Tag Archives: rolfing

rolfing. session 4.

This session took place on March 13, 2012.

Rolfing sessions 4 and 5 take apart and put back together the pelvic bowl and its connections to the lower and upper body, respectively. Shifts related to these sessions can be intense, physically and emotionally. For this reason, we scheduled my sessions just one week apart. I was thankful for this, and will explain why later.

First, session 4… From my rolfer’s website:

We move back to the legs in this session, focusing on the inside of the leg from the ankle to the pelvis, at a slightly deeper layer. The relationship of the foot to the pelvis is aligned; torsions at the knee and hip are addressed. Manipulating adductor attachments allows increased range of movement of the pelvis, which starts the pelvis on its way to becoming more horizontal. This session provides the feeling that the legs are supporting the abdominal space and providing lift for the upper body, a new experience for many back pain sufferers. This session can also be effective for hip and knee pain.

“When I put my foot down it no longer goes where it used to” is a familiar response after session four. Furthermore, clients occasionally report emotional extremes following this session—many people don’t realize how much physical and/or emotional tension they hold in the pelvis until this session disturbs that holding pattern. Although these physically and emotionally unsettled states are usually mild when they occur, it’s best to schedule sessions four and five about a week apart. Session five continues the work started in four, and brings the body to greater balance.

The image I got that I shared with Bethany during the session was of my pelvis as a bowl. That is indeed its shape, but I’d never had the spacious, supportive felt sense of it before.

The feeling/image I got that I didn’t share with Bethany as she worked on the inner plane of my left hip, deep into my abdomen, during session 4 was that of an eviscerated doll. Stuffing coming out all over the floor.

On one hand this is a nice feeling—clean, spacious.

On another hand, it is disturbing. Mortal injury, core gone, empty.

I attended second grade in three states: Louisiana, Washington, and Kansas. Each time we moved, we were supposed to be moving for good. That year broke me. I had fallen in love with Washington, our home on the edge of national forest, walking distance to the curious and otherworldly Mima Mounds. We were there just over two months.

I have a memory of going out to my moss-enshrouded play outdoor kitchen on the edge of the woods upon learning that we would be moving again, moving away. I was done. Done with pain, done with powerlessness, done with getting attached to things, done with loving, done with hope, done with believing I could have what I wanted. In that kitchen, I performed my own psychic and emotional evisceration. I took out the tender, feeling-full, squishy inner bits and buried them. I filled the cavity back up with stones and sealed the gash. I would feel no more.

It took me over 20 years to begin to fully realize the ramifications of what I had done—what I needed to do in order to emotionally and psychologically survive at the time—and to accept the work of reversing the procedure.

Bethany says that many people shield on the outer layers of their bodies, like armor. Penetrate that tense, tough outer crust, and the softness is just under the surface. What I heard her say is that my shield, my hardness, goes deeper than that, perhaps all the way through. This tells me that, though Mamacita gave me back my heart in the past year, I clearly have some other organs and stuffing to retrieve and replace. I see Rolfing as helping dislodge the rocks.

It was not until the intense solo quadrant dance of the Firekeeper’s round of Dance Lodge the Saturday following session 4 that I connected the eviscerated doll with the big dream I had in which the snowy owl fought me for a rock-hard backpack I carried on my chest. During the fight, the backpack opened and the owl began pulling out billowing ribbons of saffron fabric. In lodge I pulled ever more of that packed rich saffron silk out of my torso, creating more space for the desired stuffings of softness, connectedness, and love.

But where will those stuffings come from? Who will sensitively pack them inside of me? Nevermind my deep longing that someone else deeply care for and nourish me in this way; as before, the only person who can do this transplant is myself. Here there is mourning, but it emerged even more powerfully after session 5, so I will touch back on it while writing about that.

Movement education/practice: sit on your sit bones, on the very edge of this wooden bench, with your feet engaging with and rooting into the floor. Find the place where the bowl of your pelvis tips forward and suddenly the frame of your body is supporting itself with no effort, no strain.

Tears come as I feel the relief, the difference. I know immediately this contrasts with the immense effort I nearly always am making just to be, in some acceptable way, in space—to hold myself erect, braced against my own expectations. And all this time, this ease and effortless, painless support was quietly here, waiting for me to trust my body and settle into it instead of trying to rigidly hold it and control it.

Later in the week, recognition of old core belief patterns about not deserving to exist if I’m not living up to some vast, amazing potential.

