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#81
Therapy / Craniosacral Therapy (CST) — a...
Last post by TheBigBlue - February 19, 2026, 06:19:50 AM11 months of CBT have been very helpful. Being analytical by nature, I value the cognitive approach - most of the time - and I have a therapist who has grown with me and now also uses witnessing, attunement, and regulation before engaging the prefrontal cortex when needed.
Because my CBT is remote, over the past 2 weeks I've started exploring what additional forms of "therapy" might help my nervous system - my body - settle (i.e. return toward a basal vagal state).
It started unexpectedly during a haircut last week. For maybe 15 seconds, my scalp was gently massaged during the hair wash, and I felt my shoulders drop. That landed far more than I would have expected.
Encouraged by that (and by my T reminding me that caring for my own needs matters), I booked a 2-hour facial and scalp massage at a spa - unbeknownst to me, Korean-style. It was intense and well-intentioned, but ultimately too activating: constant motion, strong sensations, and deep tissue work (occasionally borderline painful in my neck, shoulders, and arms). By the end, I felt worked on rather than held. Still, it was useful data. It clarified something important: more touch is not the same as regulating touch.
So yesterday I tried CranioSacral Therapy (CST) - a gentle, hands-on somatic therapy that uses very light touch to support regulation of the central and autonomic nervous systems.
The intake conversation felt a bit esoteric, which made me skeptical. But the setup itself felt different - well supported, comfortable positioning, quiet, eyes closed, gentle contact. For the first several minutes there was only very soft holding of my head, and I wasn't sure anything was happening. But then my body settled. My thoughts grew quieter.
When the practitioner placed one hand under my shoulder blades and one on my sternum, something shifted.
I felt safety - and grief. It bubbled up quietly and non-dramatically: pressure behind the eyes, a trembling chin, then silent tears. No overwhelm. No pushing. No words. No specific memories - just the felt sense of being held and safe, alongside grief for the absence of that safety in childhood.
Later, with a slightly different hold - the hand closer to my heart - tear came up again alongside gentle memories: standing on my mother's feet as a child, and later my sister standing on mine (not memories I usually access). They felt warm and connecting.
At times I dropped into a deeper, less fully conscious state. By the end, I felt deeply relaxed - the kind that comes from being supported, not exhausted.
When I asked about follow-up frequency, the T suggested every four weeks, explaining that slower pacing allows integration rather than overload - especially alongside twice-weekly CBT. That felt thoughtful and grounding.
What I'm taking from this isn't that one modality is "better," but that my nervous system responds best to:
- stillness over intensity
- broad, non-demanding contact
- feeling supported rather than worked on
I'm still learning what helps and what doesn't. But noticing these differences - and allowing myself to keep searching - feels like progress in itself. Sometimes it's the smallest moments of safety that show us what we needed all along.
P.S.: Even though CST is practiced by licensed therapists, it is generally not covered by health insurance in the US.
Because my CBT is remote, over the past 2 weeks I've started exploring what additional forms of "therapy" might help my nervous system - my body - settle (i.e. return toward a basal vagal state).
It started unexpectedly during a haircut last week. For maybe 15 seconds, my scalp was gently massaged during the hair wash, and I felt my shoulders drop. That landed far more than I would have expected.
Encouraged by that (and by my T reminding me that caring for my own needs matters), I booked a 2-hour facial and scalp massage at a spa - unbeknownst to me, Korean-style. It was intense and well-intentioned, but ultimately too activating: constant motion, strong sensations, and deep tissue work (occasionally borderline painful in my neck, shoulders, and arms). By the end, I felt worked on rather than held. Still, it was useful data. It clarified something important: more touch is not the same as regulating touch.
So yesterday I tried CranioSacral Therapy (CST) - a gentle, hands-on somatic therapy that uses very light touch to support regulation of the central and autonomic nervous systems.
The intake conversation felt a bit esoteric, which made me skeptical. But the setup itself felt different - well supported, comfortable positioning, quiet, eyes closed, gentle contact. For the first several minutes there was only very soft holding of my head, and I wasn't sure anything was happening. But then my body settled. My thoughts grew quieter.
When the practitioner placed one hand under my shoulder blades and one on my sternum, something shifted.
