Suffering makes you feel goddamn moral and tough.

You learned at an early age things that are good for you are also usually unpleasant. So, you eat your broccoli, even though it tastes like piles of wilting grass fermenting in the compost heap.

You let the doctor sting your finger with a needle, the dentist excavate your teeth with a metal pick and suffocate you with a fluoride treatment.

You compromise your vanilla latte with nonfat milk, sweat it out in bootcamp every Tuesday and Thursday, order brown rice at Chipotle instead of tangy cilantro lime white, endure sweltering yoga classes in stuffy, overheated rooms, run because #cardio, and cut out red wine because #calories.

You slug green juice like it’s your job, flinch at the price of organic produce, cut out wheat and gluten and dairy and soy, go vegan, go paleo, go to the gym (and then go more because a little wasn’t enough) and when you finally break down the kind of pain that’s not just soreness but downright injured, you let your physical therapist apply brutal scraping that leaves you bruised and sore with radiating pain searing down your leg.

And you feel pretty smug about it all. Because you’re no slouch, not a lazy slob draped across a sofa, nourished only by an uninterrupted stream of Netflix and potato chips.

And the pain? Is totally fine. Because you’ll put up with anything if it’ll just fix this problem, and pain means it’s working.

Right?

Err, maybe not.

A decade ago, I lie on a table shivering (because I was too timid to ask for a blanket, sheesh), patiently breathing as deeply as I could while a practitioner dug his elbow into the side of my thigh. I was pretty sure he had a hacksaw and was chopping off my femur, but I didn’t ask him to ease up. He was the expert. He knew best. (Or, so I thought at the time.)

I was younger then, and spent much of my days looking to others for clues about how to correctly manage a situation. In this instance, it seemed pain was the norm, so I put up with it.

But I’ve lived my life in dog’s years now and am quite a bit savvier. Which is why, when a slick gentleman perched on the edge of the white Scandinavian armchair in my studio explained to me that he understood this process might be painful and was totally fine with that, I kindly enumerated the reasons pain might not be the most beneficial treatment.

To which he replied, “Okay, but all that said, if you need to hurt me to fix this, it’s fine. You can inflict as much pain as is necessary.”

I’ll admit, holding myself on my own stool required literal muscular force. If my stomach had had its way, I’d have stood right up, handed in my metaphorical resignation and walked right out of the door.

Because this guy wasn’t just okaying a little discomfort in the interest of healing. He was straight out asking me to violate his boundaries.

And that just isn’t okay. Not ever.

Now, his words might indicate indicate a psychological predilection (I don’t know, I’m not a psychologist). But, given more than a decade of experience listening to people talk about their bodies this way, it’s more likely they illuminate a cultural malady. A belief system.

A viewpoint from which 1) if a condition is painful, the only way it can get better is with greater levels of pain than inflicted the injury, and 2) he who is the expert knows best, external data trumps all and my personal experience is interesting at best and completely invalid at worst.

And I must listen to the expert at all costs. Even when it’s uncomfortable, makes me squirm, feels wrong or causes me direct bodily harm.

Can you see how this could go bad faster than a gallon of milk in the car on a hundred and five degree day?

When you invite someone to cross that pain boundary, when you make yourself permeable and retreat to your body’s attic (i.e. your brain), it’s like signing that evil agreement Ariel made in the Little Mermaid. It’s a deal with the devil, selling your soul for something you crave in return.

In this instance, you’ll get relief from literal pain, which translates into a modicum of freedom. Or, at least, that’s the theory and the goal.

But pain is such a good metaphor, isn’t it? Because we all feel some kind of restrictive pain in our lives, even if it’s not in our muscles.

There’s the pain of being alone, of worrying that you’ll never find anyone, never mind the one. The pain of survival, of needing the basics like food and shelter and fearing you’ll wind up in a cardboard box on the corner if you lose your job and can’t pay your mortgage (while comforting yourself that it’ll be a classy box, maybe refrigerator sized, and possibly coated with waterproof finish – you won’t give up all creature comforts).

