A few months ago my biological father passed away and if I am honest, I am still processing and coping with the loss of my bio dad, the relationship we had (and didn’t have), and what could have been. I don’t know how long grieving his death will take but I do know it’s time for me to reintegrate self-care back into my routine. I stepped away from a lot of my self-care practices while I gave myself time to grieve and ‘fall apart’- at least a little. Allowing myself to fall apart was a compassionate response to myself in the midst of the grief and loss. For the first time in a long time: this week, I went to the gym and swam 5 laps in a 75′ pool. I was exhausted but it felt good to move my body. I have resumed eating the foods that make my body feel better. I have reconnected with friends and family I had not spent time with because things got so busy. I started reading again and playing video games and all of these things went fairly well. On Monday, I got a massage, and more than the exercise, eating foods that fuel my body, or socializing, the massage was the hardest part.

One of the benefits I receive from massage, as a survivor of sexual abuse, is that massage reinforces that touch can be platonic and safe. I have two great massage therapists who I have come to trust and who I have seen for a while now. I have become comfortable with both women and there have even been times I have fallen asleep on the table. I’ve written in a previous post about the benefits I get from massage: it’s here, in case you want to check that out, but the point is: Monday’s massage was excruciatingly difficult for me. Physical pain aside, I found myself repeating to myself: ‘it’s okay, it’s just *insert massage therapist’s name here* over and over again. My muscles were so tense that they physically recoiled with each touch: each muscle asking me if this was okay as her hands attempted to release knots in my shoulder blades and upper back. I wasn’t recalling my abuse, but I was worried the physical pain of the massage would cause my brain to remember painful memories. Instead, I repeatedly reminded myself of where I was, who I was with and what I was doing.

At the end of my massage, my massage therapist asked me how I was feeling and I said: “sore”. We both laughed and she reassured me it would feel a bit better tomorrow. She asked me if I had seen my other massage person and I sheepishly said: “no”. She said in a somewhat upbeat tone: “well, you’re a mess in proportion to the last time you had a massage…” We have a good relationship and so I took this comment well. She reminded me to hydrate, stretch, and reassured me that I should be back to myself in a few sessions. If you know me you know I am not particularly patient with myself. I drove home feeling somewhat defeated: which honestly makes sense given that I felt like I was hit by a bus, but it wasn’t my physical state that had me upset: it was that I had to remind myself throughout the entire massage that I was safe.

The thing about coping skills, self-care practices, and health regiments is that they work because of routine and practice. I found myself frustrated that after *pauses to look this up* 3 months of being out of practice with massage and… my body was questioning what was happening. My frustration with myself comes from my own unrealistic expectation that ‘I should be over this’ or that the ‘abuse shouldn’t bother me after this long’. I really struggle with times like this where things don’t come back right away or my life now is impacted by something that happened so long ago.

When I am in a better head space I can have more understanding and am more patient with myself. From my current headspace I know: I experienced sexual abuse from the time I was 11 until I was 19 years old. I am just now- this year actually, at a point in my life where I have spent more time free from abuse than the time I lived in it. It makes sense that after a recent trauma: the loss of my biological parent, that I am going to struggle a bit to recover. It makes sense that after two trips back to where my abuse happened, that some of those memories might be closer to the surface. It’s actually a sign of recovery, strength, and healing that my muscles didn’t just assume I was being hurt- they checked in and then were reassured by my grounding them to the space that I was, in fact, safe.

So I’m reintegrating self-care, slowly, and definitely not gracefully, but I am doing it. I’m also reminding myself that it’s going to be difficult to celebrate my ‘wins’ if I frame them as setbacks.