Some Insights + Feelings From 7th Holotropic Workshop
7th Oct, ’95:
The image of the spider on the white garment could possibly be my first glimpse of the doctor’s hands delivering me, which at close range would resemble spiders’ legs, especially if the fingers were hairy.
Also, the white garment could again be my close-up, even if somewhat blurred, view of the doctor’s white gown as I was emerging from my mother’s vagina. I am certain these are yet more fleeting memories of my first moments of life outside the womb.
My immediate reaction to Lynn touching my neck was probably triggered by a memory where, either during or right after my delivery, someone’s hands held me under the back of my neck. It definitely feels like a birth memory.
9th Oct, ’95:
Very aware of all sounds, especially those relating to music. I’m picking up “in-between” notes that I’ve never noticed before in some of my favourite pieces of music.
10th Oct, ’95:
While glancing at the certificates on the wall in my therapist’s room, I finally recognised a small logo on one which, although having seen the certificate many times before, I could never quite distinguish what the little sign actually meant.
17th Oct, ’95:
This is probably my most profound insight to date:-
During my therapy session this morning I was expressing my distress at having gained a considerable amount of weight recently. As I was speaking, I became aware of the true fear behind my fear of gaining weight.
It isn’t only the fact that I feel I look dreadful when I’m a few pounds heavier, it’s really that whenever my body begins to take on the shape of an adult woman, I begin to feel so frightened, that I must at all cost, return to the safe confines of my small childlike body.
Secure within its skeletal walls, I feel that nothing great is expected of me, frailty exempting me from all responsibility, both towards myself and others. I am the little girl still craving love and attention, and most of all longing to be accepted as a normal member of society.
The painful truth is that none of these things ever happened in my case. No doubt I was cared for at some stage, and it is that period of my life that I’m subconsciously remembering and constantly needing to cling onto.
When I became a mother for the first time I felt so unable to cope with the huge demands of my tiny dependant baby. I was a helpless child trying to take care of an even more helpless child, and all along feeling that what I really needed was someone to take care of ME.
2nd Nov’95:
While having dinner, I suddenly had an image of a large dome-shaped glass vessel containing an embryo connected by its umbilical cord to the side of the glass. The colours were truly beautiful - red, purple, pink, blue, yellow. I desperately needed to get this image down on paper.
3rd Nov,’95:
Lots of ideas about my embryo. Wished that I could sculpture him from pottery clay or even play-doh. Needed to touch and comfort him.
Believed I originated from the Devil, carrying with me into this world, his original sin. Perhaps the pain and terror I experienced during my birth was my desperate struggle to free myself from his evil clutch.
4th Nov,’95:
Woke up out of a strange dream about a very distressed baby. Later on, needed to draw a screaming foetus expressing his anguish at trying to be born.
Weekend Holotropic Breathwork Workshop 11-12/11/1995
This 2-day Workshop was held on the 11/12 November, 1995. It was non-residential.
Ten participants, seven of whom are regulars including myself, engaged in what was to be for some, a very intense yet enlightening two days of personal discovery. During these intimate journeys we were supported and cared for, very lovingly, by Lynn. She is someone who, over the months, has become a very important part of my life.
8th Holotropic Breathwork Workshop 11/11/1995
Some people went out to lunch while the rest of us remained “at home”. We ate, chatted and drew Mandalas. When everyone arrived back, we were all having such a good time that nobody wanted to leave the little room. Lynn came back in for us at 1.45pm.
By the time we returned to the session room, I was beginning to feel a bit apprehensive about the afternoon. I eventually settled down into the relaxation exercise and so was ready to begin my journey:-
“About five minutes into the breathing, I am feeling pins and needles and numbness in my hands, arms and feet. This continues for a further fifteen minutes or so, ‘till I begin the familiar long drawn-out scream, which once again takes me back into my never-ending struggle to free myself from the womb-like prison which refuses to release me, thereby threatening my very existence.
I move from that torment to the feelings of a very young child. I have a fleeting image of a desperately distressed toddler being coaxed out from beneath a table. Whether this is done gently or aggressively, I don’t know. My crying now seems to be internal rather than external, and therefore without tears.
The sadness continues. Once again I return to the struggle which now has me furiously trying to be born. I continue to rotate and push my body down some imaginary passage until, overcome by shear frustration and exhaustion, I abandon the attempt altogether. It is at this point that I sleep for a while, before being gently reminded by Liam to continue my breathing.
For some reason I just don’t want to go back into the session, although I do resume the breathing. Within minutes I’m right back into the distress and isolation. A certain note in the piece of music sends me deep into total despair, and I begin to cry uncontrollably. Somebody covers me with my blanket and I curl up into my protective ball where I continue my heart-rending sobbing. I reject any attempts by Liam to comfort me. Lynn lies beside me and I explain my suffering, but I don’t want reassurance.
Again I slip back into a brief exhausted sleep from which I emerge feeling no better. As I prop myself up against some cushions I can still hear the pain of someone close by. Unable to hold a conversation with Liam, I curl up and rest my head on my knees. I remain in that position for quite some time. Something in the music touches me again and I begin to cry, feeling very much defeated and alone. For some reason I feel unable to face the other people inside so I hang on for another while. Eventually I leave around 5.00pm”.