Frustration with the illusion that any of these things get fully resolved. I remember the last time I thought I buried that particular pattern, yet here it is again, healthier than ever.

Further recognition of deep tensions within myself between the desire to connect, and the terror of enmeshment. Feeling crazily strung between the two. Seeing how this plays out in my intimate relationships, how I give mixed signals and behave inconsistently. Feeling like I must hie myself back to therapy to have any hope of making it safely back to ground.

Rage at the idea of more time and money spent on therapy.

Physically, after this session I was sore for a couple of days deep within my hips and abdomen. I began rolling over on my left ankle when stepping down on my left foot, but avoided any injuries.

And then, blessedly swiftly, there was session 5…

rolfing. session 3.

This session took place on February 25, 2012.

From my rolfer’s website:

Now we move to your sides and establish a lateral line. The goal here is to ease strain patterns in the front-back dimension. You might think of it as giving the body depth by opening the “seams” along your sides! We’ll manipulate the sides of your torso, neck, and hips to allow these major segments to better support each other—improving the relationship between your upper and lower body. Some clients feel slight dizziness halfway through this session as the deeper structures are approached. Later, there is often a tingly, relaxed “high” and a shifted sense of front-to-back balance. This session addresses relationships relevant to back, shoulder and neck pain.

This session started to get a bit intense. A fair amount of work in the armpit, the intercostals. It went slow, but started to go a little deeper in. At one point, to even out something in my pelvis, Bethany jumped ahead a little and gave me my first taste of really deep work by going after my right psoas. The sensation is difficult to describe. Consciousness is pulled deeply inward, as I feel the physical sensations of the literal layers and depth of myself. And it is all moving.

Image during session: again, bellows or accordion torso.

At the end of this session, movement practice/assessment included lifting my arms straight out to the sides and over my head. For as long as I can remember, I have not been able to do this without some tension and discomfort, and a mild feeling of grinding or pieces of my right shoulder roughly bouncing over one another. Bethany felt into that shoulder while I did the movement, and then made some adjustments. For the first time, I then raised my arms up with nothing going “kerthunk” inside my body. And, coming up on a month later now, the “kerthunk” is still gone.

Later in the evening after the session, the image/sensation was of having extra length/space under my arms, on my sides. Bat wings.

The day after the session, I woke up with fairly intense pain in my right neck and shoulder—the one with the missing kerthunk. It felt like I’d slept wrong and gotten a crick in my neck. I chalked this up to muscles being reorganized and not used to it. The pain faded over a couple of days and hasn’t been back.

Later in the day after the session, I mildly pulled a muscle in my left lower back. After receiving my copy of Anatomy Trains—a fascinating read, by the way—I recognized the pulled area as being on the same Spiral Line with the non-kerthunking shoulder. I chalked this up to more reorganization and settling into a new pattern, which is often uncomfortable.

I also experienced some general muscle soreness, similar to post-workout soreness, for the first couple of days after this session.

This account may not sound very pleasant, but growth and change often is not pleasant. This isn’t massage; it is structural integration work, after all.

The lingering effects are highly pleasant—more freedom of movement and less tension in my shoulders and side body. More awareness of my body in space, and more trust in its natural, effortless ability to hold me. Deepening care for and protection of my body.

Several days after the session, I was washing dishes. I noticed my bizarre posture: hips pushed into the cabinet, knees locked, lower spine bent overly backward, upper spine overly forward, neck out and hunching over—essentially collapsing into and over the sink. “Huh, why am I standing like this? What if I stand up straight?” It felt, and continues to feel a lot better.

One ongoing effect is increased frustration with furniture. There are very few pieces of furniture that actually support my body in a natural and healthy posture. Luckily my work chair is one of them. And there is always the beloved floor.

rolfing. session 2.

I have fallen behind on documenting my Rolfing experience.

Session 2 took place on February 4, as I was preparing to go to Costa Rica on the 11th, so I didn’t take time to write about it afterward.

Upon arriving home from Costa Rica, I got hit with a nasty cold and didn’t feel like writing or doing anything else for over a week.

Another reason I didn’t write about session 2 was that it seemed more subtle than the first session. I got no big epiphanies from my body, and had no huge shifts. There were some small things, but first, a description of the session from my Rolfer’s site:

Next we address your foundation. The feet and lower legs are opened and aligned to better support the body in gravity. Often clients feel a greater sense of support and balance from their feet, as well as better contact between their feet and the ground. Conditions such as high or fallen arches, plantar fasciitis, neuromas, knee pain and scar tissue are addressed in this session. Many clients report better balance and feeling more grounded after this work.

