You are about to read a journal entry I made on 9/9/14, after coming home from the Women’s Health Seminar, a John F. Barnes Myofascial Release course.
Realizing just now that the chaos of WHS threw me off of my journaling. But it is all good and right. Mom came in Tuesday night after some GPS drama, and I was happy to see her, glad to have someone, no, glad to have HER to be here to watch the kids and let me do this work. That realization would only come the day after I arrived home, when I was brave enough to tell her what this class was really all about, and the thoughts of why it had to be her here helping came to me. Mom, as ultimate protector. I needed mom, to be the mom, so I could detach, let go, and be the kid for a few days of healing.
So everything was set to go, after a couple more minutes of GPS drama on my part. And I left for Cape Cod, Massachusetts just after Dani boarded her bus for school at 7:15 a.m. I excitedly anticipated the adventure I was embarking on. I had felt that for weeks, despite the 9 hour drive ahead of me. And it turns out, that even on the way home, the trip I was most dreading because I knew I would be tired, I was fine, and it was its own adventure. In fact I managed 4.5 hours of driving without being tired or having to pee, which is a testimonial in and of itself to the benefits of MFR and WHS.
But back to the beginning part of the journey. The day, for driving, or healing, or whatever was on your calendar, was beautiful, sunny and bright. I let myself soak in Delaware, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and then finally Massachusetts, thinking all the while about taking the family back for a road trip, so I could have time to stop and really explore each new state. Lots of trees, some beautiful water ways, boats, buildings, indian reservations, harbors, more trees, and two huge gorgeous hawks. Thank you hawk, and 11:11 for showing up that day.
Thank you angels for watching over and protecting me on my couple of stops. The Bliss Gourmet waited for me for lunch. And then the journey with my book, The Wisdom Of The Cells, carried me through to MA, and the last leg of the one lane road through the Cape. I arrived with a whole new theory of evolution. And questions about fear, flight or fight, stress, and disease. Mainly, my own programs that may have been implanted long ago. It wouldn’t be until the ride home when I would finish listening to the ground breaking ideas about life on this planet, and how we are here, and why we are here, and how we can live fully alive. But in between the drives, John would fill in the blanks about the cells, and the fascia, and about how we are all beautiful and can release those old programs, feel the freedom we desire, and live a magical life.
I arrived before my three room mates who were coming from NC and TX. Early enough in fact to drop my stuff and head out to First Encounter Beach, a place recommended to my by Jean Croll from the MFR Chat group, where I could take in a glorious sunset. I went early, set my feet into the sand after a short walk, and waited for the inspiration to take photos, which came in the form of sand, and hearts, and birds, and water, and light….then sunset sky with clouds, and angels, and the moon. Grounding into the earth I searched through the sand and rocks and shells, collected feathers and dreamed about their magical powers. I reached up to touch the new clear crystal that hung from my neck, feeling the smooth grooves between my right thumb and forefinger, and thought of the magical mermaid soul that sent it too me from New Zealand. I imagined her sitting on her far away beach, and the two of us connected through that tiny illuminated gift around my neck. Protect me, I requested of it. I wasn’t sure why I needed to ask for that.
By the time the sun had set below the shimmering watery horizon I had received a text from my roommates – would I like to join them for dinner? I gave them my ETA back to the condo and headed back down the now darker beach, watching all the other light gazers and photo takers and hand holders, as they stared at the setting sun on one side and the rising moon on the other, all at once. I spun around a few more times to take in the Maxfield Parrish sky that blessed my first evening on the Cape. It seemed I was supposed to be here, and that the week was meant to be.
I have been so introverted all my life, so in my recent years as a reformed introvert, I will always feel a pang of anxiety before I meet new people, and in this case, the three strangers I would live with for the next four nights. One of the beauties of Facebook is that you can get to know people before you actually meet them face to face. You either like their Facebook mask, or you don’t. You either find yourself nodding at their posts, pictures and stories, or you end up scrolling past them. The folks I have “met” online, especially the ones in our MFR tribe, are fantastic people. I know it before I meet them. I know it online. I just feel it. I know it. I see myself in them, and their lives. I am them. I am not afraid of these strangers, no matter how many times I was told to be afraid. So, like some other tribe members I have met in the past, the three beautiful souls that were there to meet me when I arrived at our condo were no different. They greeted me with their light-filled eyes, and their welcoming smiles, and I instantly knew it would be okay, good in fact. But I already knew that before they opened the door.
