect nutritional deficiencies, reactions to consumed drugs, or a host of other stimuli that trigger a response in the body that the conscious mind interprets as “I am sad.”

A combination of the three, emphasizing the third model, is what I’ve been working with most recently. Here is the best way I’ve found so far to explain what I mean:

Imagine someone with chronically misaligned vertebrae in their neck (perhaps they were in a car accident years ago). The nerves there are constantly sending low-level pain signals to the brain about their predicament. The brain has, for whatever reason, been unable to do anything about the misalignment and pain so far, and so has relegated those pain signals to “background noise.” We filter out almost any repetitive stimulus after a while. Now imagine that person standing in front of a group of people and do a speaking engagement. Doesn’t it stand to reason that bringing that extra bit of attention to their vocal apparatus would very subtly heighten the awareness they would have of the pain signals coming from their neck? Then of course, lacking conscious awareness of the pain in the first place, all they would consciously be aware of is “I really don’t want to be doing this!” This physical avoidance response could well be interpreted as anxiety about speaking to groups, when in reality it is literal physical pain that the mind has sublimated but is brought to the fore situationally.

I recognize that this model is somewhat simplistic. I’m still revising and expanding it, and wish to construct the most elegant and functional model I can, so keeping it as simple as the data I get will support seems reasonable.

I also realize that it may strike some people as dishonoring to the validity of their emotional experiences. I suppose all I really have to say to that is: