Undone (it's just a fkng pillow!)

Symptoms of Healing

Here’s a fun story…

Five years into this whole healing shamozzle… five years of doing All the Work to make sure I am a clear vessel for transmitting my truth and helping others grow (you know… just doing my part to raise human consciousness!!)… and here I am, very nearly undone by a fking pillow!!

((facepalm))

Damn. This one almost got me.

But first, some background for you:

You would think that I’d expect it by now …that when I sign up for any sort of course on how to facilitate a healing modality (yoga, breath work, trauma-informed coaching… etc) that almost definitely, I am about to be plunged head first into my very own shadows.

You’d think it wouldn’t come as a surprise anymore 🤭

And it makes perfect sense… how can we recommend a healing path for others if we haven’t tasted the medicine ourselves? Actually - here’s a great idea!! Standard doctors should follow the same protocol!! I may be a genius. You’re welcome.

Anyhow… yes, yes - I do know what to expect. I sign up for this shit willingly, and I do know what’s coming, more or less.

And yet (and yet and yet and yet!….) I am almost always caught off guard by what it is I find each time.

You see… it is never ever ever what I expect to find!!

The healing I go in for is almost never the one that finds me. But what comes out is always so perfect that I have come to start saying, “I’m so surprised, I’m not even surprised…”

🦋 🦋 🦋

So this time, the right space to find me was a month-long Tantra Yoga Teacher Training in Bali. And yes, I do mean that it found me. If I were to be left to my own devices, I would have chosen just a Tantra Teacher Training, as yoga is nice and all... but Tantra holds the magic for me (and we know how much I love the magic!)

But I was in Bali back in June (you may remember!! It’s when I grew my wings!!) and received a SIGN that Tantra Yoga was where I needed to be.

So I listened. (I do find that when I listen to the signs, what happens next is usually amazing to a level way beyond anything I could have created for myself… so I try to listen.)

So this teacher training is a brand new program, the leaders of two well-known schools (one for tantra, and one for yoga) both had dreams (like actual sleeping at night time dreams…) where they had to work together to make this happen. So they did. Just last year, Ma Ananda Sarita from Tantra Essence, and Risi SriVaso from MYT Yoga ran the first round of the Tantra Yoga Teacher Training (Toff was at it!!) And (in my own words…) it is designed to use the current normalcy rating of YOGA to bring TANTRA into the mainstream a little bit more.

You may not remember… but twenty years ago, yoga was a super weird thing to do! Like… super weird. People thought it was dangerous. And right now, that’s where tantra sits, too. In ten years time, I forecast that Tantra studios will be as accessible as yoga ones. (Pop it in your calendars, friend!! And remember you heard it here, first!! 😜)

For me, Tantra feels like a coming home. Every word I hear sounds like someone has finally found a way to describe things that I already know deep down. Every practice I do (for Tantra is simply techniques for meditation, anchored in love!) clears out part of me that frees up energy so I have more space to be truly, authentically me. And yoga provides the grounding and the structure so I can hold this newly freed up energy. They really are beautiful when blended together.

🦋 🦋 🦋

Okay, scene-setting message aside, I have one more thing you should know before I dive into today’s story…

I’ve devoted the past five years to healing my Capital T Trauma. It has been my full time job, so that every other aspect of my life has pointed towards it.

Heck, I even wrote a book about it!!

But in all of my healing… there was one part of my trauma and subsequent healing that I never ever told anyone. I just couldn’t find the words… and that’s a real bummer, because it has been one of my most profound symptoms of healing. Even when I wrote How to be Naked, I froze every single time I tried to write it down. Even on paper, even privately for myself (the first draft of your book is always for yourself!) I just couldn’t figure out how to say it.

And so, when I ran face-first into this part of me at the Tantra Yoga Teacher Training… I was so surprised I wasn’t even surprised.

The exercise only lasted six minutes. But it changed my life.

(SN: I’m not kidding when I say Tantra will be more accessible in the future - it’s results are just that undeniable!!)

🦋 🦋 🦋

(okay, we’ve finally made it to the story part! Go you.)

So here I am in Bali one muggy afternoon, kneeling on a thin mattress in the middle of the yoga shala*. The sliding glass doors are pulled shut to keep the air-con in and the raucous local monkeys out. There is a white bolster perched in front of me that we’ve pinched from one of the villas next door - it’s the same size and shape as a yoga bolster, but has a soft white pillowcase covering it.

I’m getting ready to participate in a short somatic practice designed to remove any anger that has remained buried in my system.

(SN: unless we release them, every emotion we’ve ever had will remain stuck in our systems. I call it soul gunk, and it severely inhibits our ability to access all of our energy, and often leaks out at people at inappropriate times. Ever wonder why you seem to be so angry at someone and can’t really figure out why…? Yeah, it’s just other stuff stuck in the way!! Unfortunately, our kids are often the biggest scape goat. Womp womp.)