Deciding to take on roommates, or not, for a course is complicated. I don’t like to do it. I like my privacy. I like to stay in my routines, not worry about making funny noises at night, or how early I get up in the morning, or my eating habits. I don’t like being forced to be myself with others, for fear of “myself” being way different, or possibly offensive to those others. But after shelling out several hundred for the class, and booking a room that was going to be over two hundred a night, I was interested when I saw the note about this condo share on our chat. Yes, I wanted the spot. No, I didn’t mind sharing my room with another female therapist. Yes, I wanted to save the $700 I would have spent on the hotel. Done. This class was going to be about getting over it. Your inhibitions, your shyness, your hang ups, your worries. And I would start with booking a condo share with three other people who I only knew from Facebook.
The morning and evenings my new friends and I shared in the condo were easy and relaxed. Nathaniel, Wendy and Carrie, thank you for being so kind, so laid back, and so willing to share the space with me. If only my own home was like that every day. Not only would my new friends and I share our lodging, but we would also share some meals and one adventure to P Town, with each of us feeling the connection, and sharing ourselves a little further than our FB posts. I was grateful to be in that kind of company.
The stage was set for the next morning when the Women’s Health Seminar would begin, with John as the speaker and several amazing female instructor/assistants present to facilitate our healing. And healing would be the order of the day, and the week. However chaotic, crazy, hot, embarrassing, shameful, terrifying, or weird it felt, we would heal. In fact, it would be through these emotions that the healing would occur. Through the steady attention to our sensations, inside of these emotions, would be the key to our freedom, to our release, to our health. And the repeated attempts to find the sensations again, each time we left to check out.
I found myself in a constant state of check in, check out. In to feel and out to escape. Into the sensations, some making sense, some sending me into my head for answers, only to find more questions. Into the sensations, some real enough that my mind said “What the hell?” as my body was inside the reality of the nausea and the panic, and the feeling I was about to pass out. Sitting straight up on my treatment table at that point I wondered if I would actually pass out. I did not. It felt like I could have. I wouldn’t let myself go there. Something in me shut it down, and I lie there thinking, “Damn it, just go for it. Get your money’s worth. You are too old, and too far in this to not go for it. So what if you pass out?”
Oh, yeah, that dialogue in my head was fierce. I lay there on the table in those days, listening to the cries, shrieks, and rage-filled roars of my classmates, and I was filled with sadness, and anger. Fuck the people who did this to them. And to me. Fuck all of them. I lay there and couldn’t make the sound I wanted to make. I thought it would be forced. John said not to force it, but to just let go. I was letting go. I was clenching. I was resisting. I was letting go and tears were falling. So many fucking tears over the years. Would they ever end?
“What does it feel like to not have that voice?” I heard a whisper of one of the female instructor magicians. “I hate it,” I replied meekly. “I didn’t hear you,” she said. “I HATE it!” I repeated with a slight bit more voice. But still not screaming the scream that I had dreamt of being able to scream here. It was a start. A good one. Nobody there to judge me. I could do or say pretty much anything in this room. I don’t think I would be met with shock, awe, or judgement. And even if I was, who the fuck cared?
The work we did in the last day and a half was triggering what I now know as thawing of the freeze response in me. At one point at the end of the third day, my thighs quivered, uncontrollably. We finished one technique and started another, and there they would go again. I let them shake after several minutes of trying to analyze it and getting nowhere fast. I finally then let my whole self be rocked with the movement and the intense sadness. The shaking came from my core and it was like my body itself was sobbing. My legs would quiver into the next day, and then finally rest in the hands of one of my compassionate partners, where they melted and could finally be still.
I can’t remember what day it was, either day two or three, where I began to think “I am done.” I felt tired, and battered. I felt humiliated and shameful. I felt stupid. I did not want one more finger anywhere near any of me at that point. I showed up for the next day anyway. And I pretty much just survived the last day. Some in my body. Some out. Aware most of the time of which one was happening. Occasionally having to yank myself back inside my body to do the work of feeling. At this point it was hard work. And here was a room full of women, of all ages, of all shapes, sizes and colors, of all different histories, stories, traumas and journeys, who were all showing up to do that work. I was so not alone. I wouldn’t be letting them or myself down by checking out more. I would be there, I would feel. I would allow myself to cry. I would detach from the need to know. Over, and over, and over.
