I've been seeing a pelvic floor therapist this month. It took a year and a half to find someone amazing. A lot of appointments, payments, and persistence to get through the crazy world that is women's health — or should I say lack thereof.
This is what I'm learning: As my therapist releases muscles internally and externally in my pelvic floor, I feel it radiate through my hips, down to my knees and up to my head. Sometimes it's throbbing, sometimes it's pressure, sometimes it's sharp like a needle, and sometimes she feels something — and I feel nothing. It's nothing unbearable, but it's not exactly what I would call comfortable.
My knees and hips and head can hurt for a long while afterwards. That alone has made me want to stop going. But ultimately, I want to get stronger. I want to have a strong, balanced, working pelvic floor and core. And after years of mistreatment, and holding tension, and a general lack of acknowledgement, there is A LOT that needs to be released. As it's released, I have felt a surge of emotion. I wonder how many unhealthy chemicals have been stored in my pelvic floor over the years? How much stress? How much sadness? How much disappointment? How much fear?
As I work on releasing, I'm realizing that even though my mind may be clear and my heart isn't exploding, and I can breathe well, and I look relaxed— that I'm holding tension throughout my entire being, especially my pelvic floor. And I wonder — when have I NOT held this tension? And what caused me to start storing stress and responsibility there?
Weird, old memories have been flooding back of fear. Dumb things like not throwing the softball correctly. Of losing objects. Of not getting good enough grades. Or wearing stylish enough clothes. Of smelling bad.
I started at a very young age of shouldering a lot of people's stress. Of wanting desperately to make everything lovely for them. Like I couldn't quite breathe and go away by myself and do my thing until I knew everyone had what they needed. And I navigated stress. And held onto it. My body — and pelvis — have held so much.
It's held fights, and tears. It's held hopes and dreams. It's held disappointment and fear. It's the center point for the steady stream of anxious cortisol coursing through my veins, tissues, and bones. It's held a lover, and a baby. It holds my organs.
My pelvis is tired. Exhausted. Weak. Not firing. Unconnected. And done. And I should take a cue from it. To let go. To stop holding. To release.
As I release, I feel emotion escape and course. I feel muscles twinge, and bones crack. I feel my head throb. I hear voices I haven't heard in years. I let the trauma of childbirth out.
I'm just starting the beginning of this journey, but I want to keep going. To keep releasing. To rebalance. To take care of myself. To let what seems invisible but holds so much for me — and everyone around me— be held.
The female pelvis holds so much power. But often like women, it is invisible and not cared for. It holds and works, contracts and relaxes. It makes things move. It powers through. It cradles and births. But it's not talked about. Or seen. Or taken care of.
So dear pelvis, I thank you for all you do and have done. And apologize for not seeing or hearing or acknowledging you. I'm ready to help you heal now because now I know. I'm ready to help you release so you can be strong. I can't wait to see what power you radiate next.