Pathfinder Therapy LLC

MYOwn Path:

The Business Blog of Byll Monahan, LMT

4/3/2026 What Happened to Me? Part 2

Wonder Woman: Chapter 2

Kim was another amazing PT I got to work with. She helped me navigate the stairs. If I was ever to go home to my apartment, I would have a simple set of stairs that would try to stop me. Thank God for Kim, putting up with me and helping me to take my time. Walk up the ramp, walk around the hallway, let’s attempts balance and steps.

At one point, in the stairwell, I pondered to Kim, “Did you just call Jen a, ‘Hobbit’?” I could have sworn that’s what she said, but she denied it. But from that moment on, Kim and I were friends, and our mutual torment of Jen began!

Kim went on to insure I got out some and walked around the ward in safety. I remember our first real event, “The Scavenger Hunt,” which was really a test to seek out landmarks at Bryn Mawr Rehab and make our way back to Maple in one piece. I got to work, getting us lost on our first hint! By the time we reached #7 I had opinions about the assignment. “It shouldn’t say veer! No one should be veering in Rehab.” Kim accepted this as truth and took my revisions to her supervisor, circling things of note in red ink. My Rehab Editor!

I was tasked to select a piece of art as my favorite from the hospital wide exhibit, “Art Ability” It was a collection of contributions from past participants in the Rehab programs at Bryn Mawr, other survivors and individuals who had made it out and developed their artistic abilities despite shortcomings and setbacks. I had hundreds to choose from and settled on a piece called, “Marvelous Mantis,” selected based on how the Mantis dealt with suitors after procreating with them! Kim enjoyed my selection criteria, and together we made note of where it hung outside the Psych Department Entrance.

I should note that I later went on to buy that piece. The artist, a woman named Twilah Hiari, had suffered from a serious case of autoimmune encephalitis that proved to be nearly lethal. Her personal quote motivated me, “Even on the toughest days, I can make art.”

I attended the, "11th Annual Reindeer Games," and I got to meet a woman name Rosemary who had a home in StoneHarbor. I told her about Avalon and we found common ground. Our Team didn’t win, mainly because other teams could walk farther and faster and Kim obstructed us at our final hint, but we were the best team. I stood and walked the entire time, 50mins. It was my personal best.

Back on the ward, I played a game while practicing on a balance board. “Headbands.” My word was hotdog, to the utter delight of my therapists. My partner had a hard enough time dealing with my insane line of questions, “If I were at church, would you offer to pray for me? Would you put me in a smoothie?”

Tim was our music therapist and I treasured him. He gave me print out sheets with Brandi Carlile lyrics on it. “You’re Gonna Go Far,” had been on my mind a lot. “So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart. Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are.”He would say, “There are many ways to experience music. We can listen to it for fun, make music for ourselves and sing it…”

The many ways to experience music, not just sing it.

I couldn’t tell him I was a singer and had traveled and toured in what now felt like a past life.

I couldn’t tell him how much I needed to sing again.

But somehow he understood.

My team of Speech, PT, and OT were astonishing. I cannot remember every name, but my heart knows them all and gives them thanks. I eventually met Recreational Therapy, Horticulture Therapy and had several chances for personal development.

There was one session where I was asked to make a table up like I would for a client. A mock up make up session, just to go through the familiar motions of putting sheets on a table. A simple task which I completely took for granted. By the end of the example, I would have judged my table harshly. How much of the criticism I walked around with on a daily basis, poised and ready to unleash it on others. I broke down about it, weeping to my therapist about how hard this all was. An emotional epiphany!

Daily visits from people I didn’t really want to see meant putting on a brave face and saying thank you or simply telling them I was too tired to engage. Sometimes between sessions I would get a break and other times I was forced to entertain company, out of courtesy. It didn’t always feel great having company, but that’s when I got to practice patience.

Moments of Peace were rare, and usually found at the end of my days when sleeping pills and long acting insulin were already taken. My guests, the chosen few, were always able to make me laugh. My sister Meg and her cronies made frequent visits, and we often joked how the absence of a Nanny-bot felt like a huge upgrade. Meg and my friend Christopher took it upon themselves to select my meals for me. I had to stay within a doctor approved hospital diet, 75 carb points max. There were ways to survive, including a dietitian approved after-dinner protein snack before bed. I had lost nearly 25lbs in the hospital, and they wanted me to keep my protein intake high. The “secret sandwich,” became the best part of the day for me.

A chicken salad sandwich with lettuce.

Nothing on Earth will ever beat that amazing act of self advocacy when I asked my nighttime nurse if I could have my meds and sandwich that first night! My friends were unaware and admitted that it sounded like I was doing an undercover drug deal. But the nurse on duty, a young man named Chris, said, “I got you.” And boy, did he deliver! I thanked my dietitian every chance I could!

I had an unexpected visitor who made me have to process in real time and without a safety net. I had been coached by my sisters and mother to politely turn guests away. But I never wanted to if I could avoid it, because some of these people, my neighbors, didn’t get visitors. Maybe I was tired, and yes, maybe I was in rehab. But I’m an extrovert, damn it, and turning people away really isn’t my knee-jerk response. Even with all that coaching, when an unannounced guest shows up, you make room. Joe was a welcomed surprise and an uninvited guest and having survived this long, I would allow him to stay a while.

Even my nurses told me I could send people away. But instead, I treated him as an opportunity to practice Speaking and, eventually speaking became teaching. I gave an impromptu lecture about Reiki to a neighbor who was at Bryn Mawr visiting his ailing father down the hall and stopped in to see me. I had been receiving Reiki since Paoli and in my most recent session that day I felt strengthened and supported, but restless. I couldn’t let go, I had to be vigilant. There was too much going on.

So I talked about how I cried hours later. And I shared my years of Reiki experience and what first timers like him and his father could expect from it. “Be the master just by being present. This is your attunement. Make this difficult place for your father survivable just by listening to him.”

Was I really speaking for my own needs? Did I just want someone to hear me? To listen to me? When you don’t have a commanding speaking voice anymore, how serious can you be taken?

Those late visits were more about my guest than about me, but I took my own advice as sincerely as I could. Find your voice in the stillness, in the quiet.

After that first visit, I had a few more sporadic visits, and managed to say, “Not right now, I’m on the phone,” at one point in time. I advocated for my privacy to friends on the phone, family in person. I found a backbone I had apparently been missing most of my adult life. With it came an intolerance, so I am still learning to soften and relearning to be nice again.

One day, after discovering I had a flair for dramatics and had been “teaching” drama at my local high school, Sue, the Rec Therapist suggested we “run lines” as an activity. She wanted to see me in action and wanted to show me that I was able to go back to my passions. I still had the ability and the stamina, even if it was slightly diminished.

She asked me if I had a favorite show and I told her about Schitt's Creek and how it had saved me and my mother from going completely stir crazy during the pandemic. Sue suggested we run lines in tandem with Speech Therapy, a chance to practice and a chance to perform.