After hugs and packing up, I started my ride home, anticipating the nine long hours but secretly glad I would have that amount of time before jumping back into reality. I passed back down through Rhode Island and Connecticut, and as I made my way through New York, the sunset sky filled my eyes with orange and gold. And then the moon, almost full, rose to my left and followed me, dancing in and out of the clouds, for a long, long time, lighting my way home, reminding me to continue to live in wonder and amazement. Reminding me of what is real, and good. Reminding me to feel it all.
On day two of the seminar, I woke up feeling like I had caught a cold. Fuck. Being sick, for me, is like the worst possible thing. Being sick and then being around others, with the possibility of getting them sick, or wondering if they would even want to work with me, makes me a little insane. I check out so fast into my head and my worries when this happens, it feels out of my control. Because I had two and a half days to go, I had to deal. With extra sleep, and some beach time, and a little tea and lemon and soup, I did my best to not drip or sneeze on anyone, and made the ride home using up an entire box of kleenex. My mind was tortured with thoughts of my week, my clients, and a really important event I was scheduled to speak at on the weekend. I couldn’t stay in my body. I couldn’t allow myself to feel, sick.
Reluctantly, I cleared the three clients who were on my schedule for Tuesday and they all kindly rescheduled. I would have the day to rest. Okay, let’s do this. Let’s rest. Normal people get over colds in a couple days. But I wasn’t normal. The voice reminded me, “You get sick,” “You don’t get well fast,” “You get sick and you are sick for a week, or longer, and you have to cancel all your clients, and you can’t exercise, and you will miss everything!” “And what if you cough or choke, or have to blow your nose and other people are around? Then what? Oh my God, what will they think?” Yeah, I told you that my mind was fierce in its dialogue.
I sat down to read an email from my acupuncturist and she ended it with, “Homework: Relax about being sick.” Ha. Yes, okay. Relax. Just be sick. Just feel what it is like to be sick. Just feel. Feel, damn it. And I went to take a nap, two hours after waking to get the kids off to school. As I lay there in bed, I wondered if I would be able to rest, with all the thoughts in my head. I remembered to breathe. I started breathing the way my breathwork teacher taught me. And I kept going. And going. Until I was having a full blown session of unwinding/somatoemotional release, all by my lonesome, for the first time ever.
The session went on for a long time. It was very, very intense. It was terrifying. I was being choked. There was noise. There were tears. It was like I was back in the room in Cape Cod with my colleagues doing the work, but I wasn’t. But I was not alone. I was helping myself through it. I talked myself through it, like a separated being, doing the therapist role. I breathed. I let myself feel every gross, terrifying, disgusting, unimaginable moment of what was coming up. A few messages came up. I decided to listen and then let go of them, not wanting to be attached to having to know an answer. I was then actually able to feel every good, warm, comforting and sensual moment of what was coming up. As the layer of fear and pain moved up and out, the warm, alive, erotic layer came up and could breathe. I have never taken a deeper breath in my life as I did right then, and I felt my ribs and chest expand bigger and wider, without anything restricting them.
This healing was as profound as any I have had with a therapist present. And maybe even more so, because I was able to allow myself the gift of it, without needing someone else to do anything. I can heal. Myself. I can heal myself. We are here, doing this work, so we can teach people to do this work. Today I realize that this experience gives me this huge, huge gift. One that I am meant to give away. I have been given this glorious gift of knowing we can heal ourselves. This would not have happened if it weren’t for the loving, patient, compassionate souls that have guided me along the way. It would have not happened if it weren’t for my intense desire for and persistent practice of awareness. I am forever the student, so I can be the teacher. Thank you to John F. Barnes and all his students. We are changing the world, one person, one course, one aware moment at a time.
This week was big. I sit and write this and feel the bigness. I am tired. I feel I have been through something big, and my body is catching up with my soul. So I will relax into it and rest. I deserve it. I need it. I will be able to give my gifts because of it.