There’s the pain of feeling like it’s not okay to be who you are, that preferring the company of a few friends over a raging party or wearing clothes in the colors of a tropical sunset somehow make you a misfit. There’s the pain of not fitting in, of not belonging, because small talk never made sense to you and the very thought of happy hour with your coworkers causes you to hyperventilate.

And these pains are all equal. They’re just as limiting as physical pain, and like literal walls on your potential, keep you trapped inside their fortress, flailing bloodied knuckles against the walls in desperation. You’ll do anything to make your prison break.

Like let a partner into your life who insidiously degrades your self worth by calling you crazy. Or weird. Or stupid. By belittling your interest in botany. Or making fun of your spiritual curiosity, causing you to hide your copy of A Course in Miracles behind the couch in shame. (But at least you’re not alone.)

Contorting your life around a job that ultimately seems meaningless but, at least for now, allows you to pay your mortgage and put your son through school (and really, you can quit in a couple years when things are less complicated…right?).

Believing that it’s true you must suffer to be beautiful (or that you must suffer to be happy, which is often what beauty is equated to, i.e. you can be happy when you lose the weight, reach a certain size, have the perfect boobs and vaguely resemble a plastic doll with a dead eyed stare).

Believing that having your boundaries crossed is normal. That you must gnarl yourself into some other form, warping and convoluting and shattering your values to meet what appear to be cultural norms, or even the norms of a small community.

Let’s parse this out a bit. Why is inviting pain so dangerous, especially in the context of a relationship between an expert and advisee?

Well, the most obvious reason is that you’re basically handing over control of the situation to the person wearing the white coat. You’re giving them permission to do whatever they want, whether it’s within your level of comfort or not.

This creates an imbalanced power dynamic, and it gets you used to being out of control. You become the follower. Now, experts are experts for a reason. They’re there to guide you, advise you and, yes, perform procedures. Some of those might not be pleasant. Surgery comes to mind.

But experts show up in many areas of your life. There are doctors and lawyers, therapists and even spiritual experts, often called gurus or preachers or pastors, you get the idea.

How many examples are there of boundaries being crossed in the spiritual community? I’ve heard countless stories where leaders of yoga groups or Buddhist meditation centers or even churches have crossed the line with a student, developing an inappropriate sexual relationship.

I’m not saying this is always what’s going to happen when there’s an imbalanced power dynamic, but it’s a terrific example of how handing over personal power creates permeable boundaries and can lead to a negative situation, one in which you may feel violated in some small or not so small way.

When you consistently give your power away to a person perceived to be more knowledgeable, more expert, more in charge than you, it sets you up for some really terrifying patterns.

Like remaining in an emotionally abusive relationship because he’s the one who makes all the money and thus calls the shots (and you’re even not sure you can make it on your own).

Staying at a job because it’s the responsible/logical/practical thing to do and people in your life – parents, spouse, co-workers – think it’s right to take the sensible path (even when sensible is shattering your soul).

Diet culture thrives on permeable boundaries. It tells you that if you’re not in some kind of pain (i.e. hunger), you’re not working hard enough, that she who is the most beautiful is also the best at suffering, and it links your self worth to discomfort.

Taking the pain doesn’t make you tough; it makes you numb. You dull perception of pain until you can no longer tell what’s going on inside your skin, until you can’t even trust your own feelings.

Want to know what happens when you can’t feel your own body?

You lose your sense of self. Like, literally. This is a known neurological fact.

There was a famous case written up in a well known book, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks, about a woman who had a rare neurological disorder that caused her to lose all internal sensation. She recounted that she would look at her foot, know it was hers, but not be able to feel it. It took quite a lot of focus and concentration to pick that foot up and place it on the ground in front of her.

