15/07/2026
This image became the center of a somatic session I had recently.
In it, I was touching a young part of myself, a part that feels quite helpless. If she had a story, it would be, “I can’t do it on my own. I need someone to help me.” She’s the part that freezes when I think about going to the doctor for a check-up, or that puts off understanding exactly what my visa renewal requires, that would rather not know than face a problem she isn’t sure how to handle. From the outside it might not even look like a problem, this simple act of not doing. But in the session I saw that these small avoidance patterns connect to something deeper, a frozen helplessness that felt about two years old, a feeling of needing support I couldn’t get.
There’s no story when I go back this far, no scene I can replay. It lives in the body, as sensation and feeling. But imagery helps connect the pieces. This part of myself still has short blond curls that will later darken. She’s still unsteady on her feet as she explores her first home, a Victorian brick house built to last, in a neighborhood that grew poorer every year as white families with money moved to newer developments with better schools. When I felt into this two-year-old self, I felt her pain and her uncertainty, unsure the world was entirely safe or reliable.
When my somatic coach asked me if there was a place in my mind where this younger me could go, somewhere that could support her, I imagined the garden. My secret, safe place had been to crawl behind the bushes lining the brick porch. Close to the ground, hidden in the vegetation with my back against the solid 19th-century foundations, I felt invisible to the world and sheltered by the curved green boughs. When my coach asked if I wanted to include anything else in this inner sanctuary, I said my cat Gaia, her namesake somehow present in the image too. The calm, steady love of a pet, as I imagined her in my young arms, brought me to tears. I could let the grief held in my body move, and be felt, while staying resourced. My thirty-five-year-old self held hands with this younger me in the garden where she felt safe, Gaia warm in her arms.