You’ve probably seen it on a tote bag. Or maybe a grainy Instagram post. "You do not have to be good," it starts. Then comes the line that sticks in your throat: let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. It's from Mary Oliver’s poem Wild Geese. People treat it like a fluffy mantra, but honestly? It’s a radical, almost clinical directive for how to stop being so miserable.
We spend most of our lives treating our bodies like high-performance machines or, worse, like disobedient pets that need to be crated. We track steps. We fast. We optimize. We yell at ourselves for being tired at 2:00 PM. But Oliver wasn't talking about indulgence. She was talking about biological honesty. When you actually let the soft animal of your body take the lead, you aren't becoming lazy. You’re becoming regulated.
The Science of the Soft Animal
There is a massive gap between what our brains want—productivity, status, "being good"—and what our nervous systems require.
Polyvagal Theory, developed by Dr. Stephen Porges, essentially backs up what Mary Oliver wrote in 1986. Our bodies have a "ventral vagal" state. That’s the "soft animal" mode. It’s where we feel safe, social, and physically at ease. When we force ourselves to "be good" by suppressing every natural urge for rest or connection, we shove ourselves into sympathetic activation (fight or flight) or dorsal vagal shutdown (freeze).
You can't think your way out of a nervous system collapse.
Think about a dog. When a dog is scared, it shakes. When it’s tired, it sleeps. It doesn't sit there wondering if it's "earned" a nap after a long day of barking at the mailman. It just exists. Humans are the only animals that try to negotiate with their basic biology to meet a deadline.
Why We Fight the Soft Animal
We’re terrified of what will happen if we stop pushing. If I let the soft animal of my body love what it loves, will I just eat donuts and watch Netflix until I die?
Probably not.
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The "soft animal" doesn't actually love sugar crashes or 12 hours of blue light. Those are compensatory behaviors. We crave junk because we are stressed. We binge-watch because we are dissociating from a life that feels too hard.
True "soft animal" desires are usually much simpler:
- The feeling of sunlight on your forearms.
- Stretching until your joints pop.
- Deep, belly-level breathing.
- Movement that feels like play rather than a chore.
- Actual, physical proximity to other humans.
Gabor Maté, a renowned expert on addiction and trauma, often talks about how we sacrifice our "authenticity" for "attachment." We pretend to be someone we aren't—stiff, tireless, perfect—so people will like us. But your body keeps the score. It gets tight. Your digestion goes sideways. You get migraines. That’s the animal trying to get your attention because you've stopped letting it love what it loves.
Practical Ways to Stop Being So Good
Most people hear "you do not have to be good" and think it means "be a jerk."
It doesn't.
It means you don't have to perform "goodness" at the expense of your soul. It means you can stop the "penitence" Oliver mentions in the poem. You don't have to walk through the desert on your knees for a hundred miles repenting.
How do you actually do this?
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First, start practicing Interoception. This is just a fancy word for "noticing what's happening inside." Most of us are floating heads. We don't feel our feet until they hurt.
Try this: next time you’re in a meeting or a stressful conversation, check your jaw. Is it locked? That’s the animal in a defensive crouch. Drop the jaw. Soften the shoulders. You aren't "being good" by holding tension; you're just exhausting your adrenal glands.
The Myth of Discipline vs. The Reality of Regulation
We worship discipline. But discipline is often just a mask for self-aggression.
If you have to scream at yourself to get to the gym, you aren't "letting the soft animal of your body" do anything. You’re being a circus trainer with a whip. Real health comes from a place of nourishment. It’s the difference between running because you hate your thighs and running because your lungs want to feel big and your legs want to feel strong.
The outcome might look the same to an outsider, but the internal chemistry is totally different. One produces cortisol; the other produces endorphins and connection.
Wild Geese and the Global Perspective
Oliver writes about the "harsh and exciting" voice of the wild geese. They are headed home. They don't have a map; they have an instinct.
We’ve largely bred the instinct out of our daily lives. We eat when the clock says 12:00, not when we’re hungry. We sleep when the show ends, not when our eyes get heavy.
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Living with the "soft animal" mindset requires a level of sensory awareness that is honestly kind of uncomfortable at first. You realize how much of your life is built on ignoring your physical reality. You might realize your chair is uncomfortable, your clothes are too tight, or the person you’re dating makes your stomach knot up in a bad way.
This isn't just about "wellness." It's about truth.
Actionable Steps for the Weary
If you want to integrate this, stop trying to do it perfectly. Perfectionism is the opposite of the soft animal.
Identify your "shoulds." Write down five things you do every day because you feel you "should" be good. "I should answer every email within ten minutes." "I should look a certain way." Now, ask your body how those things feel. Literally. Do you feel a tightness in your chest? A pit in your stomach? That’s the animal saying "no."
Find your "wild geese" moment. What is one thing you do where you lose track of time and feel physically at ease? Maybe it’s gardening. Maybe it’s heavy lifting. Maybe it’s just sitting on the porch. Do that thing for ten minutes today. Not as a reward, but as a requirement for your biological functioning.
Softening the gaze. We spend all day staring at screens. This creates "narrow focus," which triggers a low-level stress response. Take a break. Look out a window. Let your eyes soften and take in the periphery. It signals to the brain that there are no predators nearby. It lets the animal relax.
Stop the penitence. If you mess up—if you’re "bad," if you eat the thing, if you miss the deadline—don't do the desert-knees walk. Just acknowledge it. The geese don't apologize for being geese. You are a part of the "family of things," as the poem says. You belong here just by virtue of existing.
The Bottom Line
When you let the soft animal of your body take the wheel, you stop fighting a war against yourself. You start moving with the grain of your biology instead of against it. It’s not about being "better"; it’s about being more human.
The world will keep calling to you, announcing your place in the family of things. You just have to be quiet enough to hear it.
Next Steps for Integration
- Body Scan: Twice a day, set a timer for 60 seconds. Check for tension in the jaw, gut, and pelvic floor. Release it without judgment.
- Sensory Audit: Identify one repetitive sensory annoyance in your environment—a scratchy tag, a flickering light, a loud hum—and fix it. Your nervous system is paying a "tax" for every ignored discomfort.
- Movement as Play: Engage in five minutes of movement that has no goal. No tracking, no calorie counting. Just move because it feels good to be an animal.