The major physical thing I noticed after this session was that my feet felt bigger over all, but mostly wider. Like they were a very large, stable foundation for my body. Kind of like duck feet.

This sensation has not persisted, but when I focus on perceiving my feet, it comes back some. There is also still a sense of stability and rootedness when I focus on my feet.

Other things I noticed:

  • I’ve never had much tolerance for uncomfortable shoes, but now I have NONE. Just today I took a bunch of shoes to the Really, Really Free Market because I will never put them on my feet again due to discomfort.
  • Increased awareness (and some frustration) that most seating doesn’t fit me. Often my feet do not touch the ground, or just my toes will touch. Car, office, and airplane seats try to impose curves where my back doesn’t curve—the worst is the airplane seat pushing my head forward. Usually, I’d rather be sitting on the floor than on one of these ill-fitting chairs.
  • In Costa Rica, I was psychologically more sure-footed than I often am. I hopped on a zip line with no hesitation. I rode on a motorcycle. I went on hikes more difficult than any I’ve ever done. I jumped down “trails” that were more like rustic 2-3 foot tall stairs carved in the side of a dormant volcano and held in place by tree roots. My general attitude was, “I can do this.” With the earth supporting my balanced and sure steps, what can’t I do?

In session 2, we did benchwork for the first time. This is where I sit on a wooden bench with my feet flat on the floor, rolling forward one vertebrae at a time from the neck down while Bethany manipulates the muscles on either side of my spine, or simply touches them to remind me where the next movement should come from. Then, roll back up one vertebrae at a time, the same way.

With the benchwork, I had some anxiety come up related to the idea of not doing it right, of not knowing well enough where my body is in space. Fearing that I’d think my shoulders were over my hips when they weren’t. I realized that this taps into the fear of being perceived as crazy, which I didn’t know was still hanging around.

Bethany recommends going for walks or otherwise being gently active after a session, in order to support the greatest integration.

After this session, I fairly quickly found myself standing on a sidewalk for a couple of hours, wearing a fluorescent green hat as legal observer for the first Carrboro Commune occupation. I paced back and forth a lot instead of standing still, but it wasn’t an ideal activity for integrating the work of Session 2. Maybe this has something to do with the subtle effects of Session 2. Or maybe Session 2 was just not a big one for me.

Still, no part of the process has been painful for me. A little intense from time to time, but nothing I’d call pain. Bethany and I had an interesting discussion about how different people perceive the same stimulation very differently. Apparently many people would be jumping off the table at some of the things I don’t blink at.

the jaw bone’s connected to the hip bone.

Ok, so maybe it’s not the bones, per se, that are connected.

There’s a weird, kind of painful, popping sensation that I have rarely experienced in my jaw. I never associated this with TMJ problems, which I thought of as more chronic. But it might be related.

Since Rolfing Session 1, I’ve noticed there is a connection between a sensation in my hip and this popping in my jaw.

This sounds a bit mad, so I went looking around. Seems that Traditional Chinese Medicine connects the hip and jaw on the gall bladder meridian.

Then I found this article:

Michael J. Fischer, Kathrin Riedlinger, Christoph Gutenbrunner, Michael Bernateck. (2009) Influence of the Temporomandibular Joint on Range of Motion of the Hip Joint in Patients With Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. Journal of Manipulative and Physiological Therapeutics. v. 32, no. 5, pp. 364-371.

Objective. This study evaluated if patients with complex regional pain syndrome (CRPS) would have an increase in range of motion (ROM) after myofascial release and a similar ROM decrease after jaw clenching, whereas in healthy subjects these effects would be minimal or nonexistent.

Methods. Documentation of patients with CRPS (n = 20) was established using the research diagnostic criteria for CRPS, questionnaires, average pain intensity for the past 4 weeks, and the temporomandibular index (TMI). Healthy subjects (n = 20, controls) also underwent the same testing. Hip ROM (α angle) was measured at 3 time points as follows: baseline (t1), after myofascial release of the temporomandibular joint (t2), and after jaw clenching for 90 seconds (t3). Comparison of the CRPS and control groups was made using t tests.

