It’s that time of year again….You’ve been running around all summer and before you’ve had a chance to recover from your vacation, it’s the beginning
of a new school year. It’s the beginning of Fall! Thoughts fast forward to the weekly grind, juggling work, social events, your workouts, and the impending
holidays which will be here before you know it. Always thinking of what’s coming next, you prepare, get organized, and work towards getting everything
Symptoms. Medications. Pain. Illness. Dysfunction. Disease. Surgery.
Contentedness. Love. Joy. Well-being. Peace. Gratitude. Health.
I’d like you to pause for a moment and try an exercise with the words you just finished reading. Read these words aloud, starting with the first line. Place your hand on your heart and notice what happens as you say these words aloud. When you are done reading them, begin to make circles with your shoulders. Observe as you do so.
What do you notice in your body? How do you feel? Do you notice tension or ease? Pay attention to mobility in your shoulders.
Stop and now repeat with the second line. Say the words aloud and ask yourself this same set of questions. What do you notice now?
“I’m a healer.”
I have to admit: I cringe on the inside each time I hear these seemingly harmless words. It runs rampant throughout the healing professions. They are well intentioned words. So what’s the matter?
In my professional circles, I’ve crossed paths with body workers, mental health therapists, psychologists, physical therapists, massage therapists, acupuncturists, holistic doctors, spiritual counselors, and the like. We all engage in work that is healing. But I don’t identify myself as a healer and I’m uneasy when others do.
Pictured above, it is October of 2015 and I walk into Human Garage for the first time, one day after my most recent episode of a migraine attack. At center, following my first session at Human Garage. And to the far right, a picture taken on Thursday, September 29th when I arrived to work at Human Garage. Smiling. Pain free. Healthy. My facial expressions are telling.
In the world of natural methods of healing, there are a multitude of remedies. One such remedy is essential oils. When I first was introduced to natural modalities to heal the body, I often found myself overwhelmed by the amount of information and the variety of products through which to sift.
I can hear the sounds of the rain falling. I’m tucked away in a quiet mountainous town, situated on a small rural lake six hours east of Seattle, Washington.
There is no Internet here and people are few and far between.
As I stand barefoot in the rocky Washington sand, I feel pensive as the warm rain runs down my cheeks. A welcome change from Los Angeles skies. It’s renewing.
My family is inside. “The Human Garage?”, they curiously ask me. I stumble over my words as I attempt to explain my life endeavor in Venice, California and just what we do. Where to begin?
Prior to coming to the Human Garage, I was disconnected from my body. My body spoke to me for years, yet I learned to actively ignore it.
One might think competitive athletes are more connected to their bodies. Perhaps some are, but I mostly disagree. I think if most competitive athletes were really connected to their bodies we'd be miserable. We learn to ignore pain, fight it, pretend that it's not there. We’re praised for overcoming our physical obstacles by pushing past them. If we actually fully felt each ache and pain we’d probably quit our respective sports. And, our bodies are pretty amazing in going along with this ignoring until they reach their breaking points.
We disconnect from our bodies as a means of survival. It makes perfect sense and it was helpful thousands of years ago when our ancestors were running around escaping imminent threats of danger and trying to survive.
But, we have to ask ourselves: do these patterns of pain and disconnection serve us any longer?
A competitive high school and college distance runner, I learned to run through anything. I pounded my shins on the streets of New York City mile after mile. I could numb myself to just about any physical ache if I just pushed through it long enough. At 28-years-old, it finally caught up with me.
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