About six weeks into my kinesiology studies, a whole bunch of my “stuff” started arking up. Causing a kerfuffle.

So much so that another student and I ended up having a bit of a falling out. Unintentionally, her stuff and my stuff interacted badly.

Like an alchemist whose experiment went all ker-blewey. Just like that.

Not that either of our stuff had anything to do with each other. Of course.

At first I’d no idea what it was all about. It took two sessions with two different kinesiologists PLUS plenty of sessions at home (self-administered kinesiology), several weird physical sensations (nerve pain in your right heel, anyone?), picking up a card that read “sabotage” at the local health food store, and a score of ‘a-ha’ moments… for it all to start to come together.

Well, sort of.

I’ve done lots of talking about being assaulted and having PTSD, both here on the blog and IRL (in-real-life). I’ve had scores and scores of therapy – CBT, EMDR, Kinesiology, tarot readings, shaman healings (Bali, Thailand, India) and more. So. Much. Work.

Then there was the focus on my physical health and regaining my balance there…

It’s not like I’ve been negligent or un-thorough in my approach. I’ve worked my ass off.

Yet somehow… I’ve allowed myself be incredibly blasé about the years of abuse I experienced while growing up.

Even though I knew it wasn’t exactly a good thing. Even though I acknowledged how much it affected my self-esteem, quite bafflingly, I still never really gave those years the same weight as I did to the one-night only assault that triggered my PTSD.

That night and the ongoing effects have hogged the spotlight of my personal healing journey. Strange, huh?

And yet. I know. I REALLY know that the PTSD trigger was NOT just about that one night.

But my memory’s always been really bad. So has my younger sister’s. Neither of us have much by way of recollection of our childhood.

So I don’t really remember exactly how bad it all was or exactly what happened.

But my body and sub-conscious DO remember. And so, the more work I’ve done with kinesiology, the closer to the surface all the sibling abuse has become.

Consciously, I only know pieces of the puzzle. Not the whole story. Just that it was bad, and that I felt betrayed and unprotected by my parents. And that every story I have about myself in regards to my physical appearance, ability to be successful or powerful… has an origin in those early years of my life.

I feel like I’ve been digging up clues. I do my kinesiology homework and I see my practice ‘clients’, and I do kinesiology on myself and get sessions when I can afford them. And I’ve found this or that piece of the puzzle. I know there’s probably more, but I honestly can’t remember.

I know from testing on myself that it started around the age of seven. I also now know that there’s some kind of sabotage surrounding a repressed memory from the age of twelve.

All to do with my brother being an angry, violent and abusive person towards me for over ten years of my life.

Tomorrow morning I go to see my kinesiologist. Thank goodness.

This week I’ve been feeling all super-sensitive and weird. I’ve spent a lot of time curled up on the couch. Last night I felt as though my flesh would vibrate right off of my bones, and today I’ve been surprisingly hungry.

I don’t know what tomorrow’s session will tell me. I just know that I’m reaching in to the main bedrock issue that underpins every life-story I have, of what it means to be me. Or what I think it means, anyway.

And I feel as though someone’s unleashed a wild horse in my chest. With all the hoof stamping, nostril flaring, tail swishing and neighing going on, it’s hard to get any rest around here.

I’m terrified. I’m excited.

I’m onto something big.

And I’ll keep you posted.

~ Svasti