Results. Mean TMI total score and mean pain reported for the last 4 weeks were significantly different between the 2 groups (P < .0005). Hip ROM at t1 was always slightly higher compared to t3, but t2 was always lower in value compared to t1 or t3 for both groups. The differences of all hip ROM values between the groups were significant (P < .0005). Moreover, the difference between t1 or t3 and t2 was significantly different within the CRPS group (t1 = 48.7°; t2 = 35.8°; P < .0005). Conclusions. The results suggest that temporomandibular joint dysfunction plays an important role in the restriction of hip motion experienced by patients with CRPS, which indicated a connectedness between these 2 regions of the body.

And another study found some relationship between jaw and foot:

Antonino Marco Cuccia. (2011) Interrelationships between dental occlusion and plantar arch. Journal of Bodywork and Movement Therapies. v. 15, no. 2, pp. 242-250

Interesting. I’m not just making this stuff up… Anyway.

Also, and mostly unrelated: today I also remembered that designing, conducting, reading, and interpreting research is a specialized skill that not everyone has, but I do. Becoming ABD got me that, and it is not a small thing.

the body speaks.

Lately, I have had intermittent access to the use of a sauna.

Last night I was melting in the sauna, mentally pleading with my lower back/sacral area to flatten into the hot cedar beneath me. “Why,” I desperately thought, “will my body just not relax??”

I noticed a feeling and a knowing arising, intertwined. I noticed the impulse to ignore this braided vine. I knew better, so I took a long deep breath and looked straight at it with soft question eyes.

My body unleashed this silent torrent:

I can’t relax because I can’t trust you.

You let other people hit me. You did stupid things that got me hurt. I could forgive that.

But you hurt me, too. You crammed me with food and made me throw it up. You cut me, on purpose, until I bled. You bruised me with our fists. You punched things until skin came off our hands on purpose. You decided not to eat lunch, not to eat dinner, over and over again. You said we didn’t need food. You made me sit in a chair in front of a screen, clicking and typing for hours with no other movement. You didn’t get up and drink water when I said I was thirsty. You didn’t listen when I said I had to pee—how many times did you get us infected doing that??

You dissociated and left me all alone. You pretended I didn’t exist—that I was invisible—to make yourself feel safe. You largely forgot the back half of me existed.

I’ve been carrying all the things you turned away from, and all you can do is complain about me being tense.

How could I trust you?

And you still do some of these things.

And when I saw and felt the feelings twisted up in this, I saw this strand was another twisted braid of grief, shame, and anger.

The major strand—the one I felt wash through me—was grief. Deep, deep sadness upon acknowledging that every unspoken word my body said was true. Seeing with excruciating clarity how much I have taken my own unacceptable feelings out on my physical body, how much I have abused it. And how I still do, most often in subtle, neglectful ways. Seeing the ways my definition of self-care has some sections scrawled over with black Magnum marker.

The grief makes space for the shame and anger to be seen, to nestle in, to be woven into understanding. Seeing the historical rage that I turned on myself because I did not know where else to put it. Seeing one part of me identifying my body as “me,” deciding that we would not be suffering so if that “me” were sufficient or good, and demanding punishment. The self-blame because it was intolerable to admit that those who should be caring and loving were not able to provide those things.

Seeing the shame I feel over how I have treated myself, because these are the marks of “crazy.” Sometimes literally so. Feeling like I should be farther away from this sort of treatment of myself. Anger with and judgment of self for not being farther away. Fearing the fact that I am not is “proof” of something scary, and so feeling the need to hide.

The sickening inversion of the realization that the only person I have to protect myself from in day-to-day life is… myself.

Knowing that my body is, in actuality, quite a bit pissed off at me.

And sitting with it all, taking it all in with soft eyes and heart. I expected at any moment to find myself sobbing, but I did not. Instead, I rode my breath through waves of constriction and nausea and felt my heart cracking. Grief sees, it enfolds, it enlarges.

There is no mourning without celebration, so where is the celebration in this?

I have the ability to change this. Through listening closely to my body and exquisitely caring for it, I can begin to win back its trust.

I scheduled a Rolfing Ten-Series, went to the first one, and several days later my body is telling me this. The process of gaining its trust has begun.

Just the phrase “winning back my body’s trust” brings up that sharp sadness again. Shoulds against myself. “I shouldn’t have to do this.”

But I can, and I am, and there is the celebration.

All I have to do is let the soft animal of my body love what it loves. ((

Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

))

My body loves melting in the sauna.

rolfing. session 1.

