The Museum of Me

From 1996 until last year, I lived with a constant, deep pain in my upper left chest. It was a physical reminder of the massive pulmonary emboli that almost took my life. It was a souvenir I never asked for, and I had lived with it for so long, I assumed it was permanent. The clots from the PE are still there. I'd accepted that. But I assumed the pain that came with them was also a life sentence.

Have you ever had a pain like that? One that feels less like a symptom and more like a permanent part of your life?

During my in person Somatic Experiencing training, I had my first personal SE session. I was nervous and didn’t really know what to expect. My practitioner had me imagine my body as a museum I was walking through. A museum of me. She gently guided me, figuratively holding me with compassion, as we toured the museum of me, we gently touched on the sensation in my chest.

As we got close, my heart started to beat rapidly, I felt warm, I even started sweating... all the familiar sensations that usually sent me into a panic attack.

But this time was different. She was there with me. I wasn't alone in it. She wasn't trying to fix the pain or make it go away. She just helped me notice all the parts of it, with curiosity. The heat, the memory, the fear, and the story I'd told myself that this pain was permanent.

By gently and safely noticing all these pieces without getting overwhelmed, my nervous system finally got the memo. The danger from 1996 was over. It was able to let the echo of that pain go.

After that one session, the pain I held for almost three decades was gone. It has not returned.

It felt like magic.

But it wasn't magic. It was physiology. It was my brain and body finally having a new, updated conversation.

This brain-body connection isn't just for big magic moments, though. It's a lifeline in a crisis, too.

I saw this again after my abdominal surgery in 2024. The ketamine they gave me for pain management had a terrifying effect. I felt completely disembodied, like I wasn’t in my body. My limbs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. It was very disorienting. I felt paralyzed.

It was like my brain was a lighthouse, and my body was a small boat lost in a thick fog. The connection was completely obscured. But even in that overwhelming state, I could access my clinical somatics training. I couldn't move much, but I could will my body to do a gentle pelvic tilt. I was lying there, feeling my feet press into the mattress and my pelvis gently rock.

That tiny movement was like sending up a single flare from the boat. It was a pinprick of light in the fog, a tiny "I'm am here" signal. It was profound. I was proving, even in that disoriented state, that the connection between my brain and my body was not broken. This was a small, subtle movement. A large movement felt out of reach, too much with the disconnection sensation from the medication.

I didn’t feel the post-op pain, but I would have preferred the pain to the disconnection, disassociation, and discomfort.

So, how do you start to build this connection when you're not in a therapist's office or a hospital bed?

It starts small. This work is slow, subtle, and kind. It's not a tidal wave of effort. It's a single drop of ease.

Give yourself permission to get curious with these simple exercises, right now:

• Place a hand on your heart and a hand on your belly. Just feel the warmth of your own touch. Notice your breath. Stay here for several rounds. Genty release.

• Hum a little tune. Your favourite song. Your national anthem. It doesn’t really matter. The vibration is a direct message to your vagus nerve that you are okay.

• Look around the room and name three things you see that are blue. This is called orienting. It pulls your brain out of a spiral and into the present moment.

• Press your feet firmly into the floor. Feel the solid ground beneath you. It is always there, holding you.

That's it. You are simply signalling to your brain, "I am here. In this moment, I am safe." You are actively drawing a new map. While these examples are simple, I don’t mean to imply the work will be easy. It’s not. But it is so very worthwhile.