somatic exercise

I had a unique experience in therapy wednesday—a somatic breathing exercise that brought me face-to-face with 5-year old me. My therapist guided me to close my eyes and breathe deeply, inviting the sensation of warmth in a place where I feel serene. I chose a memory from Hawaii last year, standing on the beach, the sun gently pouring over me, soaking into every cell of my skin. She asked me to imagine the wind as my thoughts—swirling around me, brushing past, but never staying. I could feel the wind moving around my body, recognizing my shape without trying to change it.

Then, she led me up an imaginary hill, walking past memories and former selves. To the right, I saw myself bedridden with Lyme disease. To the left, the insecure high school version of me. I kept walking. I saw my past relationship with Sam and smiled with gratitude. I passed by my 8 year old self wanting to be closer to my father, waiting forever for him to get home—felt stuck—but kept going. I saw myself at the barn riding my horse and feeling purposeful, I walked by me at the library in Boulder, stressed and buried in books. I saw the terribly confused, self-destructing, and depressed girl in Leander chasing something that was dangerous. I saw the second man I ever loved, and sadness wrapped around me like fog. I kept walking until I got to the top of the hill.

At the top of the hill, I met myself. A little girl, just five years old, chubby cheeks and a bright, intuitive gaze. I recognized her from an old photograph—happy, but carrying a deep sensitivity. I reached out, touched her shoulder, and turned her toward me. I looked into her eyes and told her: “There will be much chaos in this life, but beneath it, you’ll find profound beauty. I believe in you. I know you can do this. You are brave, kind, caring, and worthy of love. I love you. You are the light, you are the light. You’re going to be okay.”
I hugged her, kissed her forehead, and let her go. I walked back down the hill and returned to the present moment—sitting criss-cross on my living room floor, my back leaned against the couch. I opened my eyes. The collar of my shirt was wet, my eyes puffy and red, a steady stream of dried tears from that little girl. I felt more connected to her, to myself, than I thought was possible.