Sue had never seen Schitts Creek, which was an impossibility for me, being able to recite it from having watched and re-watched it so many times. So, after a little shaming and some serious encouragement from me, she sought out the show. She made it a point to look up the top 25 lines and encouraged me to read them with my speech therapist during our session. Not only did it give us something to talk about, but getting to describe the context of each line, the setting of the scene, and the nuance of vocal pattern, it gave me credibility.

It was a Speech exercise that inspired this. I had joked with Catherine the Great about how a word emphasis exercise she had given me was a lot like Moira Rose’s speech pattern. Putting emphasis on different words in a sentence each time and choosing a different word to emphasize in every iteration made for quite an endeavor. “Do you know HOW this man expired? Do YOU know how this man expired? DO you know how this man expired?” And so on…

The Rec session was brimming with laughter. I barely needed a script, reciting each line and giving an exegesis about each scene. It was quite a conversation if you were to be eaves dropping, and both of my therapists were left in stitches!

Meanwhile, Meg and Mom helped me by making the room cozy and bright. They set up, “the Shrine.” A collection of gifts, well wishes, cards, photographs and art works from my family friends and goddaughter.

Among the articles found, which never ceased to give the nurses pause, were a squishy fake cucumber (because Uncle Billy NEEDS this), hand drawn pictures, old photo badges with less than flattering pictures, assorted crystals, a popsicle-stick Christmas tree, prayer cards, and a personal goal board.

My clinical goals had their own board for therapy communications. This signified what I was allowed to do by myself, how much help or monitoring was needed to perform tasks, meds required each day, all manner of parameters. I didn’t want to mess that up in any way and risk limiting myself or making life harder or messing with meds. So my friend Emy bought me my own dry Erase Board which would become a significant fixture alongside the Shrine.

Here I could record my own achievable goals. Achievable meant, putting zero pressure on myself. This was harder than it seemed until I allowed myself to practice humor and gentleness.

Initially my goals were simple enough:

1- Go to all your sessions and get good marks.

2- Pick up Meg at the airport for Christmas.

These were the means of motivation, looking ahead with hope of leaving. Achieve each day with a good attitude and get out of here before Christmas.

It was decided that my fate would be discussed on a Tuesday. I was informed of this would be collective chat of all my therapists and doctors on a Friday. I was consumed by thoughts of what that discussion would look like and how they were going to assess me.

I made up my mind that I would hold back all my worrying and concerns until after they discussed a treatment plan and exit plan for me. Surely, they would agree I didn’t need to be there any longer than necessary. Why, I would drive myself home!

Tuesday came, and Speech was my class assigned at the same time as my meeting. It was a discussion about me; it wasn’t going to include me. My job was to get better, not talk about getting better.

My ST decided to break the news to me mid-session. My mind was a whirl and I couldn’t attempt to focus or learn about focus or give a damn about some fictitious family tree, an example in which I truly couldn’t invest. I told my ST I was pre-occupied and wanted to give it my all, but I had done the hard part of not worrying over the weekend. She said it was fine, but the decision making had been delayed a day, and all my worry fell out of me. It hadn’t mattered, I had a whole day left before decisions were to be made, and was invited to worry once more about how Tracey and James were related again.

I did not worry about Tracey or James for the rest of my stay.

Art Therapy tried to approach me at this point. I only ever encountered them this once, and we talked about things I missed and did not miss outside of Rehab. I was asked to consider traffic vs. driving and see how I could draw a connection; how the one thing I missed and the one thing I didn’t miss were interdependent.

Freedom and independence against patience and rush hour.

Isn’t it funny how you can miss being able to drive but don’t miss the traffic? That’s like saying, isn’t it funny how you miss eating a hot meal but hate burning the roof of your mouth from eating too fast?

I didn’t get a follow up art therapy class.

3/30/26 What Happened to Me? Part 2

Wonder Woman: Chapter 1

The faint stench of urine was gone come sunrise. Truly, they did a great job cleaning me and the bed up, all without a power washer! I woke up early at 5am, a side effect of the steroids, and was ready to meet the new day. Breakfast first. The start of my new chapter and rehab journey… at least there were eggs to be had--- and bacon. But they forgot the toast… oh well!

A few notes about part 1 to revisit and then swiftly move on from…

My old friends may have snuck in mozzarella sticks and cereal at some point- truly an epic crime, not to be upstaged by whatever they smuggled in for themselves in Wawa cups…
Having a doctor tell you after three weeks that, “There are just some mysteries we never get to understand,” was not good enough and sent momma bear into a frenzy! Thanks Mom. That doctor may have had good intentions, but her sour delivery made her and the entire team seem rather incompetent. We know that wasn’t the case, so she REALLY did Paoli a disservice.
I am fairly certain I exacted vengeance on an unsuspecting nurse because my hospital delirium was so strong… but vengeance was sweet. Even if it wasn’t entirely fair, even in a helpless state, it’s best not to underestimate what I’m capable of! No regrets- Dante knows what he did and did not do!
My biggest regret was not getting to see the finished production of, “Hadestown,” by my students. I got to watch a bootlegged copy later- so proud of you guys!

My mother and sister had left in a separate car. Meg played the, “Moana,” soundtrack as I was wheeled out of Paoli and into the back of the van to take me to Bryn Mawr. “You’ll probably be up on the second floor. I’ve got friends there,” the chosen small talk of my driver. He played Christmas music on the radio, a subtle reminder of the season and how my health and poverty were preventing me from totally embracing the spirit.

This was going to be a breeze now. No more being confined to a hospital bed and watched like a hawk by nurses and robots. Actually getting up and walking with trained professionals. Life was about to get easier!

I met my doctor on the second floor. Dr M was all I could muster for my first night in Neuro-rehab. He was there to introduce himself as my primary case managing clinician, meet me, meet my concerned and grateful family and tell me the single most important piece of advice I would be given for my entire stay, “Everything you are feeling and thinking right now is normal.”

Hating my current condition, lot in life, inability to walk straight or talk coherently: normal.

Feeling like running away and crying myself to sleep: normal.

The ache of atrophy in my calves and how it felt like they were curling up at night when I slept: normal

Enraged that we still didn’t have definitive answers or a cause for this misery: normal.

Being a smart-ass and making comments on staging a jail-break to get me out of there, climb out onto the roof and jump off the second story height: normal.

Dr. Mithra Maneyapanda was the first of many welcomed faces I would get to meet, but to this day he remains one of the best people I had the pleasure of meeting during what was easily the worst experience of my life.

Lots of firsts, first-thing in the morning on the first day: first speech class, first OT session, first lunch, first PT session… my days usually began at 7am or earlier and ended around 2pm.

Speech was first. A lot of intros. I met Katherine and was given the task to remember her name by learning to associate her. Call me Katherine the Great!

To start any therapy session, every time, I was grilled. Vitals, any pain? Blood pressure, birth date and full name (this would become standard operating procedure for EVERYTHING). I finally asked them if I was going to get a card from them. Or cheekily, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business!”