I follow the guidance of my teachers, and with my eyes squeezed tightly shut, I raise myself upright on my knees, clasp my hands firmly above my head, and take a big inhale as I get ready to swing my arms down like an anvil onto that firm white bolster.

HIYAUUUHH

HIYAUUUHH

HIYAUUUHH

I hit.

(it doesn’t work unless you make the noise too…)

HIYAUUUHH!!!

On my next inhale, I peek my eyes open just slightly to check on the position of that white bolster in front of me, no need to get so carried away that I smash my fists into the wooden floor instead! Ouchies.

I pause mid-air, mid-hiyaauuuhh, and tilt my head to the side with a sense of profound curiosity and surprise…

Huh…

The white pillow case covering this cylindrical cushion has started to slip off one end.

And my first surprising thought is, “it looks like a penis.”

I seal my eyes shut again, shutting out my capacity for sight, and gently lower myself down until I can sit on my heels.

Is it a pillow or a penis?

I risk one more tiny peek through just one eye…

Yup, it definitely still looks like a penis.

And now I honestly feel like I’m a little bit in shock.

I feel my body begin to freeze (hello stress response kicking in!!) as tension builds between my shoulder blades and my shoulders begin to shake as I intensely start sobbing. I do not bother to ebb the flow, make any excuses, or even wipe the snot as it starts to pour down my face with the tears.

Here it is.

The part of my trauma I haven’t ever been able to find words for…

It’s stopped now, but for almost two decades I was plagued by flashes of a penis floating across my awareness intermittently throughout the day. It was incessant and pervasive.

Washing the dishes penis. Brushing my teeth at night penis. Hiking or walking or climbing a tree penis penis penis. It always came in just a flash, and didn’t last long.

And it was not just any penis, obviously… it was one specific penis that I was exposed to as a child.

In my memory though, it has been stored like I would have seen it as a kid - overly large and a grotesque pink/purple colour. (It doesn’t actually resemble the penises I’ve seen in my own sexually creative adult life. Which is probably why the large pillow has triggered this memory, and why I’ve been able to maintain my above average appreciation for the male appendage.)

I never knew when it was going to pop up in my mind next, and with all honesty, I didn’t fully notice how pervasive this was until it finally (eventually) stopped happening.

Oh… Having daily flashbacks of my molesters penis probably isn’t normal… hey?

But for me, it was.

For decades, it was.

And it was so normal I didn’t even recognise that maybe it was something I could tell someone about…

Until I did enough healing and suddenly, it just stopped. It doesn’t happen any more. oh thank god. And it’s a silent victory and has provided much-needed proof for me when this path has gotten too hard sometimes - see!? It’s working!!! Yay, me.

So here, now, sitting on the floor not even half way through this 30 day training in Bali, and I think I’ve probably come the closest I have ever come to re-traumatising** myself.

So what do I do?

Right now… what do I do?

I give my body what she needs.

Right now.

I sit here and I cry, and I even manage to finish the last remaining 45 seconds of this practice when I feel up for it - releasing anger and rage through somatic processing. I scream and I beat the pillow/penis…/pillow. I let it out. If it’s going to trigger me, I still have some work to do. But that work can happen now.

When the practice is over, when the teachers guide all of us to stillness, and everyone starts leaving the room, I sit here on my mat and sob silently a little while longer.

Part of me just wants to be able to feel sad right now. So I let her.

When I’m ready, I lift my gaze to look around the room. The teachers are standing over to the side, and a half dozen of my friends and fellow students are still milling about. I know, without even having to pause and consider it, that any one of them would hold space for me in a heartbeat if I just asked. A hug, a sympathetic ear, or even deeper holding from people who hold space like this for a living - it’s all just right there. And I feel deeply comforted in that knowledge.

I know I’m not alone.

And I also know, I can hold myself through this.

My body is telling me what she needs.

So I listen.

Learning to speak the language of my body has been the greatest gift I have ever given myself.

So we (my body and I) choose to walk slowly over to lunch. We don’t feel like much - but a small bowl of fresh tropical fruit sounds good. I take my time, and nibble each bite slowly. I let each small piece of sweetness hit my tongue gently, reminding me here, now, you’re in your body. Here’s your sense of taste.

When I feel done, I find us a pool lounge to lie on in the shade. I pop my ear buds in and play one of my current soul-soothing go to’s on repeat as I slide into the water, relaxing my head and shoulders on the edge and letting her hold me. I feel comforted, supported, held. And I burst into tears once more.

I do not try to control or silence my tears. I sob. I shake. I even moan a little.

I give absolutely zero fucks that I’m in public and that someone might see/hear/witness me. Let them.

And when I’m done with this little cry I come into stillness once more, listening to the music as the water continues to soothe me.

