Adulting

I was not sorry to leave my first physical therapy job and did not wish to “come back” to the Rehabilitation Center.

I ventured forward on my cross-county trip.

It took about three months to run out of money and return home. It was the most glorious experience. Not necessarily because of the company I kept or even the sights that I saw although this was also a great journey.

To date it was the only time in my life I was truly free to wander.

Nearly 40 years later I still have moments of longing for this feeling of total independence. My mind and body were free to explore every moment just as it was.

If we liked a place or the people we met, we stayed. If not, we moved on.

I had no strings but a mini-pickup truck which was paid in full and a cabin tent we could put up or down in 10 minutes.

I did not have a credit card, GPS, cell phone, or any means to connect with home. I had AAA maps, cash in my pocket, and food in a cooler.

I loved nomadic life.

My sense of responsibility and forward drive pulled me out of my bliss when money ran out and I returned home to start my “grown-up” life.

I took a job at an outpatient clinic owned by a group of orthopedic surgeons and learned a lot about sports rehabilitation and orthopedic therapy.

I was fortunate to receive some outstanding mentorship from my supervisor.

A few of the surgeons allowed me to follow clients through their whole process including observation of surgery and completion of rehabilitation. This cemented some of what I learned in college but did not quench my thirst for knowledge.

It merely whet my appetite to know more about that stuff that they cut through to get to everything else…The Fascia!

Thus began my decades long commitment to continued education and furthering my knowledge on anything fascia related.

I did not know it at the time, but the “issues in our tissues” can be accessed through various forms of therapy.

My first glimpse at “tissue memory” or the “somatoemotional” phenomenon began innocently enough at a conference I attended on “pre and postnatal exercise instruction.”

The orthopedic private practice was a nice steppingstone, but I became bored after a while and branched off on my own.

After contracting as a “vacation relief” therapist for local private practices and home care agencies for a few years, I opened up my first private practice.

My experiences as a contractor gave me a lot of insight about how folks ran their private practices and what types of clients they drew.

It was a great venue for exploring what I did and did not find appealing and assisted me in deciding what my personal goals were.

I took this seminar because I wanted to offer classes in my new private practice.

I got more than I bargained for.

It started out as expected; learning basic indications and contraindications of pregnancy as related to exercise and an array of appropriate exercises and routines that could be instructed.

We discussed childbirth options and the benefits of breast-feeding. We had a lovely vegetarian lunch and witnessed Elizabeth’s own birthing experience which occurred in a birthing tub at home. Ok – this was a little beyond me at the time.

As the class was concluding, Elizabeth encouraged us to engage in a “rebirthing” exercise.

Now I was outside of my comfort zone but was too embarrassed not to “play along.”

She began with a guided relaxation and meditation. Not bad…very relaxing and soothing. We then start a “breathing” exercise which advanced us into THE “rebirthing” experience.

I’m beginning to feel very uncomfortable, and the room seems to fall away – as if the floor dropped out from under my feet and I am in an abyss.

My breathing becomes labored. I have excruciating pain in my right ankle. I feel as if there is a rope around my neck choking me. I’m pulling at my collar and trying to take deeper breaths as my head starts to feel as if it will crack open any minute.

I’m nauseous, breathless, disoriented, and covered in sweat. I’m fighting back the urge to cry. My ankle feels like it will break any minute and I fear that I will lose consciousness.

I excuse myself and struggle to my room where I crash to my bed and alternate holding my head, circling my ankle, and dry heaving into the wastebasket.

I cannot get out of bed to eat dinner or find water. I lie paralyzed and alone in my bed wishing that someone would bring me food, water, Advil, and a blanket. Finally, I drift into sleep and dream of being torn from a comfortable, warm, and safe place into a world of pain, fear, isolation, and disorientation.

My sleep is fitful and disturbing. My focus is narrowed to a point that my only purpose is to “survive” the night.

In the morning, my pride forced me to present myself to the group and pretend nothing happened the night before. When questioned about my absence at dinner I lied and told them I had unfinished business to tend to.

A discussion was facilitated regarding “how we felt” during and after the “rebirthing” exercise. While others “shared” I sat quietly taking in their words and wondering what the hell happened to me the previous night.

I could not put intelligent words to how I “felt.” I “felt” cold, wet, confused, scared, disoriented, alone, drugged, suffocated, and in pain.

I was agitated and wanted to go home. I didn’t want to “share” or debate how long one should breast feed their children.

Children were far in my future at that point and judging by Elizabeth’s birthing video – something I wanted to avoid for a long time to come.

As I said my good-byes and we were about to part, Elizabeth looked me in the eyes and spoke beyond me to my core. “Why don’t you have a conversation with your mom about the day you were born? We often don’t discuss the details and they might be important for you to hear.”

It took me a few weeks to approach the subject with my mother. Not that I was afraid to discuss my birth, rather I was trying to reconcile the events of that evening.

When at last I opened the conversation with my mother she revealed I was a breach baby and the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. She underwent an emergency C-section where she was anesthetized and not conscious. She remembered being drugged and separated from me for days, finally seeing me when she became despondent over my whereabouts and convinced I had not survived.

I was born with a “club foot” on the right side. The top of my right foot was touching my lower leg upon my birth and my mother had to “exercise” it for some time to achieve normal movement.

What I learned from this experience was that my body could “remember” my birth even though my conscious mind did not. My introduction to “tissue memory” was not one I could have understood, accepted, or even believed, had the physical experience of that night not occurred.