I was headed to the gym next. Time to get started! I had so many thoughts of how this was going to look. The gymnasium on the second floor, called Maple, was for neuro-rehab patients. More severe injury clients got Oak and patients with amputations and Outpatient guests got the public gym on the first floor. It didn’t need to make sense; I just needed to know where I belonged.

I was given my walker and wheeled down the hall in my stylish wheel chair. Occupational Therapy was next. I was brought to a table where I met a woman who was eager and ready to work with me, her first patient of the day on a Thursday. I was given a box of pegs and holes and told to take them and place them one by one by hand. I was being evaluated.

What sounds, even now, as a simple task, was an absolute challenge. Do this action and do it quick, but don’t rush and don’t exhaust yourself! It didn’t need to make sense. It just needed to be done.

Back to my room, the bed was made and bathroom cleaned. I was lucky to have been given a gift of a blanket by my niece. Not everyone has a, “from home blanket,” and I was sure to avoid getting any urine on it the day before. I had a separate second bed- a lingering threat of a roommate. It never came to pass, and I often wonder how my recovery would have looked if I had to share it with someone else.

Speech Therapy, why for? I knew I could talk. Why did I need this more than once a day?

Because I suffered Brain Damage and it was going to take time to heal.

ADEM (Acute Disseminated Encephalomyelitis) it would later be explained and revisited, with the help of my Neurologist, my mother and Google, is an autoimmune disease that attacks and destroys the protective coating of the nerves near the brain and spinal cord in a process called demyelination. This damage to the nerves prevents healthy communication, filtration, function and reduction of the inflammatory response. Because my nerves were raw and exposed, they were jeopardized and had to deal with some unknown virus, and that’s what took me out. And that is why I needed Speech Therapy: to remind me how to be patient and think critically. And function like a person again.

Speech became my favorite time. Not just because I had an amazing team of therapists, but because I got so much out of working with them and working collaboratively with music therapy and horticultural therapy. Seeing and learning how I process my world and information brought to me, tactics I naturally take… I had to learn to adapt to become stronger. Learning more of a cognitive role rather than the quality of my speaking voice, let alone, my non-existent singing voice became the goal. Cognition, memory, attention, mindfulness of the monotonous… I would soon relearn them all, and I was definitely not above learning from scratch.

Being on a 10 year plus MFR journey, I had the mindset to survive this. Be gentle with yourself, breathe, and be teachable… I knew how to survive this. I give thanks for all those lessons and even though I wasn’t climbing a Cliffside in Sedona, I was definitely in the desert.

My fall at Paoli left a scrape on my side and my back. While there, I also had adhesive stickers rip off skin and hair from a heart monitor machine, resulting in a very unpleasant-looking skin irritant, preventing me from going to the pool. But it was winter, so swimming wasn’t really in season. Besides, I craved another source of water.

The next day, December 4th, OT began with a shower, the first one since November 17th. I turned on the hot water and my grief came out. I had to compose myself because I was being monitored. OT was there to make sure I was okay and could function successfully without slipping on the tile. No unnecessary risks or steps or standing. Extra towels, a shower chair to make life easier, new soap that made me smell like eucalyptus (thanks Mom) and voila- almost instant human! I remember the weight of the water as it poured over me. My sisters’ words about washing my hair rang in my head: how good it would feel, how luxurious it would feel! I could finally rinse the weeks of grime and grief and vomit and stench of hospital rooms and memories away. Revenge on horrible nurses, puke from mismanaged cranberry juice… all down the drain! Not even the extra towels would stop all that mess from washing away. I was one step closer to normal.

OT followed up with “getting ready routine.” I would come to learn that was one of their functions: observe to see how you can handle the major chores of living. Can you wash yourself? Clean your teeth? Brush your hair? Rinse your mouth with discount mouthwash and not trip on your own mess? Did you move your bowels today? Any issues? If not, more stool softener at meals. Any sign of blood in your stool meant some kind of issue, possibly an ulcer or worse, so don’t over wipe with too much tissue and don’t flush until someone sees it and documents it.

I was safe, but observed. Being a fall risk meant I would be watched closely. I had been my own undoing back at Paoli.

Finally, I got to go to Physical Therapy. That’s when I met some of the most wonderful strangers I would meet all year. I promise not to give a day by day account, or regale you all with every therapy session, but lessons abound when you have to relearn how to do it all!

First there was Jen. Jen had been doing this job for decades and I trusted her. That first day, I cracked a joke that I could somehow hear her inner thoughts as if she were screaming them out loud. I told her she should file a, “hostile work environment claim.” Her coworkers heard me and we made some quick jokes and laughed. Those are some of the happiest memories I have of Inpatient Therapy: laughing with my team of healers. Jen made the world something I could connect with again; something I could engage with again.

Jen gave me my first practical lesson on ambulating, or moving about the world. She noticed I did everything face forward, head-long. Take your time and turn all the way around to make sure you are going to sit safely. “Turn all the way around? Like a spinning ‘Wonder Woman?’ When do I get an invisible jet and a lasso that makes people tell the truth?”

She taught me about stepping softly. I called this my choreography practice: tap your foot on each cone but don’t stomp on it. Re-learning how to walk!

I stomp everywhere! I needed to practice gentleness with every step, every action, and every thought. Be gentle with yourself. This advice…

How impatient am I with everything I do? How much pressure do I put on myself and others to meet my heavy expectations? Not just in traffic, but in all aspects of life? How kind am I to myself if I am constantly putting myself through this ringer?

Ask any client I’ve worked with within the past few years, they’ll recite my jargon back to you verbatim: “Be kind to yourself.” How was I ever going to get back to clients?

That’s tomorrow’s problem… let’s work on the blog today.

It was days later but Jen managed to give me an incredible kindness. She asked me how I was doing one morning and I asked her if it were possible to go outside. “I just want to go outside.”

What Jen did next technically broke the rules, and here I am taking an account of it, brazen as brass. She got my wheelchair and her coat, made sure I was warm, in the green sweatpants and long sleeve tee-shirt and flannel I had with me, and we went down to the first floor. We went outside and I got to feel winter for the first time. This simple act made life slightly more tolerable. I was allowed to stand up and touch the door to the downstairs gym, then back to my chair. God forbid I fall out here! Don’t’ even think the “f” word!

But I felt the chill of the courtyard, in view of her superiors. And we were safe. And I felt a little less abnormal for the first time in weeks. I felt heard. I just wanted to feel the outside world, regardless of how cold it was.

Jen taught my mother how to walk with me in my condition. “Family Therapy Education.” It was my first chance to show off. Being told to slow down meant I was getting better and faster. Progress. Mom had injured her knee, so we both could have used PT to recover. We wouldn’t be taking pas around the ward, or going outside.

Weeks later, I got to practice MFR on Jen as part of a Recreational Training session. How long could I stand? Could I perform seated work? Did I have any trouble with anything?

Of all of the things this central nervous system attack took from me: my season, my voice, my ability to walk, my cognition… It hadn’t touched my ability to perform massage. As my first client, I got to give back a fraction of calm to my healer.

