There I was again in the ER, violently ill, knowing in my bones that something was wrong. Like clockwork, every six months my body brought me back to this same place. The doctor walked in with a kind smile and a clipboard, delivering the words meant to reassure. “Great news! All of our testing came back normal. You are the picture of health!”
Inside, it felt like a nightmare. Because when your body is in distress and the chart says everything is fine, you are left holding the pain alone. I knew something deeper was happening, even if it didn’t yet have a name or a number attached to it. The body is a master compensator, and that is both its greatest gift and its quiet burden.
What I learned through my own journey is that there are entire stories labs cannot tell. They did not reveal the chronic pain that taught my body to brace, or the trauma still living in my nervous system long after the moment had passed. They cannot measure heartache, grief, or how long a body has been holding its breath just to make it through the day. These stories live in fascia, in breath, in tone, and in the way a body guards itself like a faithful sentinel.
This is where a witness matters. Someone willing to look beyond the chart and listen to what the body has been carrying. Bodywork became that language for me, a way of understanding what my body had been trying to say all along. And now, it is how I help others. Sometimes healing begins with being seen, believed, and gently guided back into safety.
If this story feels familiar, let this be your reminder. You are not imagining your experience. Your body has been doing its best to protect you, and you do not have to carry it alone.