I felt safety - and grief. It bubbled up quietly and non-dramatically: pressure behind the eyes, a trembling chin, then silent tears. No overwhelm. No pushing. No words. No specific memories - just the felt sense of being held and safe, alongside grief for the absence of that safety in childhood.
Later, with a slightly different hold - the hand closer to my heart - tear came up again alongside gentle memories: standing on my mother's feet as a child, and later my sister standing on mine (not memories I usually access). They felt warm and connecting.
At times I dropped into a deeper, less fully conscious state. By the end, I felt deeply relaxed - the kind that comes from being supported, not exhausted.
When I asked about follow-up frequency, the T suggested every four weeks, explaining that slower pacing allows integration rather than overload - especially alongside twice-weekly CBT. That felt thoughtful and grounding.
What I'm taking from this isn't that one modality is "better," but that my nervous system responds best to:
- stillness over intensity
- broad, non-demanding contact
- feeling supported rather than worked on
I'm still learning what helps and what doesn't. But noticing these differences - and allowing myself to keep searching - feels like progress in itself. Sometimes it's the smallest moments of safety that show us what we needed all along.
P.S.: Even though CST is practiced by licensed therapists, it is generally not covered by health insurance in the US.
#82
Recovery Journals / Re: The ramblings of an abused...
Last post by GoSlash27 - February 19, 2026, 05:04:07 AMPoint is (in response to Narc Kiddo) I'm not on a course to a way I can live with. Or maybe I am. I dunno. 
I'm just on a course to... something. Ol' Charlie's stole the handle and the train won't stop going. No way to slow down. This isn't the way "recovery" is supposed to work as I understand it.
To be clear, I'm not in crisis. I'm not suicidal or anything like that. I don't need intervention. It's just a very stressful time for me. Just venting.
Best,
-Slashy
I'm just on a course to... something. Ol' Charlie's stole the handle and the train won't stop going. No way to slow down. This isn't the way "recovery" is supposed to work as I understand it.
To be clear, I'm not in crisis. I'm not suicidal or anything like that. I don't need intervention. It's just a very stressful time for me. Just venting.
Best,
-Slashy
#83
Recovery Journals / em's recovery journal
Last post by em87 - February 19, 2026, 04:18:13 AMI'm ruminating again.
is it real? can I trust myself? will I make it through the work week? yes, I have to. I can't take a day off.
next week I might do reprocessing in emdr. I feel like this target is fake. I feel disconnected. I thought I wanted to target it, but I feel disconnected. on the other hand, it feels connected to this memory of driving with family. I don't understand the connection.i'm a rational person. I don't want to deal with emotions.
that's all for now since I'm exhausted. I'll try using my container.
is it real? can I trust myself? will I make it through the work week? yes, I have to. I can't take a day off.
next week I might do reprocessing in emdr. I feel like this target is fake. I feel disconnected. I thought I wanted to target it, but I feel disconnected. on the other hand, it feels connected to this memory of driving with family. I don't understand the connection.i'm a rational person. I don't want to deal with emotions.
that's all for now since I'm exhausted. I'll try using my container.
#84
Recovery Journals / Re: Papa Coco's Recovery Journ...
Last post by TheBigBlue - February 19, 2026, 03:57:30 AM
#85
Recovery Journals / Re: Living As All of Me
Last post by HannahOne - February 19, 2026, 03:39:32 AM*****************TRIGGER WARNING emotional abuse language
How do I know who I am? Who do you say that I am? I think, therefore I am. I am what I am. Who am I?
Who decides?
Do I define myself?
What role does feedback from others play in my self-understanding?
How can I see my own blind spots?
I was given a problematic identity. Both golden and scapegoat simultaneously in an insane split, then by age 7, no more golden. Only goat.
In the wider family, still golden, first to go to college, the one who made it out.
Then, survivor guilt.
Fraud.
Imposter.
How to be white trash from nowhereville and elite at the Ivy League. How to be a mother and a boss lady. How to be creative and within the lines. Within the lines and not basic. Ambitious, and easy going. Clear, and complex. Self-hating, and loving to others. Bruised inside, and just grateful to be here. Broken, and fine, thanks.
