The part I didn't include… I thought it might be too weird.

Here's the part I didn't share in my last email...

It may be too weird for 50% of my readers. I'm sharing anyway, because some of you may find this to be the perfect tool to meet the moment you're in.

When I worked with people in chronic or "un-healable" pain in New York, we tended to the physical reps (refer to my last email) as well as the emotional elements in their lives. So when I asked myself, “How do we create space and support?” before each session, that was a layered question.

On the day that my back went out, as I slowly and very carefully inched myself into bed, I remembered: I've done the physical reps, let's just check in with the emotions.

I picked up my pen and began an exercise. It's one I first experienced during my advanced yoga teacher training back in 2006, which was influenced by Gestalt teachers in the 70s. Marianne Williamson also used it with people dying of AIDS and cancer in the 80s.

Essentially you write to a person, a part of yourself, a lost loved one, an illness you have, or a part of your body. Then you let that part/person/experience write back.

It works. The messages that come back are almost always beyond what you could have made up on your own. I've used it with friendships, with grief I didn't have words for, and with my own body more times than I can count.

So I wrote: Dear back, what's going on?

What came back was like attempting to talk to an overwhelmed adult in shock. Dignified. Upright. Standing there watching a bunch of kids run around in chaos with no control over any of it. My back had no answers. It was just trying to hold the line.

So I wrote to the chaos instead, that part I had perceived to be young ones running a muck. The moment I did, the chaotic energy slowed.

In the slowing, I found two little ones.

On the right, a young girl curled into a corner up against my spine. Scared. Sad. Bracing for someone to yell at her. I asked if I could sit with her for a little while. She agreed. We then put up a wall to create space between herself and the yellers. I placed interesting games and gardens outside of my body, for the loud ones, the angry ones, so they could find their own joy somewhere else.

Imagination creates physical changes in our bodies. It does not have to be real.

She started to soften. We continued to have a conversation. I mostly just listened. (The way this looks in writing is a bit like texting back and forth, and a whole lot of presence.)

On the left, a slightly older one, was building a little library. Less scared. Still hiding. Not bracing quite as much.

I actually had no idea these two parts of me existed. I just always thought I was a kiddo and teen who brushed off conflict, understood “nothing is personal,” enough to move on. But there are parts of me that want to have time to feel sad, seen, and met.

I shed some tears while feeling relaxed and held.

Then the craziest thing happened. I had a pain-free night. I slept like a baby. I was so comfortable, which is literally unheard of right after a back spasm.

Meeting parts of myself that have gone unmet feels like medicine.

Bodies don't know the difference between past, present, and future. It's the same reason imagining something going wrong next week can pull tension into your shoulders, create tightness in your chest and knots in your belly right now.

The brain uses largely the same circuits to remember as it does to imagine (Schacter et al., 2007). The nervous system responds to what feels real in the moment, regardless of when it lives on the timeline.

One on one somatic sessions for nervous system regulation often ends up looking pretty similar. It just doesn't involve writing for them! The before and after effects are staggering.

It's also why almost every week in Juice, after 45 minutes of moving our bodies, we journal to a part of ourselves. The trickster. The rebel. Joy. The body. The inner child. Then we let them write back.

Every single time, something comes back that's beyond what the participants could have made up from their own lens of consciousness.

If meeting parts of yourself, someone you've lost, or someone you just can't seem to understand, you can try this on your own!

Start with something that feels simple enough.

I notice that if it's my consciousness writing, my hand will just stop. It feels too familiar. What comes through from another source, feels like it's being revealed word by word. I find it comes easiest after movement, upon waking or right before bed.

This is not a mystical thing available to some. It's here for anyone who is available and open.

May this be helpful to those feeling stuck, unsure, or curious.

With deep care,

Sarah

PS- If you give it a try, let me know how it goes! If you try but come up against a roadblock, reach out and ask me a question. I may be able to help.

Citation: Schacter, D. L., Addis, D. R., & Buckner, R. L. (2007). Remembering the past to imagine the future: the prospective brain. Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 8(9), 657–661.