Hi, Friends,
A few weeks ago I discovered that I had no relationship with my legs. Like a Lego figurine, I was detached from my lower half, just chillin’ as a torso.
This epiphany came while I was on my back looking up at the sky blue ceiling of my acupuncturist’s room. “What do you notice in your legs?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
I felt like I got the answer wrong.
“What are my options?”, I followed up.
“Do they feel hot, tingly, heavy, etc.?” she suggested.
I tried so hard to perform a feeling in my legs. But I couldn’t sense them at all. Why couldn’t I feel my legs? When was the last time I even thought about them—twelve years ago? They “worked,” but were on autopilot doing their own thing, probably so that I didn’t have to keep track of another damn thing.
“I don’t notice anything,” I sighed.
“That’s ok,” she said. “They’re offline, which makes sense given what you’ve experienced, but I can confirm that they are here and securely attached.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Twelve years ago—when Noah was three and still in elastic-waisted jeans— I was sitting on a leather couch in a therapist’s office, shaking. I was desperate for answers on what to do given my then-husband’s terrifying turn from Jekyll to Hyde. It had taken a doctor, six clergy, two lawyers, my maid of honor, and a pocket full of friends to convince me that my life and therefore ability to mother were in danger.
The therapist listened. He leaned forward and said, “This is not sustainable. You have to get out and start a new life. There’s nothing wrong with you—except you’ve been made to think there’s something wrong with you.”
Six years later—when Noah was missing front teeth— I was sitting in a different therapist’s office, under an elephant painting, numb. Divorce and split custody brought no peace, no normalcy, no reprieve from terror. It was not a “new life” but an endless haunting from the old. I was whatever comes after bone weary—boneless? The energy it took to scout the horizon for threats and for support left me a husk.
The therapist listened. She leaned forward and said, “Honey, what you’re experiencing is trauma. And it is ongoing and unstoppable so long as you have joint custody. But there is nothing wrong with you. We will figure out how to cope, together.”
I thought trauma only happened in two places: childhoods and battlefields. Turns out, trauma can happen anywhere that humans happen. It can take sly forms. But so too can defiance. So too can healing. So too can redemption.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back to my legs.
“Don’t worry. We’ll work on it together,” my acupuncturist said. “There’s nothing wrong with you, you’ve just been in a state of freeze for a long time to stay safe. In a freeze state, we can shut down awareness of non-essential parts in order to free up focus for impending threats.”
She moved to the foot of the table.
“I’m just going to roll down your socks. Is that ok?” she asked.
I nodded.
She held my feet for a few minutes. I could feel some warmth from her hands.
“I’m going to do some needles. How does that sound?” she asked.
“Mmmm hmmm,” I said as hot tears slid into my ears.
When you’ve been in deep freeze, thawing hurts. The sadness that wasn’t helpful for survival all those years came crying through the ice.
My eyes were closed, but I saw a golden substance in my core being drawn down the front of me into my legs, my feet, and then form a loop going up the back of me, reconnecting my top and bottom halves. I could feel my legs. Thighs, kneecaps, shins and toes.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I have legs!” I laughed. “This is so freaking weird.” I also felt proud. Boy had I done a lot as a torso.
The estranged cells in my legs were ecstatic to belong to me again. To be reunited, welcomed home. I haven’t tripped on anything, but I am still getting reacquainted with them this week. Like so:
No one wants prolonged healing. No one wants to be stopped from starting a new life. But when these things happen, we can hold onto this: no one and no thing can stop us from loving. Even when we are reduced to a bone-weary torso living in a house of mirrors, it is possible to love ourselves, love our friends and the amazon delivery guy, and find beautiful things to love that are untouchable by chaos. We can wear our scars with the authority they grant us to relieve other’s suffering.
Maybe in a month, a year, a decade I’ll be healed. Maybe healing is an eternal sport. I don’t know, but I will be learning loving each part of it. Each part of me. And one day I hope to look like this:
Thanks for reading, Friends. This one was really hard to write, so it took a while. I’m sending you all the strength of a thousand torsos:)
Take Care,
Cat
Coach with Cat
If you’d like me and my legs to support you in your community-building efforts on the home, professional or humanitarian fronts, just email me to set up your first four sessions: Cat@Cat-Moore.com.