I had to contain these opposites, these extremes.
So yeah, I fragmented.
But I never left myself. In a haze of fists, I didn't float above myself. I retreated to a ball the size of a dot, inside. Inside me.
I didn't let anyone take any part of me. I didn't kill off any part of me. I shut some down, sure. I compartmentalized.
But I know my own mind.
Because of how I grew up I have always had a fierce insistence on who I am.
I took in "slut," "sinful," "stupid." I introjected the abusers with their cruel judgements and impossible demands and ruthless attacks.
But I also have my self. That knows my own mind. That went into a tiny ball the size of a dot inside. That told me where to go, what to do. Told me to freeze, to run, to smile, to agree, to play dumb, to plot, to plan. That assessed the abusers for what they were. Clear-eyed.
And I have parts, fragmented parts that never could cohere because of these irreconcilable, nonsensical opposites, because I had to contain these impossible dilemmas, because I refused to cut off or kill off any part of me.
That's trauma.
I know my own mind. I know who I am.
Other people may not understand. They see symptoms and think sickness. I see survival mechanisms and think safety, sanity, success.
I guess I wish I could live otherwise. It seems pleasant to be simple. I guess I wish I weren't so polarized inside. I'd like to be able to just put my foot on the gas and go where I want to go, instead of gas and brake at the same time. I'd like to be less conflicted, less complicated. I don't know what that's like.
I can't change that, I can't undo it. You can't unring a bell. What I can do is work toward inner attachment, interior relationship, more cooperation inside. I'm enjoying a lot more inner quiet these days.
But if you put me under stress or threat, it gets loud, a lot of conflicting perspectives, the cracks show, parts get more rigid, or under enough pressure I may momentarily retreat to a little ball the size of a dot inside. Don't worry, I'll be back. I'm still in here. I haven't left. I may get very quiet, because inside it's very loud.
Because I internalized my abusers, and polarized my mammalian defenses, because that's how I survived.
Oh well? C'est la vie? So what?
That's my own mind. I know it. That's All of Me.
How do I know who I am? Who do you say that I am? I think, therefore I am. I am what I am. Who am I?
Who decides?
Do I define myself?
What role does feedback from others play in my self-understanding?
How can I see my own blind spots?
I was given a problematic identity. Both golden and scapegoat simultaneously in an insane split, then by age 7, no more golden. Only goat.
In the wider family, still golden, first to go to college, the one who made it out.
Then, survivor guilt.
Fraud.
Imposter.
How to be white trash from nowhereville and elite at the Ivy League. How to be a mother and a boss lady. How to be creative and within the lines. Within the lines and not basic. Ambitious, and easy going. Clear, and complex. Self-hating, and loving to others. Bruised inside, and just grateful to be here. Broken, and fine, thanks.
I had to contain these opposites, these extremes.
So yeah, I fragmented.
But I never left myself. In a haze of fists, I didn't float above myself. I retreated to a ball the size of a dot, inside. Inside me.
I didn't let anyone take any part of me. I didn't kill off any part of me. I shut some down, sure. I compartmentalized.
But I know my own mind.
Because of how I grew up I have always had a fierce insistence on who I am.
I took in "slut," "sinful," "stupid." I introjected the abusers with their cruel judgements and impossible demands and ruthless attacks.
But I also have my self. That knows my own mind. That went into a tiny ball the size of a dot inside. That told me where to go, what to do. Told me to freeze, to run, to smile, to agree, to play dumb, to plot, to plan. That assessed the abusers for what they were. Clear-eyed.
And I have parts, fragmented parts that never could cohere because of these irreconcilable, nonsensical opposites, because I had to contain these impossible dilemmas, because I refused to cut off or kill off any part of me.
That's trauma.
I know my own mind. I know who I am.
Other people may not understand. They see symptoms and think sickness. I see survival mechanisms and think safety, sanity, success.
I guess I wish I could live otherwise. It seems pleasant to be simple. I guess I wish I weren't so polarized inside. I'd like to be able to just put my foot on the gas and go where I want to go, instead of gas and brake at the same time. I'd like to be less conflicted, less complicated. I don't know what that's like.
