I’m not really sure how I injured my lower back. Maybe it was the gym, or maybe I held my three-year-old child on the same hip too many times, causing rotation in my lower lumbars.
With a family ski trip to Austria only two weeks away, I tried everything to help the constant pain in my back including chiropractic adjustments, acupuncture, and massage therapy. Nothing worked and I was in a tailspin, wondering where I could find relief.
At the same time, I was in the middle of uncovering yet another layer in my bioenergetics therapy sessions. I had been going to therapy twice a week: one session for me to unwind my childhood sexual abuse traumas, and a second that I attended with my husband for couple's therapy.
My back pain became unbearable, as if I were reaching a crescendo. I called my therapist, crying in pain. “Mary, please help me! I can’t ride on a plane for nine hours next week in this excruciating pain!”
Mary was angelic. She stood five-foot-one with deep-set brown eyes and a soft voice. “Of course, dear,” she replied. “We can address this in your next session on Tuesday.”
Tuesday morning, I struggled to send the kids off to school with my stiff back, but knowing it was therapy day kept some hope alive. As I entered my therapist’s office, her little Yorkie came running up to greet me. I couldn’t deal with the pinching pain of bending over to pet the dog this morning. Mary has described her pet as a therapy dog who assists her clients. She said when people are finished emoting in the adult therapy gym, her dog will sit on the couch and help the client destress further by allowing them to pet her.
“Petting an animal is an act of love,” she said. “Dopamine will eventually activate, which allows the body to calm down and resume homeostasis.”
Mary carefully watched my thirty-four-year-old body shuffle in like a senior citizen. I walked as if I’d been in a car accident, minus the neck collar. I told her I didn’t want to sit, so she pulled out a sawhorse with a pillow fastened on top. She told me to put my belly on top of the pillow and to bend over, to open up my vertebrae. I obliged, finally feeling some pressure release from the lack of gravity pressing into my spinous processes.
“Now what, Mary? I can’t take this sawhorse with me on the plane,” I joked.
“Breathe out loud. I want to hear your exhales with a sound,” Mary said.
I took my first loud breath. Inhale. Exhale, “Ahhhhhhhhh.”
“Again!” she instructed.
So, I inhaled. Then I exhaled, “Haaaaaaaaa!”
“Again!” she demanded. Mary’s soft voice was starting to get a bit of a tone. “This time, close your eyes and FEEL into your exhales!” she thundered.
I inhaled deeply and exhaled, “Aooooooooo!”
My eyes were closed, but my mind jumped into another reality. Suddenly, I saw myself running through an autumn forest in the dead of night.
“Can you hear those wolves?” I cried. “They’re coming! They’re after me!”
I wanted to open my eyes and climb back off the sawhorse, but Mary reassured me that I was safe. “Go back, back to where you were before you started running.”
I took another inhale and an audible exhale. “I’m sitting in an old, dark, stony castle with my parents having dinner by candlelight in front of a huge, open hearth where the food is cooked. They are my parents today, as well. Except my father is huge, not five-foot-four like he is in this life. He seems at least six feet tall and heavy, like an ogre. My mother is a slight woman; she has a sharp jaw, a pointy chin, and darting eyes. Her hair has been pulled back in a plain, low bun.” My mother’s mousey, pale, boyish demeanor was a stark contrast to her voluptuousness of today.
“The plates and goblets are made of pewter,” I continued. “My father is drunk and has food stains on his shirt. Grease and red wine drip from his bushy, red beard as he lustfully stares me down. My mother sits to my left and seems angry. My father is on my right side at the head of the table, raving like an intoxicated dictator and talking with his mouth full. I can see long, blond hair cascading down the front of my dark grey dress. My cold, pale hands are resting on my lap.”
