myers

The first time I went to a bodyworker for something other than Swedish-style massage was when I was writing my dissertation. I had been experiencing the symptoms of fibromyalgia for ten years, but in my visits to a variety of doctors I had been treated with bafflement, indifference, sexual harrasment, and a few frank admissions that they could find nothing wrong with me. I gave up on the doctors. Although something in me knew that my condition was not just a psychological disorder was causing the physical pain, the stress of doing a PhD is a highly competitive and emotionally unsuportive environment, the toll of family woes, my "type A" personality, all were certainly aggravating factors. At a certain point, I didn't care what the cause was, I was just hoping for some relief. I don't even remember how I found her, but I started going to see a woman named Dorothea who lived in north Berkeley, close to the border with Albany. It took about 45 minutes to walk to her house--a time in which I could simply move and breathe and pay attention to the flowers--and when I got there, I was treated with gentleness, respect and kindness. That, in and of itself, was a balm. But she also had hands that knew how to find the sore points, and how to use pressure and stretching to bring some relief from the pain. She gave me suggestions for gentle exercises I could do myself to try to bring my body back to a sense of well-being, bit by bit. During weekly sessions with her, my writing imagination opened up and I began to work on my thesis with more joy.

I had a powerful experience during one of our sessions. I was lying on my back and she was working on one of my arms, holding it up but trying to get me to let it hang without helping her hold it up. "Just let go," she said. It was a surprise for me to even realize how hard it was for me to just let my arm hang in her supporting hand. As she worked, I felt what seemed to be a surge of electrical current flow through my body, as if I were a tuning fork, coming to vibrate in my chest and across my face. I exploded into sobs, as something inside released, physically and emotionally, or both. I was frightened at this new experience but also exhiliarated.

Dorothea didn't label this flow "chi" or try to explain what had happened; she just made room for it, and treated it as a natural and expected result of what we were doing. For me, it was wild, somewhat scary, but powerful. Whatever it was, it was a revelation that my body was carrying lots of feelings locked up in muscle memory, and that it might be possible to release them and let them flow.

Many years later, when I started going to the student clinic of a shiatsu school and learned more about the ideas behind Traditional Chinese Medicine and its influence on Japanese body practices, I had another framework for understanding this kind of experience. I had to stop getting shiatsu for several years because of the cost (it's not reimbursed by my health plan), but I just started again this weekend, with a session with a student. This time, I was ready for the releases, the pop of muscles letting go of their clampdown on my spine, and the flow of energy into unexpected channels.

This summer, I cleaned my entire house from top to bottom. I purged my closets, gave away clothes and shoes I didn't wear, books, objects that were stashed in drawers and forgotten. I'm recycling, upcycling, rethinking my relationship to the objects in my life. I'm seeing a therapist again and looking into consulting a work coach, or at least becoming more mindful in my approach to work. I'm ready to do the work in my body and spirit to open up those places where old feelings are still locked up, contributing to the pain and drain of a worn-out adrenal system that has left me exhausted and hurting for way too long. It may be true that there is a genetic predisposition for fibromyalgia (I'm not the only one in my family who has it); it is beginning to look as if a retrovirus may also be a trigger; the body's own feedback systems keep the whole cycle moving on its own: but I can't stop working if I want to live with less pain and more ease.