She told her doctors that she felt as though she was losing herself, that she had lost all sense of who she was, that it was as though she was completely disappearing. There was no division between her own body and the rest of the world; she couldn’t tell what was her and what was not.

Numbing out means you lose the game. You don’t get better, you get lost, blended and muddied, undefined, undifferentiated, diluted, like a dram of strong whiskey poured in a bucket of water.

I’m not saying that life should be a walk in the park filled with sunshine and roses, that you should eat ice cream every night for dinner just because it tastes good or that you should skip leg day at the gym because it’s hard.

Challenging yourself is how you grow and get better. And yeah, as much as I hate to admit it, broccoli is pretty damn good for you.

And I’m not saying that bodywork or medical treatments shouldn’t hurt, because sometimes they just do.

But you – and you alone – are the only person responsible for knowing your line between beneficial and boundary crossing, between the discomfort of growth and healing and downright being trampled over. Because you’re the only person living inside your skin. Nobody on this planet (and probably not on any others, either) knows what it’s like to be you.

So, eat the broccoli. Lift the weights. Run the extra mile. But the next time you’re writhing in pain as someone scrapes your achilles tendon so hard you want to scream or cry or put on steel toed boots and kick the sucker, ask them to back the fuck up.

Because you’ve got boundaries, and they’ve just crossed the line.

Tension can be a stalking, smoldering leopard, creeping up on you inconspicuously, lurking just to the right of your awareness, until one day while doing a normal activity like driving, you suddenly wonder when you stopped being able to turn your head to look over your shoulder.

Or the tight, rubber band pain squeezing your shoulders keeps you rolling about all night when all you want to do is bury your head into the pillow and drop blissfully into dreamland.

Sometimes – quite often, actually – tension goes unnoticed until he’s challenged. As I slowly sink my elbow into muscles that have turned to beef jerky, their owner is surprised to feel the stabbing pain that’s tension’s constant companion.

Alternatively, tension hides until he’s threatened by movement, a leg twisted into rotation or a shoulder elevated overhead, revealing limitations previously undiscovered.

People come to me with aching, stiff bodies, and repeatedly leave completely transformed.

Anxiety diminishes, feet are grounded, tautness vanishes in a puff of illusion. People often lack descriptive words for what they experience when their movement is liberated, but better seems to be the agreed upon adjective. Better not just in their body, but in their minds.

If your body is just a machine and has no influence whatsoever over your internal state, why does any of this tension-relieving and stiffness-erasing matter?

If your all-powerful mind functions entirely separately from your body, then is it simply the inconvenience of living within a dented and dinged up vehicle that drives you to seek relief upon discovering a movement deficit?

It goes deeper than that. You need your body. It helps you gauge a situation, feel your desires. Your body isn’t just the vehicle in which you travel through life, it’s a living embodiment of your every experience (and, frankly, a lot of your ancestors’ experiences, too).

Your body is a verb, not a noun. It’s not one of those towels that arrive compressed and dehydrated and upon dropping them into water, they expand to full size. No, your body doesn’t grow and then remain static. Your cells are dancing a cosmic jig every moment you’re alive, building you up, tearing you down, and responding to all kinds of stimuli that you may or may not recognize.

More than an object, your body is a system. I’d argue it’s an information system since there’s an ever-flowing stream of input and output at all hours of the day and night.

So, let’s take a look at three types of information that influence your body, causing it to hold onto tension.

#1: Physical Injuries

This is the most obvious cause of tension and the easiest to deal with because it allows separation of the body from you as a person so you can deal with your body as though it were an object, much the way a mechanic would work on your car or a builder repair your house.

Physical injuries include such things as a sprained ankle, broken bone, whiplash or even the slow moving “injuries” that result from poor ergonomic habits.

And physical injuries typically do heal. A broken bone will grow back together, the site of the break stronger than before. A sprained ankle repairs its tissue, the inflammation fading. Your neck will relax after a whiplash experience (although, to be 100% honest here, I can always feel residual whiplash by palpating the tiny muscles at the base of the skull even ten, twenty or thirty years later).