What an amazing gift to be able to give! Lift with your knees, not your face!

Jen was responsible for assessing me and marking my improvements with PT standard tests. I knew I now owed it to Jen to get better; to get my life back.

More to come- and sooner this time!

1/28/2026 What Happened to Me? Part 1

On January 27th, 2026 time to work on my blog.

Here’s where we begin:

My life is uncomfortable and real but I am making huge advancements since November 2025. What a year I had!

My year concluded with an emergency hospitalization that gave my neighbors quite a lot to gossip about! Watching the, “mostly normal,” massage guy get carried out of his home on a stretcher and into an ambulance must have been quite the Thanksgiving table conversation!

Let them talk, worry and be wrong.

I’m in what the doctors call, "the acute stage of healing.” The initial portion of recovery, the starting line… This is really where the marathon for recovery begins. Line up!

I had a last minute mandatory cancellation by order of my mother. You don’t mess with momma! She came over to my home because I had been sick a lot the week prior and had gone to urgent care for headaches and over tiredness.

She came to my door at 1:40pm which was far too early for my expectant 2pm client… and I knew something was off. My home was in shambles, evidence of my ultimate crime of hiding, and my mother told me to call my client and cancel my appointment. I was mad but I didn’t have the strength to argue with her. I was too tired.

I had gone to breakfast earlier in the morning and broke bread with a friend of mine, who had commented that I looked rough, asking if I was strung out on drugs. I told her no and joked I could use a good rest to recover.

Little did either of us know what was happening below the surface.

My mother said something was wrong with me, and as a nurse she was prone to over-exaggeration of my illness. Even still, I called my client to last minute cancel, against my desires for income and providing relief for my friend. My grandmother always said, “Make sure you wear clean underwear, you never know who might find you!” Heeding this advice, I listened to my mother calling the local ambulance company and changed my shorts. Who knew when I would be home next? The mess would have to do for now

My speech was slurred and my face was drooping to the right. As my friend suggested at breakfast, I was in bad shape and my mother made note of this circumstance too.

The paramedics came into my apartment. I had lain down on my table that was meant for my next client. Surely, I just needed to rest some more. I listened to them without protest and they brought me to the ambulance in the parking lot of my apartment. I looked for my big, red truck: I had parked it in the front lot. I had gotten lost on my way home from breakfast and forgot I had made that decision which was an easier option then so many stairs I’d have to climb to get inside.

I was kept and observed overnight at Paoli Hospital. It was torture not knowing what was wrong or what had happened to me. Did I have stroke? Was I going to be okay? What do I tell my other clients that weekend?

I was brought to the stroke recovery center for testing and observation once room opened-up in the hospital. No answers. I was running out of patience.

I would spend my time laughing with mom: eager to get home and get back to my life. I wanted out, that much I was sure of, with wires and monitors hanging from my body. They were not going to hold me back, I was going home!

I was going to be unequivocally fine. Even when my sister, Meg came from California to visit me, my sister Liz from up north, friends and colleagues from every walk of life, I was sure I was about to be discharged.

Even when Father Carl came, I knew I was totally fine and about to go home. I was going to make it to my doctor appointments later that week, which seemed totally unnecessary because I was already being taken care of in the hospital. My clients on Thursday would have to be rescheduled and rent was coming up soon…

I was going to get my life together! I was going to finally fold my clothes, mail my packages. Finish the high school production of, “Hadestown” I had been working on with our proud students for several months. I was going to get everything I had put off for later done and I would sit down for Thanksgiving dinner with a clean slate and an open heart. I was finally going to have an honest conversation with my father about his decisions to vote for 45 and how it had impacted me personally, something which had halted me every day since November 2024. I was going to figure out what was wrong with my back that I had been going to a chiropractor to treat for more than half the year. I was going to figure it all out…

My advice now: don’t delay. Live fully: even the ugly stuff. You don’t know when your life is going to utterly change. Might as well embrace it all!

On November 17th, 2025, I was admitted to Paoli Hospital. From then until December 3rd, 2025, I had so many tests done. Included but not limited to: EKG, blood work, toxicology, endless CT scans of my head and neck, spine, chest, abdomen and pelvis, a lumbar puncture, endless MRIs most of which I was too sedated to remember because I was so nauseated trying to be still and photographed (do no recommend!), a thoracic cardiogram, trans esophageal echocardiogram, more EKGs, X-rays, blood gas checks, cerebral angiogram, lumbar puncture (spinal tap), bone marrow biopsy and countless other tests.

I was exhausted and out of options.

I learned about Hospital Delirium, a mental condition patients get from being in bed for too long. Slow loss of the mind…

I had a wife suddenly. I knew nurses from outside of the hospital and we had unpleasant histories I could suddenly recall with total clarity. I made up reasons for being bed-bound and under constant observation with a Nanny-Bot (a camera that sat in the corner and watched me sleep, broadcasting my every breath to someone sitting behind a monitor at a desk a few feet way) and bed monitors to track my weight distribution while I slept. Not because I had attempted to get out of bed unsupervised and had fallen, not because I needed a walker to ambulate around, not because the doctors couldn’t find what was wrong with me for nearly three weeks! But because I had fallen asleep watching TV and had to pay the price, the steep toll of having, “something yellow,” near me, the cost of being in the hospital and suffering through what felt like a really bad episode of “Family Guy."

I couldn’t make it make sense then and wont attempt to start now.

There were glimmers of hope though. Mostly from my fearless family. My amazing sisters who kept me laughing, high school friends who know me best, a hot chocolate delivery despite being a diabetic… everyone deserves a little treat, especially in the hospital at Christmas time.

Three weeks, no definitive answers. They knew what it wasn’t, which was pretty much everything you could think to test for and rule out.

I was getting sent to Bryn Mawr Rehab Center for the remainder of my stay. I needed to address the atrophy my body had endured and my brain had suffered.

It wasn’t a stroke, but no clear answer what it was. My neurologist would go on to label it as ADEM, which crowded and inflamed my meninges at the base of my brain and put me into soft-rest mode. The right side of my body gave up, I couldn’t swallow half the time and I wasn’t showing major signs of recovery. But I was going home any day now, I was certain of it!

On December 3rd, 2025, I was discharged to Bryn Mawr Rehab for neuro-rehab and hoped for the best. The first day there I encountered my first obstacle: a hairline crack in my urinal. Same call buttons for fall risk patients, a new wheel chair and a walker to help me move around, an incredible nursing team to get me cleaned up and dry. By the time evening meds came around, I was settling in for my “New Normal.”

For the foreseeable future this was home.

Stay tuned for Part 2

1/5/25- Five Minutes or Longer

Today is the start of the second year of Pathfinder Therapy LLC. It’s been almost a year since I last posted, mainly due to a particular form of writers block. This block has been in place since January of last year when I was exiled from my MFR tribe for professional disagreement. I thought I was running a business on my own, but it would seem others believed they had control over how I chose to operate. Since I was unwilling to abide by this, “silent partners demands,” I have undergone a year of grief and loss in a discontented silence.