Back in the small room I sat in a corner and remained virtually silent for the best part of half and hour. The others were enthusiastically discussing controversial topics, some of which I would have liked to join in, were I not still very upset and close to tears.
Sometime later I felt OK to eat and draw my Mandala. This time my image was of a small child sitting beneath a table draped in a dark green tablecloth. I used the colours green and black.
We returned to the session room around 6.00pm. Even in the group situation I found it very difficult to describe my experience. I felt weighed down by a tremendous depression, as if a lot of painful shit had been dredged up during the session but some of it was still waiting to be released. We finished up around 6.45pm.
At home I didn’t talk too much about the day’s events. I wasn’t very hungry, so I just had some soup and a cup of Camomile tea. Sometime around 11.30pm. I felt very sick and exhausted, so I went to bed.
9th Holotropic Breathwork Workshop 12/11/1995
We moved out into the session room at around 9.20am where we sat in our circle and described how things went for us last night, our dreams, if any, and how we were feeling right now. After that, Lynn had each one of us pick an Angel Card which lay face down on a plate. This card contained a word along with a small cartoon-like picture depicting the meaning, and whichever one we picked, it would be our word for the day. Mine was “Expectancy”. The picture was of a little girl opening her present.
The morning session got underway at about 10.00am. All the “breathers” had very powerful experiences, with Liam’s lasting well beyond everyone else’s. We left at 12.55pm.
After I’d finished eating, I just relaxed in the stillness of my little room that I’ve come to feel so safe in.
By 1.20pm everyone had returned and by 1.40pm we were all ready to return outside for the afternoon session. A couple of minutes into the relaxation exercises, my watch alarm went off, and as it was in my bag, there was nothing I could do about it. It was very distracting while it lasted. Apart from that, everything went fine. I became so relaxed it felt as though my whole body was slowly dissolving into the soft foam-filled mattress. With my mind free from all worries, I was now prepared for my inward journey:-
“Somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes into the breathing I can feel a tightness across my upper tummy, which later moves down into my pelvic area.
That is quickly followed by the usual pins and needles in my hands and feet.
Already there are some people deep inside their pain, and in order to divert my attention away from their anguish, I create the mental image of a white square against a black background and focus upon that instead.
It is now around twenty minutes since I began my breathing and I’ve just become aware that my hands, now curled inwards, are slowly moving up towards my neck. The unearthly scream which follows, is as usual, straight up from deep within my guts. I seem to be lying in a cot somewhere hurting like hell, and although I cry out several times to my mother to help me, she doesn’t come. The feeling of abandonment is overwhelming.
Moments later, I’m a young child, crouching in the corner of the family living room, while my father, who’s towering over me, repeatedly beats me with his leather strap on the parts of my body most easily reached. I’m begging him to stop and calling my mother to come and save me. My agony seems to last forever. I’ve never been able to express my hatred for what he’s done to me, but now I find the courage to verbally fight him off. I scream “fuck you, I hate you” as loud as I can, over and over, until there is not an ounce of strength left in me. My sobs, now weakened by exhaustion, are the tears I could not shed back then, so instead I held them in along with all the terrible unexpressed anger and humiliation. Eventually I drift off for a few moments. Liam reminds me to breathe.
Once more I’m struggling to be born, only this time, I have an intense determination to get out, something which was never present during previous attempts. My body is twisting and turning, and as it does so, I’m screaming at my mother “let me out, let me out”.
Now I have an image of a greyish-black tunnel with a tiny white foetus at the entrance waiting to be born.
Within a split second, I realise that this creature is actually me, and immediately I’m filled with an incredible energy, knowing that this must be my final strive for freedom. It feels like my mother’s vagina is opening up against the pressure of my head so I furiously propel myself through the tight passage, screaming encouragement at her as I go, “that’s it, I’m just there” and “Oh God, please let me out”. Drenched in sweat, I continue to push through until finally I emerge, weak from the great effort, but wholly ecstatic at having completed my agonising journey.
I am now so bewildered by my experience, that I begin to cry exactly as all new-born babies do. The high-pitched yells communicate my utter terror and desperate need to be comforted. While my out-stretched fingers are clawing at my face and neck, I’m descending still deeper into my distress, which eventually sickens me and I begin the awful coughing and gagging.
After some time I rest for a while, until a soulful piece of music takes me right back into my despair and I start the painful sobbing all over again, this time as an adult. The feelings of abandonment during my infancy, plus the physical and verbal abuse later on are so strong, that they now drive me into a deep depressive state, from which seems the only escape is death itself.
As my distress subsides I am aware of somebody covering me with my blanket under which I take refuge from the pain. Lynn lies beside me and I describe my eventful journey as best I can, given that I’m still a bit tearful. She is very consoling and suggests I rest for a while as I’ve just had a pretty rough time. I fall into a deep sleep and wake up ages later to find that everyone else has already gone inside, except Liam and Lynn. They are very patient and understanding. Nevertheless, I’m still embarrassed for delaying them so much. I finally leave at 5.10pm”.