First, about choosing my Rolfer. I chose to make my appointments with Bethany Ward for two reasons. First, she is listed on her own site as a faculty member of the Rolf Institute of Structural Integration, and in the Rolf Institute directory as President of the Ida P. Rolf Research Foundation, and actively writing/presenting research. Second, her bio on her website. Reading between the lines, I sensed some pattern of life trajectory similar to my own. She writes about her own experience with the emotional component of Rolfing, so I felt like she would understand my desire to work with the physical/emotional connection.

After my first session, I would say without any reservation that I chose the right Rolfer for me at this time. My intuition about some shared life patterns was right on. She totally gets the trauma/body connection. I appreciate her being able to tell me about the latest research as she is working with my body. In general, I felt a very good rapport quite quickly.

Session observables. First we talked about my history, current issues, and reasons for wanting to get Rolfed. Then I stripped down to bra and underwear for the rest of the session. She assessed my standing posture and alignments, and asked me some questions out sensations of being in my body: Is there more weight on the left or right leg? On the front or heel of the feet? On the insides or outsides of the feet? Any parts of the body coming to the forefront of your attention? Where does the air easily go inside you when you breathe? Etc.

Then, I laid on the nice heated table, which pleased my inner cat greatly, and the hands-on work began. Here is the description of the first session from Bethany’s site:

This session focuses on freeing the lungs to allow fuller breath, and beginning to free the shoulder and pelvic girdles from the ribcage. This is accomplished by working superficial tissue around the ribcage, shoulders, arms, and hips. Neck and back work is included at the end of almost every session to balance and integrate the work into the body.

The very last thing was a sacral lift. Then, I sat up and focused on rooting, on letting gravity really have its way with me. The more we sink, the more we rise. Then, I walked around a bit and noted the changes I felt.

Rolfing has a reputation for being painful. Nothing during this session even approached the sensation of “pain” for me. There were some intense and interesting sensations, but nothing painful. That may not be saying a lot, because I tend to like deep tissue massage and other work that a lot of people find painful. That said, I’ve read that the process of Rolfing has become more refined and gentle over the years. We’ll see how future sessions go, as we go really in depth.

Kyle was asking me last night how Rolfing is different from a massage. The official answer is here. Three experiential differences: (1) There is no lotion/oil used in Rolfing. (2) Since the Rolfer is working to integrate the entire body’s structure, it is preferable that she be able to see the entire body as she does the work. Thus, I wasn’t covered up by a blanket during the session. (3) Usually my massage therapists don’t ask me to do anything but turn over. Bethany asked me to experiment with my breath, gradually lengthen my arms, to relax into certain manipulations, to stretch out my hands, and so on.

Sensations and images. So, what changes did I feel? The final sacral lift was the most divine sensation ever. I felt like my back straightened out for the first time in my life and became a foot longer. When I stood up and walked around, I felt taller and my arms felt longer and more dangly—they seemed to hang more freely from my shoulders. Also, there seemed to be some different sensation—maybe activation, maybe strength, maybe simple noticing/aliveness—in my Vastus lateralis.

by Buck Lewis

While Bethany was working on my ribs and asking me to play with my breathing, I got an image of something like a bellows or accordion opening up. I learned I don’t have to over-breathe to get air into the bottom or back of my lungs; I just have to direct the inhalation where it needs to go. Also, an effortless way to open up the next inhalation is to exhale just a tad more than I normally would.

When Bethany finished working on my right shoulder, I had the image of leopard shoulders. Watch a leopard walk and you will see what I mean. There is a freedom, ease, power, and grace in how their shoulders move. I have been feeling quite leopard shouldery since.

I don’t remember if this was an image I got during the session, or something I dreamed last night. The trunk of the body a cage. Wild animals inside. The cage bars loosen. Creatures begin to escape. The wildness seeps out. When the cage is emptied, a flame is placed inside. It becomes a lantern. It becomes a warm shelter.

I got all the way from Bethany’s into Target and started carrying a small heater to the register before my low back/sacrum tension/ache came back. I was surprised at how uncomfortable it is. When it is always present, it just fades into the background. But, damn, it really is uncomfortable. I’ve been playing with imagining my tailbone lengthening and hanging down heavy like an actual tail, pulling my low back and sacrum down without any effort on my part. This seems to ease the tension/ache and restore a bit of the long feeling.