But the body remembers these insults. And, just as you would apply an ace bandage or a cast to splint the body and protect an injury, your body uses tension for the same purpose.

For example, I broke my right femur (thigh bone) when I was only two years old. It was a total freak accident, I’m not even sure why it broke. I fell down some stairs and was completely fine until the next day when, playing chase with my brother, the leg cracked and gave out on me.

Doctors put me into a cast for several weeks. I don’t know how long I wore that thing, but it went all the way up my right leg, across my pelvis and down onto my left thigh. Needless to say, I couldn’t walk for a while.

When the cast came off, my leg was pronounced healed, the bone completely stable. Did anyone think to do physical therapy with a two year old to restore movement and the lost neurological stimulation I’d suffered during my internment in that cast? Of course not.

And I was fine. Until, in high school, I started to notice how I stood with my hips akilter, my left foot propped on the inside arch, neck twisted to the right.

It was many years later, in my twenties, that I discovered a gross imbalance in my legs, stiff splinting in the muscles along the inside of my thigh and rigid quadriceps, that was throwing my pelvis off balance.

I barely moved my right leg. That cast had “trained” my body not to move the hip joint, so even though it looked like my leg swung when I walked, the movement wasn’t happening in the joint where it belonged. I was compensating with other, less efficient muscles.

I’d never noticed because I could walk fine, but man, when I tried to challenge the hip joint in any way, even such a simple movement as a squat, I just couldn’t do it!

It’s not uncommon to see ghosts of injuries such as these living in people’s bodies – a knee going unbent after being in a brace, a neck that won’t turn right or left after an auto accident, and hip joints that are so tight the femur can barely move in the socket.

Some of it is a result of guarding, and some of neurological training due to braces and casts.

Reason #2: Emotional Wounds

I’m sure you’ve heard that emotions can “live in the body,” and probably also that this is controversial because modern medicine still treats mental and physical illnesses as though they were quite separate, despite dump trucks of evidence to the contrary.

Emotions do, in fact, live in the body. They do so in a couple of different ways. There are, of course, the hormones and neurotransmitters related to mood, such as dopamine and serotonin. These irrefutably affect your physical body beyond the globular mess of gray mush inside your skull, especially when you consider that 80-90% of your serotonin is found in your intestines.

But what I want to talk about here is something on a much more macro scale. I want to talk about your body’s inherent response to an emotional experience.

Because, you see, whenever you have a feeling, your body moves in response. This is your ancient guidance system. Since we discovered the magical, all powerful brain, we’ve had a tendency to believe that our actions are ordered think-feel-do. Or maybe just think-do and feelings have no place in the equation.

In fact, first you feel, then the doing and thinking follow, sometimes with action preceding thought as would happen if you were startled and frightened, other times with the thought preceding action. This whole process is complex and involves the development of something called somatic markers, which are really just cellular memories of an emotional experience.

When you create a memory of an experience, the emotions you felt at the time essentially make an impression on your cells so that the next time you’re in a situation that causes the same feelings to arise, you can use the emotional shortcut to determine how to act. This plays a key role in your decision making process, speeding the whole thing up for maximum efficiency.

So, when you were bullied on the playground, when your teacher told you that you’d never amount to anything, when you got fired from the job because someone else made a mistake and blamed it on you, your body responded.

One of my bodywork instructors once told the story of a girl he worked on during a community demonstration. She’d enthusiastically volunteered to be the model, and as he released the tissue around her shoulder, she became increasingly agitated.

Upon standing up, her shoulders had completely changed. The tension released, they were back and down and her posture had become more upright.

My instructor asked the girl, “You know, it seemed like you were getting a little angry there. Do you know what that was about?”

She replied that she knew exactly what it was all about. When she was a child, her father had yelled at and belittled her a lot, and when he did so, he would poke her with his finger in the shoulder.

