Maybe you are your first client

“Jenny, maybe you are your first client."

I roll my eyes. So silly.

My back twinges with pain.

Shoot, my friend is right.

Before I can tell you about an interesting unfolding in this part of my story, I want to tell you about a moment from three years ago.

My husband, two kids, dog, and I had just moved from Washington to Oregon so I could start a new job. It was a stressful move, as most are. We moved into an apartment so he could start his new job and we could look for a house. I started my new job on July 1 and quickly got to work meeting people and getting the lay of the land.

My siblings and I had somehow gotten tickets to Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour for her first night in Seattle. I still feel the Ticketmaster panic buying concert tickets after that experience! We had an incredible time. But for a super-sensitive neurodivergent nervous system, it was a lot. I was sensory sick for days afterward. But worth it!

My daughter and husband were preparing to share a piece of music in worship soon afterwards and they asked if I’d play drums. We practiced and all was well. Then I woke up the next morning (on my birthday!) and couldn’t get out of bed. For the first time in my life, there were spasms up and down my back. Every movement seized up my back. I spent the entire day in bed trying to find a position where my muscles could begin to loosen.

My back eventually recovered and life turned to a new normal in Oregon. I chalked it up to a lot of transitional stress.

Fast forward three years to this July.

I could feel the tension subtly growing. I’m navigating a big vocational transition. We have family in town. My kids are going through a big life transition. I’m taking this month off to rest and play. I knew I’d have time to listen to my body as we moved through the summer.

Turns out my body was done waiting.

On July 3, we enjoyed a day trip to Pacific City which included a small hike up the sand dunes. I loved the view and sharing this piece of coastline with our family.

We drove home and enjoyed the evening watching a movie together. The next afternoon we worked on a Disney puzzle with my daughter and niece. I leaned over to snap a peice into place and I felt my back give out. I crawled upstairs to our room and started stretching. But it was too late. The muscles tightened. My hips buckled. Ready or not, my body was done.

This time, I knew what might help treatment-wise. Ice, heat, medicine, massage, rest, gentle movement. Check.

But this time, I had more tools to introduce to this moment with my body.

In quiet moments, I’d feel my back against the bed and gently wonder, “What are you trying to hold on to?"

Each spasm echoed with the ache: I don’t know any other way to be.

We hold on.
We hold it together.
We make sure no one sees the struggle. The unmasking.

This is all we know.

Well. It’s time to learn another way.

Before I was focused on ibuprofen and my heat pack. This time around, those are close by. And. I know a few curious inquiries I can offer my body:

What has my body finally become safe enough to feel?

There have been lots of tears. Honestly, I don’t usually know what the tears are even about. But there are deep emotions in my body. So she gets to feel that.

I’ve been watching a lot of shows and movies. Tears flow. Great, we make space for that.

There’s gentle movement. Healing massage. Family helping me out. I’m practicing receiving care and love.

But I could still feel my brain calculating how long this might take.

When can I move on and enjoy my summer with the kids?
When can I get back to plans I’m excited about?
Maybe if I stretch even harder, it’ll unravel this tension.

It’s been quite a negotiation.

Then a conversation with my massage therapist shifted everything. “Jenny, this is going to take a while. You’re going to need to be very gentle with yourself. Lots of gentle movement. No jarring exercise. Remember, gentle is key.”

I smiled.

He didn’t know I’m starting a new vocational practice called The Gentle Way.

A day later, my friend says, "Jenny, maybe you are your first client. Maybe this has to start with you."

Yup.

I get to love me before I can open up space to love all these other humans in a new way. And apparently, my body is asking for gentle.

All good things we share with others start with us, don’t they?

I gift you this question today for wherever your body finds you:

Can I trust my body even when it interrupts my plans?

A couple practices to rebuild trust with your body

These are small moments I’m engaging lately. Sharing in case they meet you in this moment too.

Listening to your body

Lie down or sit supported. Rather than trying to relax your back, simply notice it.

Ask quietly: "What have you been carrying?"
Wait.
Don't search for an answer.

Notice if images, memories, words, colors, or sensations emerge.

Then ask: "What are you protecting me from?"
Again, wait.

Sometimes the answer is surprising:

• "If I stop holding everything together..."
• "I'm afraid everything will fall apart."
• "I don't know who I am now."
• "I'm so tired."

Whatever comes, don't analyze it.

Simply say: "That makes sense."

That's often enough.

Pendulate with Nature

Nature can help our bodies carry so we don’t have to hold it alone. If you're able, sit outside against a tree or lie on the ground. Notice the firmness of the trunk behind you or the earth supporting you.

Imagine the tree or grass quietly saying: "You don't have to hold yourself up right now."

Stay there for five or ten minutes.
No goals.
No insight required.
Just borrowing stability.

Sending all the love in the world as we walk this gentle way together,
Jenny