I Don’t Know How to Explain It… But I Felt It
There are moments I still don’t have words for.
Moments that weren’t loud or dramatic—just different. Charged.
Like something invisible walked into the room and paused, waiting to see if I’d notice.
And I did.
But I couldn’t explain why.
I remember standing in a parking lot once, keys in hand, ready to go somewhere I was supposed to be. I wasn’t nervous. Nothing felt wrong, exactly. But something tugged.
It wasn’t a voice.
Wasn’t a memory.
Wasn’t fear.
Just a low, strange pull in my chest that said:
Don’t go.
So I didn’t.
No one else understood. And honestly, I couldn’t make sense of it either. But I stayed home. The next day, something came to light that made it clear I’d avoided a situation that wasn’t meant for me. I hadn’t been in danger. But I would’ve been emotionally drained, thrown off course, and handed someone else’s chaos to carry.
That feeling saved me.
That non-reason saved me.
And I almost ignored it… because I didn’t have a way to explain it.
Most people I work with don’t struggle because they can’t feel things.
They struggle because they can’t justify what they feel.
They ask:
“What if I’m just anxious?”
“What if I’m projecting?”
“What if I’m making it up?”
But here’s what I’ve learned
Just because you can’t explain it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
We are conditioned to ignore subtle signals unless they come with proof, backup, or external agreement. But intuition rarely shows up that way.
It comes in fragments.
In whispers.
In physical sensations you can’t trace.
In images that flash through your mind and vanish.
And that’s the challenge: we’ve been trained to believe that real knowing is linear. Structured. Verifiable.
But intuitive knowing often isn’t.
It’s felt before it’s understood.
I used to apologize for being the kind of person who “just felt things.”
I’d backpedal.
I’d laugh it off.
I’d phrase it like a question when I knew it wasn’t.
“I don’t know, I just have a weird feeling…”
“Maybe it’s nothing, but…”
Looking back, those were some of the truest moments I ever had.
And the most dismissed.
Not just by others—by me.
Because I didn’t know how to protect something I couldn’t explain.
But I’ve since realized: you don’t have to justify the feeling to honor it.
You don’t have to prove it to follow it.
You just have to get quiet enough to notice—and brave enough not to abandon it.
There are still days where something rises in me and I feel that old urge to override it.
To silence it.
To wait for backup.
But that’s not how intuition works.
You rarely get proof before the moment.
You get the nudge, and the trust has to come first.
And yes, sometimes you’ll be wrong.
Sometimes it’s just stress or old patterning.
Sometimes it’s not a divine message—it’s just a random thought.
But every time you pause and check in, you learn to tell the difference.
Every time you honor the signal—even if no one else gets it—you grow a little more certain in your own language.
If you’ve ever felt something and ignored it because it “didn’t make sense,”
If you’ve ever walked into a room and felt the mood before a word was said,
If you’ve ever gotten a hit that turned out to be true… but dismissed it because you couldn’t explain it at the time...
You’re not broken.
You’re not irrational.
You’re just intuitive.
And your body’s speaking a language most people forgot how to hear.
I don’t have a rule-book for this.
But I do have practices.
When I feel something now, I ask:
Does this feel heavy or light?
Is this mine or someone else’s?
What’s my body doing right now—tightening or relaxing?
And most of all:
Would I still feel this if no one else had an opinion?
Because at the end of the day, the deepest truths rarely shout.
They hum.
And the more you ignore them, the quieter they get.
But when you listen—even when you don’t know why
something shifts.
Something opens.
Something aligns.
So no, I don’t always know how to explain it.
But I feel it.
And that’s enough.
And if you’ve felt it too, even once
you already know what I’m talking about.
Don’t wait for words.
Don’t wait for someone else to see it first.
Just follow what’s real. Quietly. Completely.
You don’t need to explain it.
You just need to trust it.
Derek Wolf
If something in this spoke to you, there’s more waiting. I write, interact, and teach more deeply over at www.L2Bintuitive.com—where we explore how to actually live what you feel.