I can't change that, I can't undo it. You can't unring a bell. What I can do is work toward inner attachment, interior relationship, more cooperation inside. I'm enjoying a lot more inner quiet these days.
But if you put me under stress or threat, it gets loud, a lot of conflicting perspectives, the cracks show, parts get more rigid, or under enough pressure I may momentarily retreat to a little ball the size of a dot inside. Don't worry, I'll be back. I'm still in here. I haven't left. I may get very quiet, because inside it's very loud.
Because I internalized my abusers, and polarized my mammalian defenses, because that's how I survived.
Oh well? C'est la vie? So what?
That's my own mind. I know it. That's All of Me.
#86
Recovery Journals / Re: Living As All of Me
Last post by HannahOne - February 19, 2026, 02:57:41 AMThank you, Sanmagic7. "i think the more we believe in ourselves as people," very interesting. To believe in myself. As a people. 
I have to believe in myself, believe I'm real, I count, I matter, I know my own mind. 
I have to believe in myself, believe I'm real, I count, I matter, I know my own mind. #87
Recovery Journals / Re: Miscellaneous ramblings of...
Last post by HannahOne - February 19, 2026, 02:55:26 AMThey are just relentless! Now with the slippers. And when I think about NarcKiddo as a young child, what defense would a child have against this level of Narc behavior? Yet here you are still standing, still able to think and feel, self-aware. 
#88
Recovery Journals / Re: The ramblings of an abused...
Last post by GoSlash27 - February 19, 2026, 02:01:37 AM I've figured out the root of my heightened anxiety these past few weeks. It's my decision to request the records from my time in foster care in '74. It ramped up when they e-mailed me back and said they had retrieved them.
Sleeplessness, unrestful sleep, loss of appetite, gimpiness, jumpiness, emotional instability, loss of focus, tremors...
I'm not afraid of what I may find in that file. I have enough episodic memories to know basically what happened. I'm excited to learn the details and fill in some blanks. Names, dates, addresses, circumstances.
But my subconscious is *terrified* that I'm asking questions, actively digging, and finding answers. I'm not supposed to do this. I'm supposed to drop this matter and carry on, stop being so nosey. After all, my subconscious screwed up my memories for my own protection.
My T told me that "letting it go" is what a lot of people do. They hang onto the memories they retain, heal, grow, and move forward. But perhaps due to my innate inquisitiveness or fractured sense of "self", I cannot.
I've been living with cPTSD since I was a teenager and my adult life was pretty much normal (for me) up until 3 years ago. I had all the hallmarks of it, but I didn't know. It wasn't until I found out that I had it that it got really bad.
It's like a scab that won't heal because I won't stop picking at it. I don't know what will happen from here. Maybe I'll get my answers, maybe I'll crash out.
Sleeplessness, unrestful sleep, loss of appetite, gimpiness, jumpiness, emotional instability, loss of focus, tremors...
I'm not afraid of what I may find in that file. I have enough episodic memories to know basically what happened. I'm excited to learn the details and fill in some blanks. Names, dates, addresses, circumstances.
But my subconscious is *terrified* that I'm asking questions, actively digging, and finding answers. I'm not supposed to do this. I'm supposed to drop this matter and carry on, stop being so nosey. After all, my subconscious screwed up my memories for my own protection.
My T told me that "letting it go" is what a lot of people do. They hang onto the memories they retain, heal, grow, and move forward. But perhaps due to my innate inquisitiveness or fractured sense of "self", I cannot.
I've been living with cPTSD since I was a teenager and my adult life was pretty much normal (for me) up until 3 years ago. I had all the hallmarks of it, but I didn't know. It wasn't until I found out that I had it that it got really bad.
It's like a scab that won't heal because I won't stop picking at it. I don't know what will happen from here. Maybe I'll get my answers, maybe I'll crash out.
#90
Recovery Journals / Re: Activating myself
Last post by HannahOne - February 19, 2026, 01:35:45 AMHooray for activation!
I've recently joined a gym while doing PT and it is making a big difference. Being grounded in the here and now, the body, while music plays, and with others in the same space. Here's to forty days of active living!
I've recently joined a gym while doing PT and it is making a big difference. Being grounded in the here and now, the body, while music plays, and with others in the same space. Here's to forty days of active living!