No more.

It has taken everything I can muster to sit down and write about this experience, and throughout this year I will take time to describe what professional grief looks like and what my 2024 held for me.

I remain determined to operate and maintain this business. I have moved to Downingtown, PA and now have a work space in my home. I have increased my rates to reflect the ten year commitment to my training, and I am still being told by my constituents that my rates are far too low for what I have to offer. I maintain these rates to keep treatment affordable and my livelihood affordable as well.

All the while, this endless scream has sat within me- how do I move on? Over the months, teaching at my alma mater massage school as an adjunct, I have maintained the practice and philosophy that my MFR education has shown me. I continue to seek and apply an easier and kinder way to approach the body. I continue to trust my instincts. I continue to trust the process and wait. I keep the fundamental principal of Myo Therapy: hold the boarder for five minutes or longer.

No one told me just how long the, “or longer,” could look like.

At the end of 2023, I made a resolution to let go of the outcome of my workshops. Less than a week later, I found my efforts to share my work and build a client base under attack by the same people who encouraged and validated my efforts in the first place. By the end of 2024, my workshops had evolved and varied in attendance levels. This is what letting go of the outcome looks like: not having a workshop or a tribe, “the way I thought it would look.” By applying this release, I am making room for what is coming next.

To begin to share what this professional grief has done with me has taken me months and dozens of attempts to sit down and write. Trying to craft a single thought without overwhelming anger or pride or despair or judgment has been my struggle; learning to let go of the same people who taught me what, “letting go,” looks like has been quite the undertaking.

All the while, seeing the actual fear behind the industry giant; fear of my success, masked with so many other “concerns.” Feeling the grip tighten as I was told I could no longer participate… it felt illogical. For someone who preaches letting go, it seems control is a pretty strong illusion holding sway.

That’s because fear has no logic.

When you set the intention of letting go of the outcome, you make way for opportunity, with or without support from people you grew to appreciate and trust. You take all that energy and you pour it back into yourself and then ultimately into your clients.

“Some things end.” This reality is one that I rebel against because I have fully subscribed to the notion that nothing has an ending. But perhaps a better view would be: all things change.

It will take time to describe everything I have gone through, and I will take the time to share it over these next months. Version after version, vision upon revision; I will share my fallout from the MFR world and what it is to be a fascia-nista in exile.

I am finally ready to answer a few pressing questions my superiors put to me.

1- No, I do not believe the education, encouragement from my teacher and directions for my qualifying for advanced courses received over the past ten years, which fueled my desire to work with people, therapists, clients and friends, ultimately yielding a successful space and workshop for healing and restoration, has been, or ever will be, irresponsible.

2- No, I do not believe I am endangering the lives of my clients by showing them any application of MFR, including Unwinding. Following a professional practice offering a similar learning environment couldn’t possibly be irresponsible, unless you actually believe me to be incapable.

3- No, your decision to ban me from giving you money to pay for continued education or participate in online conversation with a tribe of my equals has not stopped me, though it has confounded me. Furthermore, I have made no attempt to return to the tribe by way of subterfuge or obfuscation of my online presence. Your attempt to coax a response from me in this way was a failure. Your efforts to remove me were also half-baked; I have removed my business profile from your group, on oversight on your end…

No, I have not fully healed from all of this. Because healing isn’t going to suddenly happen, certainly not over night, or even over the course of several months. This will absolutely take time, like all injuries. Healing is not an event, and I am uncertain why I thought it would be any different for me in this instance.

And even if there is scar tissue, I can wait. I can hold this line just like I would hold any clients body: with gentleness, intention and for at least five minutes.

As we explore the, “or longer,” please note that I am sound and safe. I have many supporters in the tribe who understand fully what has happened to me and have reassured me that this fear comes from the very top.

A narcissistic relationship often leads to sympathy for thearcissist when it all ends. I have no ill-will towards the man who cut me out, or to his lackeys who issued the sentence. I have nothing but gratitude, which makes the cut even deeper for me. It would be easy to be up in arms and destructive over this, but that’s not who I am. It simply shows that my capacity for the love of the work I do is great, because the grief has been daily and unceasing.

I forgive you John and I send you light and love. I wish only ease and continued success for you. I wish Jeannine would have taken my offer to come to my workshop and see that I am not a danger to myself or to my participants, several of whom attended the MFR Healing Seminar BECAUSE of these workshops. I wish I was more brazen, more of a renegade, more aggressive in my responses, giving your admin team a proper reason to banish me, instead of this assumption made by a woman I have never met and who refused to meet me. I wish I had written more clearly or precisely when I was asked to document my phone call with Jeannine the day she came inquiring about my Facebook post for an Unwinding workshop. I wish I had not believed her when she told me, “You’re not in trouble.” I wish I was a stronger writer to put words that swirl in me for months onto paper instead of keeping them in the zoo in my mind; there would certainly be less shit to clean up!

…

I am certain there’s more to share on all of this. But in the end, I find myself without a tribe and without a teacher. So it only seems logical to move on and be available and open to what this year has in store. Ultimately, dear readers, I see more growth and more work and more trusting and more ease. I look forward to sharing more in the months ahead.

Here’s to the Or Longer.

02/28/24 Visceral Pain: A New Perspective

This past month has been uncomfortable. It is my experience that February is the least forgiving month in my industry. Between client illness, unpredictable weather and injuries from falling on the ice, February also gets to be the shortest month of the year. Rent comes quickly!

Since becoming a therapist in 2013, I have struggled to find peace during this stressful month. Something always gets flummoxed and I end up stressing over things I cannot control. I find my work ethic suffers and the winter blues usually strike me during this time. It is difficult to keep myself cheerful even though I can plainly see the seasons slowly beginning to change. I get impatient with so many elements of my world.

This season, however, I was busy. I had many clients booked up over the shortness of the month and felt quite confident I would finally break the cycle that has long plagued me. February would be a successful month. Looking back at last year, I was slowly getting my business status confirmed and settled and was worrying about building my book. To be fair, I am always building my book, but this year felt different. I had survived my first year as a small business owner. My mind has been occupied by so many tasks to complete and for the most part, the weather was kind. Two snow days, easy to make up clients…

But of course, life had other things in mind.

Earlier this month, I got a pinched nerve in my left arm. It incapacitated me from working, and I couldn’t raise my arm without using my other arm to assist me. I was so frustrated with my impediment and had to go back to basics with my own self care. Preplanned massages for myself were a blessing, but did little to get me back on track. I ended up reaching out to a colleague to get some Myofascial therapy, and boy oh boy, it did the trick! A truly brilliant therapist, Mark Naylor, got me back on track. Something he said to me during our treatment really got me thinking about pain management and overworking myself. He said, “The task is past.”

This notion of working and overworking really got my head on straight. I had not been giving myself enough personal maintenance and care. Self treatment is preached by my mentors and even by my own mouth, but now I needed to practice what I had been preaching. More than I had been giving, I needed to take time for my wellness.

