The release
Logically, I know that our bodies hold on to grief. I’ve read about it in various books, researched it for my own, as well as had personal experiences. However, my knowledge revolved around episodic symptoms. What I didn’t understand were the long-term effects.
“Kelly and Gena, you must meet each other. You are both bad asses and you both live in Maplewood, NJ and both are my dear friends.” The text came through on my phone from my friend, Libby.
A week later Gena and I were sitting across from each other in a wooden booth at a local lunch spot. We chatted about our families, how we knew Libby, and eventually about our work lives.
It turns out that Gena is a somatic therapy instructor. For years I have been seeing somatic work pop up in my social media feed or my readings on grief. My general understanding was that it had to do something with stretching to release pent-up grief and afterward most people hysterically cried.
Unsurprising there is more to it than that. I won’t get to science-y but based on the work of Thomas Hanna, the idea is that parts of our body get stuck in fight, flight, or freeze reflexes. Gena was gracious enough to offer me a session which I took her up on last week.
What I learned about myself was that my back is in a flight response, meaning these muscles are tight. She said this was pretty common for women (and, I would guess, caregivers). This can cause back pain, headaches, and neck/shoulder pain. Conversely, others might be stuck in a freeze response which is a tight front body: think shoulders curved inward which creates shallow breathing and digestive issues, among others. Then there is the flight response also known as the trauma reflex, which appears as twisted hips/shoulders or one side being tighter than the other.
I knew my back was tight, this was not new information. That it was a result of always being on the go/in forward motion made TOTAL sense. Then while laying still on Gena’s table, allowing myself to take full stock of my body I was floored to realize that my left side was considerably tighter than my right. Not only that but I subconsciously resisted Gena’s efforts to help me relax it. It took a significant mental effort to relax and allow the same guided motion on my left as my right.
“I’m so sorry.” I told Gena, embarrassed that I couldn’t control my own body. But instead of showing any sign of frustration, Gena was laughing.
“No, don’t apologize. Even after all these years I still find it funny when the body resists. It’s an unconscious reflex but you can become aware of it and make the choice to relax it. I’ll give you some exercises to practice.” I nodded. Relieved that I wasn’t failing at stretching.
“I imagine you carry your children on your left hip?” Gena asked.
I thought of how much bigger Anessa was getting and that I wasn’t carrying her on my hip as much anymore. I hadn’t lifted Jackson in years… or Adelaide.
For nearly four years I lived with Adelaide on my left hip or leaning on my front, but always toward my left side so that my right hand could be free to carry her meds, or pulse ox, or roll the feeding pump down the hall. This was no small feat considering when she passed, she weighed close to 40 lbs. Weight that she couldn’t support on her own. Weight that I, Miguel, family, friends, and nurses supported for her. My arms were jacked. Seriously, I dream of having arms like that again.
For years I had comforted her as best I could using my body as a first and last resort. My left side, in particular, clenched in support and protection. So much so that four years later, my body is still subconsciously conditioned to hold more tension on my left side than my right. In a way, my muscles are refusing to let go of Adelaide.
Gena finished guiding me through the exercises and asked me how I felt. I opened my mouth to speak but tears came instead. I guess I wasn’t too terribly off with my understanding of somatic therapy after all.
I have done so much work processing and healing my emotional grief, that I hadn’t considered how that grief was living in my body. How the physical routines of caregiving had worked their way into my body as subconscious patterns. This was so much deeper than the episodic symptoms I had learned and written about in the past.
Releasing my left side (and my back) is going to take significant, conscious, and ongoing effort. Thanks to a friendly introduction, I now have the tools and a compassionate and knowledgeable guide to show me how. With that, I leave you with the reminder that grief sucks and is so freaking weird.
Photo ID: Kelly standing and holding Adelaide on the front of her body but leaning toward her left side. Both are looking at the camera, Kelly is smiling. Kelly is wearing a grey shirt, with blue sleeves and a red cape. Adelaide is wearing a red shirt and a blue, tulle sparkle skirt. Adelaide also has a light blue neck/head support buckled around her neck. Behind them is a table set for a party with a blue tablecloth with gold stars.
