A few days ago, I received a text from a new client. On the surface, she was complaining of acute back pain and stabbing headaches. But the more we talked, the more problems intertwined throughout her body began to surface. Numerous questions were already pouring into my mind, but before anything else, I wanted to see her in person and talk to her. She wanted an appointment as early as possible, so we were able to meet the very next morning.
At first glance, she seemed pretty 'ordinary.' But like our clothes, the 'ordinariness' she surrounded herself with was as thin as a sheet of paper. She avoided my eyes. Her hands were red, as if she were wearing red gloves, but doctors couldn't find a reason why. Her nails had been bitten down to the roots, and her feet and ankles were severely swollen. Both in her text and in person, she was very kind. However, despite her 'efforts,' the feeling of being shaken and lost was never hidden.
I wanted to dive deeper into the fragments, so I cautiously asked a few questions. It didn't take long to find out that her boyfriend had died earlier this year. And her whole being was still going through the aftermath. At least from what I've observed, some people who suffer from extreme trauma tend to reveal their deepest wounds quite quickly, even at the slightest knock, probably because their subconscious desperately seeks a way out. This is one of the commonalities I have discovered while meeting with a few clients who have similar backgrounds.
There was a fist-sized curve around her waist. Her surgeon thought it was a lipoma and attempted surgery a few months ago. However, when he opened it, it turned out to be a tangle of malformed blood vessels, so he had no choice but to close it again. When she went to chiropractors with a severe headache, they found a problem with her neck disk and recommended costly treatment. After drifting here and there like that, she ended up reaching me, someone unknown and as isolated as a remote island.
Since I am not a doctor, I didn't have any dramatic answer to give her like theirs, and my approach could not be as smart as theirs either. However, I understood that humans are not just rational beings, therefore, the way we deal with the pain of our bodies and minds doesn't necessarily have to be purely scientific. I was well aware of my limitations, but I was also able to offer my client my faith in her pain and promise that I would do my best within my abilities.
Caring for every inch of her body from head to toe was a long race that took over three hours. Interestingly, as the session progressed, I noticed that her body had a peculiar odor. This was a physical smell coming from her body and symptoms, but it was also complex and something beyond the physical, almost like a vision or a dream. I almost got lost several times in the middle of the session because of the scent whose name I didn't know. In retrospect, it was probably the scent created by her loss and the trauma she had dealt with since then.
We agreed to meet again in two weeks. At that time, we will be able to talk more about the things I couldn't ask her this time, regarding her loss and what she went through afterward. And by understanding her world better, I would come to better understand the meaning of that odor she has.
© Text & Photos by Tao Jung