I had a remarkably powerful experience with my craniosacral practitioner after I had realized that my Moro Reflex flashbacks were also connected to the suffocation torture. It was the same posture–prone face up, arms wide, head back–and inability to breathe. I had experienced scores of them as a teenager. I never had the support I needed to integrate them. So, I told my practitioner I wanted to put my arms out and touch into the suffocation torture during the craniosacral treatment. My doctor expressed a little concern about it being okay for me. But he knew from experience the depth of my work and that I had always been okay before.

As soon as I settled in on the table with my doctor’s hands cradling my head, I felt a huge wave of grief roll up my body. I knew it was best to keep my hands at my sides. Stretching my arms out would be too much. This was my system signaling the limit of what I could hold in that moment, and I adjusted in the moment, rather than pushing past it.

In my process, I was in the basement where my abductor had kept me for most of my 15th year. I could safely remember a great deal, including details like the texture of the avocado green blanket on the low bed. I saw the dark wood paneling, bare concrete floor, cheap gun cabinet in the corner, and the stack of 2×4 lumber along one wall. Implicit memory was becoming explicit here, with sensory, positional, and emotional elements linking together while I stayed aware.

I was there, but I was also in the treatment room with my doctor. It was the first time in the 6 years I’ve been seeing him that he spoke during the treatment. Dr. Seth said he had the feeling to tell me that I was safe. I thanked him and told him it was kind of like being in a virtual reality. I was dually aware of being in that dark basement and simultaneously, on my doctor’s table with him there. It was safe enough to be in that basement because I was also present and accompanied by a trusted caregiver. This dual awareness meant the past was active, but it was linked to present-time orientation and a regulating relationship, which changed how the experience unfolded.

As my doctor continued the craniosacral treatment, I found myself at the organic farm where I had happily lived and labored for 9 months. That ended a few weeks before the abduction. Again, like a VR experience, I could see so much: the rolling fields, the creek and pond, the white farmhouse, the big barn, outbuildings, and even the chickens. This shift brought in a different physiological state associated with connection, agency, and ease.

Then I was back in the dark basement of my abduction, and found I could connect with the memories of the torture itself. I could see, hear, and feel what that was like, as if it was happening again. But I knew it wasn’t, and I knew my doctor was there, and that made the difference. I was mostly struck by the recognition of how many times I had experienced that kind of torture, which I learned decades later was in the same field as waterboarding. I remembered I had estimated it had been approximately 175 times, and I felt grief for the 15-year-old who had to endure such unbearable treatment again and again. The memory networks were active, but they were now linked with present safety and relational support, which allowed them to be experienced without taking over completely.

After a few minutes there, I was back at the farm, looking up at apple blossoms against the blue New England sky. I realized that my nervous system was naturally pendulating between the threat experiences and the safe ones. Pendulation creates rhythm between distress and ease. It helps the body process stress without becoming flooded or shut down. From a Relational Neuroscience perspective, this kind of movement reflects flexibility across states, allowing integration by linking differentiated experiences without losing stability. It was powerful and a lot, but it was bearable.

I expect this was the first of a series of sessions to resolve the suffocation torture era of my life. I sense it won’t be particularly long, though. So far, my pattern has been to need just a few short sessions, and each one becomes easier. I’m curious about how it might be the next time. As these experiences repeat with the same conditions in place, the system tends to require less effort to move between states and hold more at once.

I felt different after this significant integration of a year of lived experience that had a major influence on my nervous system and my life. The process was so effective because I had all the agency. It was my idea, direction, centered on my experience, at my speed, and by my route. Dr. Seth helped create the space for that by being safely present and by trusting me and my process. I could tolerate being in that horrible old environment. I could walk around in it and even re-experience the torture without being overwhelmed because I intentionally made the contact on my terms. With no external direction, it was agency, pacing, and relational presence that organized the process.

That’s also the difference between the work I need and the work a therapist would have me do. In my experience, therapists rarely trust the client or their process. They direct according to their training. But I don’t need somebody giving me worksheets or telling me to learn new techniques and practice different ways of thinking. I need someone who can be with me while I encounter the traumatic material and do what I need to integrate it. Thankfully, I have one well-qualified practitioner. Due to his exceptional care, I can now own a piece of my life that was too overwhelming. I know that each exploration of this kind can help me own it more until I own it all. This process changed my relationship with the lived experience; it’s no longer overpowering. And when I’m done, it will finally be in the past where it belongs, at rest.