There are moments I still don’t have words for.
Moments that weren’t loud or dramatic—just different. Charged.
Like something invisible walked into the room and paused, waiting to see if I’d notice.
And I did.
But I couldn’t explain why.
I remember standing in a parking lot once, keys in hand, ready to go somewhere I was supposed to be. I wasn’t nervous. Nothing felt wrong, exactly. But something tugged.
It wasn’t a voice.
Wasn’t a memory.
Wasn’t fear.
Just a low, strange pull in my chest that said:
Don’t go.
So I didn’t.
No one else understood. And honestly, I couldn’t make sense of it either. But I stayed home. The next day, something came to light that made it clear I’d avoided a situation that wasn’t meant for me. I hadn’t been in danger. But I would’ve been emotionally drained, thrown off course, and handed someone else’s chaos to carry.
That feeling saved me.
That non-reason saved me.
And I almost ignored it… because I didn’t have a way to explain it.
Most people I work with don’t struggle because they can’t feel things.
They struggle because they can’t justify what they feel.
They ask:
“What if I’m just anxious?”
“What if I’m projecting?”
“What if I’m making it up?”
But here’s what I’ve learned
Just because you can’t explain it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
We are conditioned to ignore subtle signals unless they come with proof, backup, or external agreement. But intuition rarely shows up that way.
It comes in fragments.
In whispers.
In physical sensations you can’t trace.
In images that flash through your mind and vanish.
And that’s the challenge: we’ve been trained to believe that real knowing is linear. Structured. Verifiable.
But intuitive knowing often isn’t.
It’s felt before it’s understood.
I used to apologize for being the kind of person who “just felt things.”
I’d backpedal.
I’d laugh it off.
I’d phrase it like a question when I knew it wasn’t.
“I don’t know, I just have a weird feeling…”
“Maybe it’s nothing, but…”
Looking back, those were some of the truest moments I ever had.
And the most dismissed.
Not just by others—by me.
Because I didn’t know how to protect something I couldn’t explain.
But I’ve since realized: you don’t have to justify the feeling to honor it.
You don’t have to prove it to follow it.
You just have to get quiet enough to notice—and brave enough not to abandon it.
There are still days where something rises in me and I feel that old urge to override it.
To silence it.
To wait for backup.
But that’s not how intuition works.
You rarely get proof before the moment.
You get the nudge, and the trust has to come first.
And yes, sometimes you’ll be wrong.
Sometimes it’s just stress or old patterning.
Sometimes it’s not a divine message—it’s just a random thought.
But every time you pause and check in, you learn to tell the difference.
Every time you honor the signal—even if no one else gets it—you grow a little more certain in your own language.
If you’ve ever felt something and ignored it because it “didn’t make sense,”
If you’ve ever walked into a room and felt the mood before a word was said,
If you’ve ever gotten a hit that turned out to be true… but dismissed it because you couldn’t explain it at the time...
You’re not broken.
You’re not irrational.
You’re just intuitive.
And your body’s speaking a language most people forgot how to hear.
I don’t have a rule-book for this.
But I do have practices.
When I feel something now, I ask:
Does this feel heavy or light?
Is this mine or someone else’s?
What’s my body doing right now—tightening or relaxing?
And most of all:
Would I still feel this if no one else had an opinion?
Because at the end of the day, the deepest truths rarely shout.
They hum.
And the more you ignore them, the quieter they get.
But when you listen—even when you don’t know why
something shifts.
Something opens.
Something aligns.
So no, I don’t always know how to explain it.
But I feel it.
And that’s enough.
And if you’ve felt it too, even once
you already know what I’m talking about.
Don’t wait for words.
Don’t wait for someone else to see it first.
Just follow what’s real. Quietly. Completely.
You don’t need to explain it.
You just need to trust it.
Derek Wolf
If something in this spoke to you, there’s more waiting. I write, interact, and teach more deeply over at www.L2Bintuitive.com—where we explore how to actually live what you feel.