“Make time for your wellness or you will make time for your illness.”

Maybe a week later, I was in the swing of things again and my body once more told me it was time to slow down. I began to experience gut and abdominal pain. I did the thing you’re not supposed to do and Googled my symptoms. Having self diagnosed my condition, I reached out to my PCP and shared my thoughts. She gave me the most satisfying affirmation and agreed it might just be my gallbladder. (I’m not a doctor, and I don’t recommend anyone get their medical degree from Google!)

However, I learned so much from this horrible pain! The gallbladder is an interesting and non-essential organ which squeezes bile into the small intestine when it senses fat in our digestion. Tucked beneath our liver, the gallbladder squeezes bile down the common bile duct, into the duodenum and into the small intestine. This bile is actually what turns the color of our stool to the unpleasant brown we all know! There is a sphincter here that can get stopped up by gallstones when they are present, resulting in a significant quality of pain and discomfort. Nothing quite like having smooth tissue lining of the body get shredded like a chicken for a potluck!

Here’s where things get interesting…

When we look at pain, we have a few different kinds we can observe. My PCP explained that there is pain we can identify and point to with one finger. This is local or referred pain. But visceral pain is harder to pin down. It can manifest in several places all at once. Imagine if your scrape your knee. You can see the scrape and identify precisely where a bandage might be needed. You can point to your knee and say, “This is where it hurts.”

With visceral pain — organ pain — the layers of discomfort penetrate the body in multiple dimensions. Visceral pain can refer in common patterns, but it’s rarely just one point of pain. Considering the gallbladder, my pain was abdominal and in my upper right quadrant, but also in my right shoulder and mid-back. I also experienced bouts of constipation and irregular bowel movements. Needless to say, sleep was minimal, and I started to go crazy. This was only made worse when the ultrasound showed nothing out of the ordinary! I was informed it could have been a virus because it was highly unlikely that I passed a stone.

Why am I oversharing???

Because the lesson from the pinched nerve was coming into play again: self treatment. I knew I could absolutely treat myself, which I knew how to do from so many classes. I was able to affect great change in my body with Myofascial therapy. My self care was layered using ice and heat, range of motion, rubber balls for compression treatment, and my wonderful table warmer, the BioMat. But my direct treatment of my abdomen, upper right quadrant just beside my sternum, made a huge difference. It may have spared me from a trip to the emergency room, a mighty medical bill, and an unnecessary surgery. I am still healing, but I know my own treatment made a difference on my body.

Self care requires more than practical hands-on skills. Sometimes it looks like making the hard call to ask for help and get some medical assistance. It means rescheduling appointments, more than I have ever felt comfortable having to reschedule at one time, let alone during the month of February. But what a revelation this was! It wasn’t a chore to reschedule. I didn’t HAVE to rebook my clients, I GOT to rebook them!

My small business is growing; in the midst of all this discomfort, a silver lining! I am thrilled to be able to work with so many compassionate clients who have been willing to work with me as I take care of my body. I am still mending, flare ups here and there. But I am managing my diet (mostly), and attempting to be kinder and gentler to my body. Making time for self treatment daily, I have been using mindfulness techniques to speak to myself with loving kindness. The intentions and prayers I have received from folks have truly been felt and appreciated. “Energy follows intention,” I can hear John say. Our self talk matters. Speaking gently to a healing body is a kindness we would give a sick friend — why not give ourselves the same?

March will be busier, and I will be continuing my self treatments and picking up more clients where I can. Thank you all for your kindness and intentions.

12/24/2023- What If It Was Easy?

My mentor and teacher, John F Barnes, has an incredible sentiment that seemed only too timely for this season of the heart. While certainly applicable all year long, this catchphrase of his often finds me in the midst of challenge or simply while trying to work with my MFR clients. These five little words pack quite a punch and, like most of John’s practical teachings, invite us to go deeper into the understanding of our world and the inner-standing of our hearts: “What if it was easy?”

This holiday season has been exceptional for my business. I’m still learning and growing, and somehow this website keeps reaching people. I have total strangers buying gift certificates and requesting sessions with me. I have picked up private clients and taken referrals from other practitioners. My personal time has almost whittled away to nothing! Tis the season, or as Kurt Vonnegut would say, “So it goes…”

I was actually able to give myself a paycheck for the end of the year. This baby business has paid for my rent and utilities this month and I couldn’t be happier to share that! The kindness of my clients has truly supported me this season and allowed me to support myself to an incredible level. I feel truly blessed and am so grateful to all of you.

And still, with work picking up, my side gig needing more of my time and commitment, and clients calling out sick (so it goes), I cannot help but ponder this question from John. It always strikes me that he never asks, “What if it were easier?” Easier implies that where we are now needs reprieve. Easier means simplified, easy means simple. To lessen the burden or to remove it completely, “What if it was easy?”

As we gather together with family and friends, rush through the bustling stores and busy traffic patterns, as we spend and save our paychecks, pray that packages arrive on time, as we prepare the meal and the cookies and the pies, as we watch the younger generations feel the magic of the holiday, we may feel that certain pang in the chest reminding us that the things we really want, the wishes we have for ourselves, won't be under a tree or in a stocking. This hard lesson comes around every year at the holidays. Loved ones lost, stresses high, and tears that disarm us when least expected seem to have different weight as each year passes. The innocence and joy of yesteryear gives way to realities that remind us what it means to be thankful. Still, this season does not come without heartache.

“What if it was easy?”

Imagine for a moment. What does easy feel like in your body? How does it move through you? How is your breathing? How do your feet feel, firmly on the solid ground? How do your joints and bones feel with this ease? Can you give yourself this moment?

What does your mind feel like in this ease? Time tables and the rushing responsibilities subside. Deadlines and due dates, de-escalate. Financial burdens and crunches… let them pause. Just for now, take this moment.

What if you could let your heart feel this ease? To let your heart be light. The losses, the separation, the loneliness: let that soften too. The worry of having enough, being enough, giving enough… give that some ease some too.

Feel and know and allow yourself, if only for now, to be at ease. This season has come upon us so rapidly, and in a moment, it will pass. We will wonder, “What happened to our holiday? It feels like we just started and then it was over. It went by so fast…”

So it goes.

Can you give yourself this season? Can you allow this to be the greatest gift you get this year? Can you let it all be easy?

When John asks me this, I often laugh to myself and am immediately flooded with five or ten things that aren’t easy and couldn’t possibly be made easy. I start with those things first. I let each one drop from my hands, losing the grip of control over each one, that precious illusion of control! I fight with myself during this process. I then have to let go of that fight. The path to easy isn’t easy, but what if it was?

We invest so much into the reality that was put on us; the way things are done; the toll and toil we must go through to make it to the end. The truth is we get to the end either way. Why not get there with ease?

This MFR work is constantly teaching me. I am learning every day what it means to let go of the outcome, to let it be easy, to be present and grounded in The Eternal Now.