I played with this quite a bit at ecstatic dance today where I also was noticing how much there is a back side to my body. Apparently I am very oriented to my front, forgetting the back exists. Also, I don’t have to keep bracing myself and leaning slightly forward. I literally have my own back, effortlessly, if I just relax a bit.

In general, I feel some loosening and relaxation in my body since the session. I feel some different layers in my shoulders, which normally feel like one solid mass of hard matter.

I’m also conscious of my weight feeling slightly more evenly distributed on my feet.

Right now, I’m also conscious of suddenly feeling very tired, so I am going to be. The beautiful thing about blog posts is they can always be edited and added-to later.

rolfing. prologue.

This afternoon I go for my first Rolfing session here.

The recommended initial experience with Rolfing is the Ten Series, a series of ten sessions providing “a systematic approach to aligning your structure; each session builds upon the last and prepares the body for the next.” ((http://rolfusa.com/tenseries.html))

As the experience of getting Rolfed is, for many, very intense on several levels, I plan to document what it is like for me.

But first, why have I decided to get Rolfed, and why now?

I first learned about Rolfing in my senior year of undergrad (1995), when I took an elective class called Holistic Nursing. One of the major things I took away from that class was a new appreciation for how the body is interconnected. It was my first exposure to theories of health from China and India, as well as to the existence of fascia and myofascial trigger points. Learning about trigger points gave me a way to explain and ease some of the seemingly strange referred pain patterns I had at that time.

Unfortunately, trigger points arise from underlying structural problems or tensions in muscles and fascia. While I’ve learned to treat the symptoms (the trigger points), the underlying issues remain. Over the years, I’ve periodically thought about whether Rolfing would help the underlying issues, but the time was never right. Either the cost was prohibitive, or I just didn’t feel strongly pulled to look into it further.

I believe the time was not right because I was not ready. The way I see this is paradoxical. On one hand, my emotional and mental anxiety, rage, and hypervigilance were directly experienced and held in my physical body. On the other hand, I had such walls built between the physical, mental, and emotional that I could not recognize my own emotions or how they manifested in my body. I was so dissociated from my emotions that I would tell you that I had no feelings, but that my body hurt. I was so dissociated from my body that I often did not realize that it was hurting until the pain was intense. Body and emotions were so separated from each other that body work never caused an emotional ripple. The tales of people experiencing emotional release from a massage baffled me.

In 2009, I recognized that a wide array of my physical, emotional, and mental issues fit into a known pattern: complex post-traumatic stress disorder. I began intensive work on these issues in therapy, via EMDR.

My walls and barriers began cracking and tumbling, in so many ways.

An important part of the work has been reconnecting the layers of myself to each other and breaking the habit of dissociation. I am more than ever feeling into being in my body, observing what my emotions feel like, and holding space for all of the pleasure and discomfort of embodiment.

I did a lot of psycho-spiritual work over the weekend of New Years (2011 to 2012), much of it centered in the 12 hour Dance Lodge I attended. I came out of that weekend feeling immensely more clear, true, and strong mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. On those levels, I felt things had to some extent disintegrated and begun to restructure. Physically, I felt like a lot of dust from this disintegration was danced off and cleared out, but a significant amount of it was freed and drifting around in my body.

I felt like I needed the gunk physically squeezed out of my body. I felt like I needed to be taken apart and put back together. To be restructured physically.

And then I remembered about Rolfing. About how it is called “structural integration.” About how it is a means of reorganizing the body’s patterns. And I knew it was time. I made my appointment the following week.

A couple of nights after returning home from New Years, I asked my boyfriend to gently run his hands over my body to reassure it that it was safe. When his hand rested over my heart on my back between my shoulder blades, I burst into tears.

It seems the wall between physical and emotional really is gone. Again, I knew it was time.

What do I expect to get out of this Rolfing experience? I’m always afraid to expect too much, and the skeptical part of my brain is still alive and well.

That said, my biggest hope is that it will help my body learn to stop chronically holding tension. This comes from a deep learned self-protection pattern of defense that served me well for a long time, but that I don’t need any more. I feel like I consciously know this, but my body is not yet convinced OR it simply doesn’t know how to release the patterns it has held for so long.

I think that my other hopes—less pain, fewer headaches, etc—will follow on from that.

I’ve read some claims that Rolfing can help correct hyperlordosis, which would also be fabulous.

As always, we’ll see.

Now, off to play in the woods for a bit before my appointment.