I recently got a massage, with the goal of releasing. I knew my body was holding tension I needed to let go of. I've had a hard couple months, and truth be told, my body shut down. In all definitions of the word, I was a shell. I couldn't feel or process. I couldn't socialize. I did what I needed to do, which was work and not much outside of that. Music was too much to my ears, TV was too much to my brain, leaving my house was too much...everything. My grand adventure that weekend was leaving my house long enough to have a stranger rub my body and hopefully make me feel better. That was it.
I told the masseuse what I was there for. That I wanted to concentrate more on what my body needed to let go of. I wasn't there for the purpose of feeling relaxed for an hour, I was ready to feel like I had ran a marathon by the end. Thankfully, she listened. And she went for it. I trusted my body to tell her what it needed and she dug deep into the parts of me that were holding the most. Even with her elbows digging deep into my muscles, I could still feel myself holding on. To what, I wasn't sure, but I could FEEL it - in my whole being. Holding tension, holding emotion, holding tight - to something.
I took deep breaths and told myself, it's okay. You're safe here. You have shut the world out and stopped feeling, but in this moment you are safe. You can feel and you can release and you can let go. Of all the things that made you stop feeling in the first place.
This is what I expected. I expected to feel and let go of my relationship that just ended. I expected a surge of sadness and comprehension to hit me from this. I also expected a great sorrow to hit from my best friend moving away recently. The person that joined me in almost every single step of my journey into finding me. That one I knew I hadn't felt through yet - and I was ready. To feel it all. So, I started taking deep breaths and said to myself - "Kristi, it's okay to let go." I took many deep breaths, exhaling each one with these words. But what I experienced in letting myself lower that guard was not what I expected.
As soon as I allowed myself to relax into what my body needed, as soon I let myself start listening to me, I saw a vision. Well, vision may be exaggerative, I am still not sure what it was - but vision is as close to the human language as I can put it into words. It was like a flash of a scene, just long enough to stay burned in my memory. What I saw was a small child, she called to me. I knew she was around four years old - I am not sure why I knew this, I just did. And before confusion could hit on who this young child was, blurry and a little far away, it was in that same breath that I knew she was me. I recognized her in a way that again I cannot explain with words. But we were one. Two, yet one. And as I breathed in to release and let go, repeating this to myself like a mantra - breathe, release and let go - it was in one of my deepest breaths that I realized I was holding on to things I didn't even know were inside of me.
This sweet precious little four year old. I feel so much love, compassion and protectiveness for her. She saved me. She learned how to survive in a world full of hurt incomprehensible to a child that young. She built up walls of protection, a fortress around me, to keep me safe. She shut down my brain, my emotions, my being - because that is what she had to do to live. She protected me. She got me here. And it was in this moment, lying face down on a massage table that I realized...oh sweet sweet girl, I don't need you anymore. You did your job. You were the only way I knew how to survive, but not anymore. You made me strong. You helped me into the woman I am today. But sweet girl, I have learned. I have put so much work into myself. I have learned how to love these broken pieces, these pieces of you and of me that I don't even believe or see as broken anymore. I am okay, I release you. Breathe, release and let go.
Now, let me also say - this was a lot to feel on a massage table. And in that quick amount of time, I wasn't even sure what happened. I came home and I wept. I wept, and I thought to myself "Why are you crying? What are you even crying for?" I wasn't sure. I wasn't really sure for days. I knew I wasn't crazy because it felt too real, too close to my heart, too much like I was really seeing myself to just dismiss it. Even so, I wasn't sure who I could tell about this experience or if I even should? I don't even know what this means yet, how do I put this into words? Even if I wanted to share, how the hell do I put this into words?? But I decided to brave it, and I shared anyway. Without words formed, without understanding what happened, I just let myself speak. From the depth inside of me, from the deepest parts of me that this little girl had made into a home. As I recounted the experience to my counselor his eyes went soft, almost as if they were speaking. Almost as if they were saying, "I am proud of you." Like I found something that most people do not. As I ended my recollection of this encounter, I don't know why or maybe I do - but I said, "I'm not sure if I am making sense, I don't even know what I am saying?!" And he looked back at me, square in the eye and said, "Oh, but I do." I broke past a barrier deeper than most people allow themselves to go. I allowed me, to speak to me. The trust I have in myself has grown so much, that she - the little broken girl inside of me - was able to to find her voice too. And truth be told, it was a small moment. One I could have dismissed and thought nothing about. A fraction of a moment that life gives you - to listen, or to retreat. I didn't have to give mind or pay attention to this quick appearance that she made. But I will tell you this, I have retreated for far too many years of my life not to listen. This tiny version of myself, I gave her full stage.
Here is what I think I've processed in these last few days. This is the first time, since I've come into my knowing that I've felt deep deep hurt, gut wrenching loss. My body's natural reaction is full fledged survival mode. I know no in between. I return right back to what that little girl had to do to help me survive. I shut down. My brain shuts down. My emotions shut down. I am a walking dead person. I felt that this last month. But, when I decided to let myself breathe - I realized, I am okay. Like actually really okay. I have built a very very solid foundation in me, so strong - that she is now who I can fall back on. I don't need my four year old self to protect me anymore. I got this. I found myself telling this tiny survival mode version of me - breathe, release, and let go - you are free now.
But let me tell you, I have gotten very unexpectedly emotional about this. Like wait a goddamn second - THIS IS HOW I SURVIVED!!! HELLO!!! WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I GIVE THIS ME UP???? I am as protective of her, as she is of me. But I think this is what I am realizing - the feeling of "you can let go" I was having on that massage table, wasn't leaving this little girl forever, it was releasing her. My sweet sweet four year old self - you served your time. You got me here. You are why I am here. Now it is your turn. I am letting you go in the sense that you are no longer hostage here. You are not stuck in this body to protect. You are free, my sweet sweet girl. You are free to be a kid. You are free to have fun. You are free to love. I think my overwhelming emotions of meeting this little girl, is that I feel so sorry for her that she sacrificed herself to save me. She gave up living to survive, so that I could one day be free. I feel her hurt to the very depths of my soul, because it is also my own. I mourn for her.
But please listen to me now, my soul child - run, run wild. You are free! YOU ARE FREE! We both are. And in this freedom, I am not loosing you. I am locking hands with you and realizing that this - THIS - is how it was always supposed to be.