She was so angry at her dad, but she felt powerless to do anything about it. And so, she armored her shoulder with tension and anger. All the tightness she experienced was her literally holding herself back.

When you feel emotions, whether they be anger, joy, grief, sadness or any other in the multi-varied spectrum, your body wants to act on them. If that action feels impossible or inappropriate, tension results and a sort of division of self ensues.

The emotion will live in the body, but you won’t move that area because as soon as you start to move, the body senses itself again, releasing the emotion and propelling you toward an action your brain believes you cannot take.

This, actually, is why a lot of people arrive home exhausted from their jobs. They work in toxic environments, doing work they don’t enjoy, dreaming of actually laying on the tropical beach featured in their twelve-month wall calendar. Every time they gaze upon the image, the emotions say “Go!” and the mind overrules, using tension to stifle the urge to get up and run.

In time, all that tension piles up and you call it aging, or blame it on poor ergonomics, or you just amputate your movements, making them increasingly small until you don’t notice how bound up you’ve become by the war waging within you.

Reason #3: Beliefs and Cultural Conditioning

“There are two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way who nods at them and says, ‘Morning boys, how’s the water?’
And the two young fish swim on for a bit until eventually, one of them looks over at the other and goes, ‘What the hell is water?’”
– David Foster Wallace, This is Water, Commencement Speech at Kenyon College

Water shapes fish. It is because of their environment that they have scales and tales and gills. You, likewise, are shaped by your environment. Biologically, for sure, just as the fish has developed a sleek body well-adapted to moving through the currents of water, you, too, have evolved hands and feet and walking on two legs, using your opposable thumbs to poke your iPhone.

But we humans are shaped by something more, something animals (probably) don’t have – culture.

Whenever people find out that I work with horses (and by work with, I mean do bodywork on them), they always ask the same questions.

The first is, how do you know where to work since the horse can’t tell you what hurts?

And the second is, isn’t it hard to work on horses because they’re so big?

My answers? Horses speak much more plainly than people, and no, they are not hard to work on. Why are these things true? Because horses don’t have worldview.

A horse is simply a horse. It has no belief system about its body. It does not fret that if it lets go of gripping its abdominals that its belly will hang out and make him look fat. No one has ever told him that he should really tuck his pelvis and straighten his spine, for he is built with too much curve in his lower back.

The horse has no beliefs about his body, only feelings. His movement shows still places where his soft tissue is restricted, like rocks in a stream, blocking the flow of energy from his feet hitting the ground up through his structure. And when he senses those places release? He simply lets go.

No fighting. No struggle. No worries about what the neighbors will think.

Do you have beliefs about your body? I guarantee it. How do I know this? Because, after working with hundreds, possibly over a thousand people across a span of more than ten years, the answer to my question, “What do you notice in your body?” is universally met with something like….

Well, I know I have an anterior pelvis.

I know I tend to slouch.

I know my posture is terrible.

My Pilates instructor told me I have a sway back.

My chiropractor says my hamstrings are tight.

My parents told me I’m big.

I’ve got shoulders like a linebacker.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Those are the conscious beliefs, the ones you know you have about yourself.

There are a whole host of unconscious beliefs hibernating beneath the surface.

For example, women raised around the 1950s era, by and large, have a tendency to lock down their hip mobility. Just try to get one of them to do a fancy hip shimmy. She’ll soon be frustrated.

Your pelvis is meant to bounce and roll as you walk; that’s how it absorbs shock from your foot hitting the ground. But when you’ve been brought up to believe that only loose women wiggle their hips, are you gonna let that hip sway to the side? Uh uh.

This is only one tangible example of cultural conditioning. The reality is, this conditioning has permeated your consciousness and affected the way you move to such a depth that you don’t even know you’re baked in it, like the fish swimming in water.

I see it manifest in people’s movement every single day, most especially when I teach something new and watch the person flail around spastically as though doing it more rapidly would somehow earn them a gold star, their mind completely disconnected from the exercise at hand, all the while asking, “Is this right?”