Be gentle with yourselves, maintain healthy boundaries, and give yourselves permission to let it be easy.

Enjoy your holidays, Pathfinders!

11/07/2023- Now What: Anxiety or Excitement?

My trip to Sedona, AZ this past month was an absolute success! I have been home for a little over two weeks now and I have never felt more certain of my role and my task: bringing this incredible MFR work to as many people as I can. I have so many stories to tell, and thanks to this website, I get to tell them all! I can remove the fear of boring people with my narrative because only my target audience will actually take the time to read these posts, and that takes the pressure off in a big way!

My clients are already seeing a difference in me and I am able to feel more than ever before. The new techniques I’ve learned along with old techniques I revisited have flooded my sessions and my clients seem to like it! Nothing quite as gratifying as seeing hard work pay off! And it was hard. It was the achievement of my career, ten years of education coming to a crescendo!

Since graduating MassageSchool in 2013 I’ve woken every day committed to the goal of getting to MFR3. I was scheduled to take this class last year, until my teacher became incapacitated. It absolutely devastated me. All the effort, the trusting and prayers that year; the soul searching required of me to sum up my time achieving my prerequisites and saving all the funds required to take those courses... If you have ever slipped on ice, skid across a floor on a rug or piece of loose carpet, lost your footing on loose rocks on a hiking trail or felt the moss covered lake shore betray your steps, then you know what feeling I am talking about. The removal of all certainty; the imbalance, the absolute gravity crashing down on you: this feeling of despair before you even get to leap. This feeling, both hollowing and humbling, was all I had inherited for my efforts.

Of course, the anxiety came. Would my teacher survive this ordeal and help me complete my journey? Would they ever reschedule the class? And what if they didn’t? I remember calling my dear friends and asking them, “Have I wasted all this time? Am I tripping before the finish line?” I was encouraged to trust that what was meant for me would find me.

It would be another three months before we got any news of my teacher or my class being rescheduled. I do not believe in coincidence. The same day I purchased this LLC, started my business and began this new adventure, I received an email announcing the rescheduled date for this past October.

Yet, the relief was minimal and the anxiety was still high. Why? Why couldn’t I give myself permission to be excited?

The lesson of the scorpion and the frog: I wanted to believe and trust that it would be okay and actually come to pass. But I had already done that, put that trust into the universe, and got burned. The majority of this year has been one big inhale. And with it, all manner of anxiety came out to play. As someone who preaches breathing, it sure was challenging at this time!

“What if the class gets cancelled again? What if the people there don’t like me? What if I get hurt or sick and can’t go? WHAT IF???”

Then the big one, the really scary question came, “What happens after the class?”

Ambition is a powerful fuel. Being driven every day with the mission to achieve this level of education in a bodywork modality I truly love was like having a shot of espresso in my coffee each day. Knowing that I would achieve my goal, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Would I still have the ambition after the task was complete? Would my drive as a therapist still be as strong? Would I feel any different or would it just be another certificate?”

BEFORE I COULD EVEN GET THERE, I WAS DEFEATING MYSELF.

I have learned that Anxiety and Excitement are the same energy in our bodies. The mind has this incredible ability to take the raw energy of anticipation and corrupt it into anxiety. We must learn to let the energy rest before refining it into anything. The mental fatigue we undergo in the name of anticipation is utterly crushing. And it wasn’t just with work, but with play as well. My friends and colleagues alike could sense it. I was consistently anxious. I hadn’t the time or room to be excited; all my energy was already committed to worry.

We get the chemical in our brain and before we can decide what to do with it, the energy defaults to anxiety. This is a learned behavior, a trauma response. “If the rug is going to be pulled out from under me again at least I can anticipate it and not let myself down.” I was still falling from the let-down of last year. Even a week prior to the trip, I was cool and rational, “It might get cancelled again.” I wasn’t able to find the joy until I hit the three day mark. By then, all the energy that was anxiety didn’t have time to transmute to excitement. I had to stop, breathe, soften, and GIVE MYSELF PERMISSION to be excited. I had to let go of the anxiety and make room for my excitement.

John Barnes once instructed me to give my fear a job to do. Our fear, our doubt and our anxiety, the entire sympathetic nervous state, wants something to do. Without directly telling our fears how to behave, they will run us ragged. They will take over, complete control, and begin rerouting our circuitry, sending all kinds of terrible messages to and from our brain. Those messages then sit in our fascia, our connective tissue, and become muscle memory. This pattern repeats over and over again. The only way to solve this is to acknowledge our fear. See it and call it out, and then, give it something to do apart from running amok.

I gave my fear the job of finishing and launching this website. Once completed, I felt the yoke come off my back. I knew that I needed to complete that task before I went on my trip, and in doing so, I became fearless. My anxiety tried it, reared its head a few times during the trip, but my centered self was louder and far more enticing. But that’s another blog…

I didn’t know who I would be or what I would feel when I got my certificate for this class, but after six days of committing to my Tribe and my most authentic self, I found a kind of calm and centered certainty unlike anything I’ve ever known. I still feel it. All of the questions and concerns about what to do or how to motivate each day were gone. What remained was the mission: wake up every day and learn.

As much as I can claim the expert level of this work, a mastery of sorts, I recognize my beginner-hood as well. I am a new student every day. It’s a different kind of energy: an excitement that each day brings.

Instead of, “Now what,” I find myself with the presence of mind to simply be in, “now.”

10/15/2023- The Launch

Pathfinder Therapy LLC was established in January of 2023. But so much has happened preceding this business launch. Hours of education, years of practice, and a healing journey that looks a lot prettier on paper than it did in actuality!

My incredible teacher and mentor, John F Barnes, has taught me that we cannot expect our clients to go to distances we ourselves are unwilling to travel first. I have often wondered what doctors and surgeons would say if they had experienced the kinds of sickness and procedures their patients endure. The response of medications, poor bedside manner, the pain of surgery and recovery: would medical professionals still prescribe it if they had first hand experience themselves?

We as therapists, practitioners of the healing arts, have an obligation to our clients to traverse the unknown; the scary and challenging task that is the healing process. By this example, we can truly empower and encourage our clients to let go of the hurt and trauma they have embraced and held onto as foundation in their bodies. Letting go, we fully and gently walk into our most authentic and free selves; unburdened and unashamed.

This at times feels like the impossible act: how do I move forward? How do I let go of a history and past that hurt me, that betrayed me, that left me all alone? How do I forgive those that put me here? How do I forgive myself? How do I move on when all I have known is this hurt the world taught me and saddled me with for years?

I wish I had an easy solution for you. I would love to tell you that healing gets easier the more you go through it. The reality is that healing becomes more familiar, but is never promised to be easy. Some moments in life will become softer as we soften to them. Some moments dig their heels down and say, "Not now, not in this season. I'm not ready to let go yet." The challenge here becomes waiting with ourselves for that season to arrive. Our bodies will cling to these patterns until they feel safe enough and ready to let go.

