Healing as Archaeology: The Value of Physical Repetition in Releasing Fossilized Belief Systems

Today I felt like a turtle with its shell ripped off mid workout out at the gym. In an archaeological dig, you pick away at hardened earth and something precious is revealed and uncovered. There’s an area of fascial restriction that coats the back of my heart, which I’ve playfully and resentfully referred to as “my dead zone” for 20 years. This band of armoring grew protectively around my breasts, ribs, and back as a result of the belief I am not safe and I am not protected. 

Scrubbing/Physical Repetition 

My repeated micro-movements, a back and forth, which I call scrubbing, chip it away, so much physical repetition. I feel decades of rock break off. One moment I am stretching and strengthening this area, when a fog of emotion surfaces, and now I am pausing, feeling, and crying. Moving through numbness and immobility in the tissue to a newfound space of vulnerability. Awe and surprise bubble up in me in the same way I imagine it does for archaeologists when the debris is brushed away and a fossil is discovered 

After so many years of working somatically, I have developed an emotional fluidity that allows me to dip into murky memories especially through physical repetition. I move through the emotions of grief and fear easefully, compared to how undone and disoriented I felt getting off of Staci Haine’s bodywork table in my 20s. It’s similar to the bursts of tropical rain that arise out of nowhere and disappear as quickly. It’s just the weather. 

Unlike the inconvenience of a soggy dress post-rainstorm, I usually feel grateful for my body’s readiness to release and move forward. Grateful for more flexibility and openness around my spine, which translates to feeling safe being vulnerable and soft. In that moment of release, I wept in compassion for my mom. I just returned from a 2-week trip with her to Morocco.

Beyond my love for how awe-inspiring beauty is an integral aspect of Morocco’s reverent culture, my biggest takeaway was time acting as my mom’s guide and support during our trip. What is noteworthy here is that, unlike when I was a parentified child, I am now choosing and enjoying this role. It is appropriate at our mature ages, as my mom becomes more fragile, after a bad fall and surgery and as her eyesight begins to degrade. 

Spending 24 hours a day with her, it sunk in even more, how precious the time that we have left is. Those chunks of hardened clay and hurt feelings have been dropping away for decades. I feel compassion for the scared and insecure woman she has always been. Only now that she isn’t strong enough to arm wrestle grown men and stable enough to do standing splits, I see the tender underbelly of helplessness she denied with fitness and staying busy, so much physical repetition. 

For most of the last 45 years, she hid her emotional fragility behind her physical hardiness and was annoyed by my ailments and emotional expressiveness. Her aging body is introducing her to vulnerability, a place I know well and welcome her. 

The night before this opening occurred, I met with my monthly women’s group to discuss the Emerald Podcast episode on embodiment. We explored the paradox of embodiment through meditating on internal and external space, by connecting with our bodily tissue as well as the cosmos. I’d shared about generational trauma as it relates to my embodiment, as well as my access to my ancestors’ grief around child sexual abuse.  Instead of meditating seated next to one another on sitting cushions, I knew my body wanted support so I said, “yes” when it was offered. 

I suggested I lay back against one friend, who was propped up like a husband cushion, you know, those hideous yet functional and popular pillows with arms from the 80s? And then had my other friend lay back against me like a weighted blanket. This way the back of my heart and the front of my heart had pressure and contact. I could feel the habit of both surrendering to connection and support and a vigilance that lessened as the meditation progressed.

It is no coincidence this part of my back felt supported enough to drop more layers of fossilized grief the next day. Healing happens this way, sometimes imperceptibly. Without knowing it, one moment primes us for the next unraveling.