Our need to get things right all the time, even in our movement, is downright pathological. But that’s another discussion for another time.

Right here and right now, I want to leave you with the impression that stiffness in your body is not only related to physical ailments, but also the bigger picture of who you are and how you think about yourself. All your fears, doubts and insecurities live in your cells and show up in your movements. But so do your triumphs and joys!

While the physical body is the only thing you can actually put your hands on, by making tangible changes to movement, you’re also shifting your less palpable thoughts and beliefs.

This is why I created Posture Rehab. Yes, it stretches your muscles and loosens your joints…but it also frees your mind. If you’re ready to let go of all the unnecessary tension that’s holding you back, click here to enroll.

Because when your movement is unlimited, so is your potential.

Neck pain and tension can really be…well, a pain in the neck!

Are you one of those people who always wakes up with a stiff neck? Do you have trouble turning and looking over your shoulder without twisting your whole body?

Your neck issues may be more than just a physical annoyance. Watch today’s video to learn how chronic stress and biting your tongue can contribute to ongoing issues with neck pain and stiffness.

Why Neck Pain is More than Just a Physical Problem

Protecting your neck is natural whenever you feel threatened.  What you have to understand is that you’ve basically got two brains operating at the same time.  One portion of your brain is logical and present in modern day, while the other part, the portion that runs biological functions below our conscious awareness, is stuck back in time.

Your logical brain thinks, “Crap.  How am I going to pay for all this dental work that I need!  Stress!”

And the primal part of you – your reptilian brain, if you will – goes, “Tiger? Where?!”

The auto-response is to protect yourself.  You might not crouch into a ball or start running because your logical brain has some temperance over your reptilian one, but there’s a subtle physical response.

This goes back to the idea that you can’t have a thought that’s separate from your movement, nor a movement separate from thought.  They’re inherently intertwined.

And, interestingly, if you’re protecting your neck with tiny gestures like touching it with your hand or hunching your shoulders up toward your ears, you project an air of subordination toward the people around you.  They read your slight shrinking as low self confidence and lack of leadership potential, which can subconsciously erode their trust in you.

Say What You Want to Say and Let the Words Come Out

I’ve recently started keeping a voice diary as an exercise in saying what I actually want to say through my writing.  The basic premise is to keep a record of what a person said and how you responded, how you actually wanted to respond and why you didn’t say what you wanted to say.

Which gets a Sarah Barreilles song stuck in my head….(you’re welcome).

There’s a lot of reasons to keep your mouth shut.  Sometimes it’s because no one asked your opinion, and sometimes it’s just rude to point out what seems so obvious to you.

But I’m sure I’m not alone in keeping my mouth shut out of fear.  From wondering what people would think, from worrying that it might be a little outlandish.

And this kind of voice stuffing contributes to chronic neck tension.  Don’t believe me?  Think of what you wanted to say to your boss the last time she asked you to finish a report at five o’clock on a Friday evening, due immediately if not sooner.

Feel your jaw clench?  Yeah, that’s going to affect your neck, the muscles being connected and all.

And if you’re a chronic voice stuffer, you’re going to have chronic tension.  It just becomes habitual.  Bite your tongue, swallow your words, bitter pill that they are, and smile, smile, smile.

Boom.  Before you know it, you have neck pain.

Simple, Low-Key Exercise to Ease Neck Tension and Pain

Relieving neck tension can restore confidence in yourself and your ideas and cause others to perceive you as a leader, not to mention helping you sleep better and get through your day a lot more comfortably.

The goal is to get your nervous system to let go of its grip on your cervical vertebra – the bones in your neck – to allow them to move more freely.  To do this, we just have to remind your brain how your neck is meant to move.