Healing is cyclical; it is complex and layered, stretching out long and far into the past and inviting us to a future we must choose each and every day. And like healing, my journey to get to this point has not been an event. It has taken time. It has taken a willingness to sit with myself in the despair and uncertainty. No one wants to sit in that space, and yet, sometimes, you must in order to fully understand it. Taking the time to ask the question, "What is this trying to teach me," gives us so many more answers than, "Why is this happening to me?" The idea of perfect timing is flawed because all of our timing is already perfect.

I have taken my time on this journey: to my own business, to my own healing, to rediscovering the world I must take part in. I have not rushed this process. Hell, at times, I have dragged my feet, kicking and screaming through the process. Because that kicking and screaming is part of that process. The waiting is part of it. All of our process can look like waste or foolishness to any outside observer. We can judge ourselves in this time of processing, "I should be doing more, trying or working harder. I could have done something differently or in a more timely fashion." None of this serves us. But by removing the judgments of our timeline; by giving ourselves the grace and space to process and heal; in our own time, we flourish.

This website was a major source of chaos for me this year. I wanted it to be perfect (HUGE JUDGEMENT). I wanted it to be everything and more. I had to keep reminding myself that the internet has this special function that allows us to UPDATE. We get to make time, revision and change. I am certain I will post work that has typos and flaws. Hyperlinks won't work correctly, websites will crash. All of that cannot stand in the way of accomplishing the task. But I needed to go through it. I needed to make the information available, professional and then make it mine.

We get to make updates in our lives too. Each time we endure trauma, heartache and loss, we gain the opportunity to grow. We need to be willing to grow.

We do not demand the fruit to ripen; we do not command the flowers to bloom.

It is my intention to grow this business with gentleness and time. When you, dear reader, are ready to launch, I will be here. And while I cannot promise the healing process will be easy, I can promise you that you won't be alone as you go through it. Together, we will find the way.

7/24/2023- Facebook Reflections

What is Unwinding?

The John Barnes approach to Myofascial Release uses a gentle and subtle approach to this bodywork to hold space for softening the body and allowing it to let go of old holding patterns and trauma responses.

Practitioners create a safe environment for clients to feel their bodies and soften into that safety. Using simple applications of techniques, the body is held in traction, compression and oscillation, giving the connective tissue of the body the means to melt and break out of muscle strain and discomfort.

Unwinding can range from being very subtle to feeling like you've been hit by a truck! The body lets go of trauma in various ways, so it is impossible to predict how it will respond to treatment. No two people unwind the same way.

It is important to give yourself permission to be present to your body through deep, gentle and easy breathing and allowing your body to be held. Often, the therapist may "test the waters," of where your body may need to move or be moved through, but techniques are never forced or lead by a set agenda or sequence.

Many people experience a sense of freedom and ease. Others, a flood of emotion that has been repressed or held back out of survival or traumatic response to pain, injury or other influences. It is important to give yourself permission to feel what you are experiencing and give yourself space in this healing process. Trying to wrap your head around it, trying to "get it," will ultimately lead to distraction or becoming blocked. Step out of your thought process and commit to the feeling experience. Giving the body permission to be fully present is no easy feat, but it's an incredibly worthy undertaking!

In group Unwinding, one client may have several sets on hands on them, supporting and holding their body. This can be quite sensational, and the safety of the client becomes the most important element of the work. The client is already being challenged to feel, so maintaining the container of safety takes some of the pressure off the body.

Clients are the masters of this work, not the therapist. The client is always in full control of the session and knows their limitations. Safety words are used to communicate during sessions if techniques are uncomfortable, painful or simply too much to continue. Open communication between client and therapist(s) gives the session the best possible result and allows the therapist to meet the client's needs at a much simpler level.

If you have interest in receiving Unwinding therapy, schedule a session with me or check out our Facebook page Unwinding Event Series, which is being offered monthly in King of Prussia.

10/15/2016- Reflections on Worth

The following is a Facebook post that popped up on my timeline memories. It seemed only right that on the day of the website launch, that I post it here and share it with you on this platform as well.

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The biggest lie I tell myself is that I am not worthy.

Since I was 11 years old, I can recall feelings of worthlessness. Brought on by false friends, enemies, teachers and people who could not see past the illusion of my appearance, behaviors, methods, and beliefs, I found I could not trust myself.

It is a sad and unfortunate lie to be strapped to, this idea that I am somehow, in some way, undesirable or unacceptable or unworthy. Those that insisted upon imposing this reality on me did their best to influence me as I grew up; challenging me to reinvent what was already perfect in all of my imperfection. They went out of their way to remind me on a regular basis that I was not good enough, that I was found wanting.

After a while, I realized that by listening to these nay-sayers, I gave over to them, surrendered to them, the very best parts of me. The parts I struggle to find now in my adulthood. The parts I endeavor to instill and call into being in others, whether they are clients, friends, students, allies or family. The parts I cannot look at directly when I see them in the mirror. The parts that I sometimes need to remind myself are still there and needing attention. The parts I still hold onto, even when my grip fails and I lose hold of everything, both good and bad, both right and wrong, both complete and incomplete.

These parts, the collective conversation, the song of my life, manage to find me on my weakest days and challenge me to not only remember but to reclaim and reinstate. Choosing love over fear, choosing acceptance over distance, choosing empathy over apathy: that constant and daily reminder that I am more complete and more whole when I can puzzle piece myself back together. Even when the pieces don't fit or align the picture is still visible and more importantly the picture still makes sense.

On my strongest days, I am a warrior and an ambassador. I dance between this world and the spiritual world, standing firmly in both as best as I can, announcing with drums and song why this life is both a blessing and a burden. Yet the war in both worlds wages on, and as a warrior-shaman, I have a responsibility to lead where I was never led, to guide where I have never walked, to teach what I had to learn on my own, and relearn what I was incorrectly taught. I am responsible for being strong in my own self so that others can be strong in their own selves. I am responsible for the light and the dark that I lend to these worlds. I am responsible for the appearance of these worlds and how they invite and deter others from the Divine Conversation.

If I am an unworthy reflection, I would have shattered years ago.

If I am a worthy reflection, I must daily make use of whatever light touches me.

I do not fear that my life has been a waste. I do not fear that my time has been a waste. I do not fear that my love has been a waste.

What I do fear, and am learning to "un-fear" is that the measure of my life is not the same measure of the lives of others. If my life, my art, is singular, even in every representation that stands beside it, I must accept two truths: First that my life, my art is mine and mine alone, regardless of my inspirations or comparisons. Second, I must accept that art critics cannot and will not EVER speak for All, or even a portion of what we know as All. Critics speak for themselves.

So I choose to be worthy. It is a choice at the end and beginning of every day. It is a choice that must be made from moment to moment. In choosing to be worthy, I must make a constant and consistent effort to reflect the light I find in both this world and the spiritual world. We must all make that effort in our choice to be worthy.

The biggest lie I tell myself is that I am unworthy.

The hardest truth to swallow is, even in--- especially in my imperfections, I am worthy.

#knowyourworth

#critiquethis