And suddenly, a deep belly laugh emerges from deep within me! I erupt into wild and delightful laughter!! (It’s called emotional fluidity babe 😜…) I’m laughing at nothing. I’m laughing at everything. I’m laughing at the absurdity of this whole situation in general. When I was a kid I experienced something that registered as a trauma in my system, and thirty years later I’m here sitting beside a pool in fucking Bali crying about it! It’s actually led me on such a wonderful journey that I never would have gone on otherwise… and it all just suddenly feels so wildly preposterous that I can’t help but laugh!!

The laughter clears some of the weight of energy from me, so I climb out of the pool and dry off.

Throughout the rest of the day I stay present with my body - do we want to go to the rest of the classes? Do we want to ask someone for help? Babe, Darling, My Love… what do you need right now??

I treat myself gently, and manoeuvre the rest of the day almost (but not entirely) like my normal self. I do have a few awkward conversations that should have been quite simple, but where I just cannot seem to access a normal conversational tone or even syntax… but I forgive myself for that.

Two delicious cherries on top of this monumental day arrive to cheer me on.

The first comes just after lunch. Our afternoon practice for the day is to partner up and give one another a massage. The woman I pair with knows something has been happening for me today, but I’m not ready to share it quite yet. I keep it close to my heart, letting my body do her own healing. My partner asks if I want to do this at all… “I’m quite happy to do this for you, that feels good for me,” I reassure her, and mean it. Being fully present here with her sounds wonderful, and I feel fully able to participate in this experience.

I follow our instructor as I learn to massage her arms, her legs, her head and shoulders. And as I run my hands through her hair, the darling girl falls asleep!! (Which, she informs me later - she almost never does!)

I have held my own body so profoundly through a triggering event - that someone feels so safe in my presence that they fall asleep!!

I take this as a delicious sign of success.

I feel so delightfully content that I sigh with relief.
I did it.

I am doing it!!

Fuck yeah!!

I feel reassured (yes!! It’s working!! You’re doing it!! Cara you are doing great!!) and maybe still a little tender.

And just before dinner, the second cherry arrives - this one even bigger, juicier, and sweeter than the last!!

My husband writes from Japan - he’s there for the month, snowboarding and sightseeing with our three kids. He sends a photo of our two daughters wearing traditional Japanese robes from a tea ceremony, and tells me how proud he is of them. They went to visit an Onsen today (a traditional Japanese hot spring), but because there is just him and the rooms are separated by genders… he goes into the men’s section with our son, but leaves our daughters to go into the women’s section on their own.

And they love it!

A wild celebration springs to life inside of me …there are actual fireworks where my heart should be…

I have done enough healing that my daughters feel safe enough to show up naked around strangers in a foreign country.

Fuck. I’m so fucking proud.

My trauma will not be theirs.

I’ve not accidentally taught them to hide themselves, or that they are unsafe in their own bodies.

And I have somehow managed to raise two confident girls who know how to trust their own bodies from birth. They don’t have to wait until they are in their 30s.

Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuccckkkkkkk.

Universe, how did you know exactly what I needed to hear, exactly when I needed to hear it?

My trauma will not be theirs.

Fuck yeah!!!

I share my story in our sharing circle that night, first sharing with my small pod of four what has transpired for me today, and then stand up in front of the group of thirty. It’s for me, more than it’s for them, and later I will feel a little guilty for hogging the microphone… but for me, it’s been made abundantly clear - my power is in my story, and the highest version of me I have access to right now loves to remind me share your story share your story share your story.

Today has left me humbled (even after all this time, there is still more within me to heal!) but wildly proud.

It is a good day.

Challenging, but still so, so good.

I’m so glad I’m here.

🦋 🦋 🦋

The following day, I get the opportunity to sit in practice with the same white bolster pillow again. Actually… I create the opportunity. We’re doing an entirely different sort of meditation, and the white bolster isn’t needed. But as I walk over to grab myself a square floor cushion to sit on, the white bolster catches my eye.

I send a message through my system, “yeah??? Are we up for this?? Or do we need a little space?”

“Go for it!” I receive back.

I will not be undone by a fkng pillow.

So I put it in place, flow through the hour long meditation - and at the end I blink open my eyes, curious as to what I will find…

But it’s just a pillow.

I win this round.

And so, we grow.

🍉✨

xx Cara

ps - thank you thank you thank you, i love you i love you i love you

*”Shala” is sanskrit for “home,” so a yoga shala is a beautiful name to give to a gathering place for learning and growth.

**I don’t actually know what the scientific definition of re-traumatising is - but here I’m going to use it to describe a trigger that pushes us past our own ability to cope. Because our minds don’t actually know the difference between what’s really happening and what’s happening just in our head - we can truly live through our trauma again, in a way that feels really real. Which is an important note to anyone who still experiences symptoms of trauma, or who finds that the symptoms have just started to bubble up …listen to your limits. It is totally possible to push yourself too far, too fast, and restart the entire process again. Be kind (to yourself, obviously).