Here’s what you can do:

1. Check your baseline.

Turn your head gently and slowly to the right and left to see how far you can twist, picking a point in the room for reference. Don’t force it, we’re just looking at your available range of motion. Also, pro tip: moving slower allows your nervous system time to adjust and you’ll get more range of motion instantly. Whipping your head around quickly causes your body to guard the delicate neck muscles, especially if they’re already tight and rigid.

2. Place your hands on your cheeks.

Let your elbows hang down heavily, relaxing your shoulders.

3. Pick a side and twist in that direction.

Move from your belly button up, so you’re turning your torso, arms, head and neck all as one unit. Only go as far as is comfortable. It’s not a contest. You’ll get more out of working within your comfortable range of motion than you will from trying to overachieve and strain yourself.

4. Once you’ve completed several twists in one direction, drop your hands and turn your head that same way.

Check to see if the range of motion has increased. You’ll know because you can turn further and see past the point that you originally marked in step one.

5. Repeat steps 2-4 on the opposite side.

Enjoy your new found range of motion! It’s amazing how liberating it is to be able to look over your shoulder without turning your whole body, almost like being let out of prison.

Want more great neck stretches? Check out Posture Rehab, my digital video suite designed to release tension throughout your whole body. Click here to get the details >>

I was standing in a twelve foot square box watching 1,000 lbs of horse circle around me, eyes wide in bewilderment, while I gently pressed into her shoulder.

She’d been standing quietly while I palpated her muscles, indifferent to the pressure after a lifetime of primping, pampering and spiffing before competitions.

Until I hit that spot. It was a hot one, in more ways than one. As soon as my hands brushed it, her head shot up, eyes widened and she started moving.

There was nowhere to go, really, since we were in a stall, but that didn’t stop her from dancing around me.

Her prancing went on for about a minute, maybe two, while I kept feather-light pressure on her shoulder.

When she finally stopped circling, she lifted her nose and let out a groan that I have never before or since heard emit from any horse’s body.

I would describe it as inhuman, but that doesn’t really apply in this situation…

The muscles melted under my fingers and heat radiated out of the mare’s shoulder. She relaxed, dropping her head, licking, chewing and taking deep puffing sighs.

She’d let it go. Whatever had been stuck in her shoulder – likely some sort of old scar, either from overuse, an early life accident or even birth trauma – had released.

That mare had always had a sticky right shoulder, from the time she was a year old. After her profound release, the shoulder was markedly improved…that very day.

The old scar was just gone.

And this is the lesson horses (all animals, actually) can teach us.

Horses aren’t limited by a world view. They have no story around their trauma, no concept of good and bad to limit their movement.

If you find their hot spot, they’ll do their best to let it go. They don’t always know how to do it on their own, which is why they need some help, but they’ll work with you, and when they find the release button, whoosh! It’s gone.

People, on the other hand, have all kinds of stories about our bodies.

We believe that posture can be “good” or “bad” instead of understanding that the body is a living process, in constant flux, changing in response to your current needs.

We look in the mirror and we don’t see what’s really there. We see a distorted version of ourselves with chunky thighs and distended abdomens, and we tell ourselves a tale about a weak-will and a lack of discipline.

We want to be perceived as confident and in control by others and so we yank our shoulders back and suck in our guts, holding our spines ramrod straight and moving like robots.

We hold onto our old injuries, our emotional scars, our family heritage, rooting them in the very cells of our bodies.

The stories are innumerable, each one rooted in time and place. People who grew up in the 1950s have different stories than those born in the modern day.

When you work – through bodywork, stretching, movement, or any other path of release – to let go of your physical muscles, you also have to take a good, hard look at why you’re holding onto that tension.

Because when the physical tension is gone, the story you’ve spun still remains. And since the mind and body are simply counterparts to one another, to fully release that tension, you have to shift your story about it.

Because an hour on a massage table or an afternoon of yoga won’t negate a lifetime of beliefs.

So what stories about yourself do you need to let go of in order to move with more freedom and grace?  Tell me in the comments below…