Now What?

What does my world look like now that I am no longer a therapist? Touch has been my focus for over 36 years.

It has been my identity, life work, and source of income.

It has literally fed my family.

It has made my spirit whole.

It has been the impetus and venue for pushing me forward in my path of personal growth and development.

Leaving it behind, I feel tremendous physical and emotional relief from the effort of “performing” my work.

I also feel a nameless gaping hole. I cannot put my finger on it. I just feel lost. Untethered. Boring. Unimportant.

I feel reduced to short order cook, housecleaner, grocery shopper, and taxi driver.

I feel laden with the weight of caretaking. The emotional and physical toll this pandemic has had on my loved ones has been tremendous.

I feel guilty when allowing my true feelings to surface.

They seem so dark and ungrateful.

I know and appreciate how fortunate I am to have a loving family and resources for food, shelter, and medical care.

We have made good choices and have experienced many silver linings throughout this pandemic.

Regardless, I cannot make these feelings go away.

Maybe if I retrace my steps, I will remember who I am.

Looking back, I feel like I am watching someone else’s life.

Was that even me who had a life affirming experience in Africa, 15 months ago?

Did the White Buffalo Calf woman in John Barnes’ book truly speak through me?

Have I really journeyed into the unknown with countless clients and likeminded therapists and experienced powerful healing moments?

Was I an adventurer?

I think I may have been fearless at one time.

When was the last time my curiosity was sparked?

I remember finding beauty hidden in ordinary places.

When was the last time I was alone?

Can I reclaim the drive I once had? And if so – toward what?

It is a stretch to reach back to the beginning.

Until recently I was constant motion.

I was the kid cartwheeling across the lawn, running after fireflies, tempting fate to walk every guard rail, and disappearing into the woods every chance I could take.

My brother and cousins joined me for our forest forays. We “rode” birch “elevators” to the ground – occasionally snapping a branch and falling in a heap.

We started dirt avalanches in the sand pit, made tree forts out of nails and found boards, and foraged every berry and edible plant we could find to make “potions” and “survival” food.

My world was so fluid and tactile.

I loved the “stopping of time” which occurred when we were intensely present in the moment.

As I grew older the sport of gymnastics filled the same role. I could immerse myself in the physicality required to perform skills and the tactile relationship present while engaging gymnastic equipment.

I could literally see the physics of movement in my mind. “Grounding” was absolutely necessary for me to stay on a 4-inch balance beam or manipulate bars without crashing.

In my senior year of high school, I was admonished for an essay choice which tasked students to write a persuasive essay on which “sense” would be most devastating to lose.

I was the only student to choose the “tactile” sense.

I could not imagine a life without touch. I don’t remember my exact argument, but I know it included statistics on “failure to thrive” babies, tactile insecurity issues in special needs children and the affect this has on developing physical milestones, and deleterious effects of sensory deprivation in the elderly.

My argument won me a good grade but not without a lot of sarcasm and eye-rolling from the class and the teacher. I was annoyed at them for their disparaging remarks and blatant disregard for all five senses.

It is a ridiculous task to require an 18-year-old to pick a career with such little life experience.

For me there was never a question that I would go to college. It was more a matter of finding a college I could afford.

My parents gave me a choice. I never considered it to be a choice. I was the eldest “child” of my extended family and the first in our lineage to attend college.

To me a college education was synonymous with independence. I had no intention of allowing myself to be dependent on another for my own sustainability in the world. My fierce independence continues today.

I picked physical therapy because the curriculum met all the requirements of a pre-med program yet would allow me to “have a job” after 4 years if I decided not to pursue further education. I really wanted to be a veterinarian, but the entrance requirements and cost were prohibitive.

Physical therapy appeared to be the most active of the allied health professions and offered many avenues and specialties to pursue.

After receiving my BS, I did not want to become a physician. I was ready to be out in the world and for life to begin.

In retrospect it is not a big revelation that I sought to continue seeking “time stopping” moments and choose a field requiring constant movement.

Why Bodywork?

I am by nature a reclusive introvert. This is at odds with my life and professional goals of “helping people.”

How can the same person who ducks out of one aisle and into another at a grocery store to avoid making conversation with an acquaintance also sit quietly with clients hour after hour and dive into their deepest traumas?

I do not know but it’s true.

I have never enjoyed making small talk. To me it is like a mosquito buzzing around my head. Why waste your time and energy talking about things that don’t matter?

Scratching the surface of the inconsequential is exhausting and futile. Dealing with a whole room of people doing the same thing at say – a social event – especially one of acquaintances, or worse yet - strangers, is a nightmare I avoid whenever possible.

On the flip side, the few people I do have a relationship with I would do anything for. I feel deeply connected with my family and true friends. I am grateful for them every day and will go to great lengths to serve and protect them.

Perhaps this is the reason I have chosen the one-on-one relationship of therapist – client. In this setting we are either silent or connecting about what is real.

While I accomplished my goal of independence, I hated my first job as a physical therapist. I was bored after the first month and felt total disillusion. I spent most of my time getting folks to a standing position post-injury and getting peed on.

I was committed to spending a year for purposes of resume building and made my way through each rotation of the rehabilitation facility hoping the next would reveal the area of specialty I might like.

It did not happen.

I became proficient in each venue and was well liked by my patients and co-workers; however, no sparks flew, and I began lamenting my career path decision.

I stuck out the year and saved as much money as I could. My plan was to use my saved funds to travel the US in my mini-truck and tent with a friend until my money ran out at which time I would come home and find a new job.

My first spark flew shortly before I left for my trip.

A senior therapist brought me behind a curtain and taught me a few myofascial release techniques. At the time, this type of manual therapy was very controversial. John Barnes was considered a renegade PT and the fascial system was not recognized or acknowledged except for tissue found at major insertion points.

If therapists were taking Barnes’ courses, they were doing so secretly to avoid being ostracized and ridiculed.

I loved the work.

It instantaneously made “sense” to me. I could “feel” in others what I could not see, hear, smell, or taste.

It felt like “coming home” to a timeless state of childhood where you “feel” every cell vibrate, notice every muscle move, and experience every breath filling your chest and each beat drumming in your heart.

What was more impressive is that this technique produced amazingly positive results. I began using the little I knew with the clients assigned to me and my caseload grew – drawing inquisitive minds and a promise of future employment if I wished to come back.