Back in the little room I was full of energy and very talkative. In fact I was on a high. We were all having a really good time, and at one point I even suggested we all meet for a drink close to Christmas. The response was lukewarm.
Having finished my tea and rice cakes, I settled down to draw my Mandala. This one portrayed the image of the dark tunnel, complete with curled up foetus at the entrance, as I felt this described the most poignant moment in the session.
At around 6.00pm. we moved back out to the session room where we talked a lot about our experiences, then picked yet another card from the plate. This time mine was “Enthusiasm”, and the little picture was of people waving flags. This gathering lasted about three quarters of an hour as most of us went on to describe our painful journeys in lengthy detail. By the end of it all, I felt there was a great sense of bonding that can only occur between people who’ve shared their most intimate sufferings with each other.
After all the kissing and hugging was over, we said our farewells and began to head off home.
It was good to see my husband and the boys. Following some left-over dinner and a cup of Fennel tea, I watched television for a while then talked a little about the most extraordinary day I’d just had. I went to bed around 11.00pm.
Some Insights + Feelings From 8th / 9th Holotropic Workshops
16th Nov, ’95:
While outside the shops this morning, met the leader of my local Writers’ Workshop, who informed me, that despite my previous regular attendance, she did not invite me to a Poetry Reading in our local pub, as she assumed I would not be returning to the group. To add insult to injury, she also told me that the other members suggested I should be invited. On the many occasions I’ve been speaking to her since my temporary departure from the group, I’ve always expressed my desire to return as soon as possible to the evening gatherings which I enjoyed so much.
Being excluded, brought back very strongly, all the old feelings of rejection, isolation and loneliness that were so much part of my earlier life.
The condition known as “Post-Natal Depression” probably does not really exist. It could well be a spiritual awakening, perhaps brought about by the birth process itself. For some women it can be characterised by profound changes in personality, resulting sometimes in extreme irrational thinking and behaviour.
Sadly, those close to someone in this state sometimes do not recognise it for what it probably is, and instead see it as a mental disorder which needs to be medically treated.
20th Nov, ’95:
Yet another image of a foetus in a glass container, only this time the glass is shattered. I even had a title for it, “Broken Home”, probably meaning my mother’s fragmented state of mind during her pregnancy, which would have left me feeling very insecure and vulnerable.
28th Nov, ’95:
Around 5.00am. came out of a dream thrashing about and screaming “fuck you” at someone. I was growling like an animal and very soon realised I had been reliving one of my sessions. I was very disturbed for quite some time afterwards.
29th Nov, ’95:
At around 7.00am. while I was still in bed, I suddenly went into a spontaneous altered state where I began pushing my body up towards the headboard. My hands were clawing at my face and neck and I was producing exactly the same sounds as those I make during my breathwork sessions.
Felt a strong need to return to bed around 10.00am. Shortly after lying down I began the same ritual that I’d gone through earlier on this morning. It was much more intense this time, with a lot of vigorous body movement along with some very loud howling. Afterwards I felt a tremendous sense of having completed something which hadn’t been quite dealt with before.
Rang Lynn to discuss my decision not to go ahead with the December session, as I felt a lot of stuff was still happening from the last one. She agreed I should go with what feels right for me.
30th Nov, ’95:
Dreamed I was in another session. We were all in the small room (which was much larger in the dream), waiting for everyone to arrive. We were sitting on the floor, with Lynn seated on a chair against the wall, something which she would not normally do. There were still two people yet to come, and one was named Angela (I’ve never met anyone by that name in the group so far). The session was to take place in this room and just when we were all ready to begin, I woke up.
3rd Jan, ’96:
My adoptive mother died this evening at 8.45pm.
11th Jan, ’96:
Returned to bed around 9.30am. Fell asleep. Woke up screaming, imagining myself as a snake slithering out from a long black tunnel. Was very disturbed for a long time afterwards.
27th Jan, ’96:
Horrific nightmare: “ Dreamed my mother’s body was being kept in our box-room upstairs. There was a nurse staying with us for some reason, something to do with Mum, I think.
Over a period of several nights, I thought I saw Mum’s body moving on the bed as I passed her door. I tried to pretend it was just my imagination. Then one night while I was in my bedroom talking with the nurse, I heard a movement on the landing outside. I sensed immediately it was Mum. She was coming to scare me just like she did when I was a kid. I froze, then screamed as an unearthly thud hit the door, almost taking it off its hinges. Now, paralysed with fear, my fingers did not have the strength to turn the key in its lock, but with help from the nurse, who was much stronger than me, we managed to hold the door closed against the evil force which was threatening both our lives now. It was not to be for long.
Mum was too strong for us as she pushed her ice-cold fingers through the wooden panels and started to claw at the back of my hand. The scratches were so deep, they were bleeding. She then stuck her fingers into the nurse’s eyes, causing them to also bleed profusely.
Half dead with terror, I recognised my mother’s howling and ranting as the sounds she would make when she was going crazy in our house when I was so young and helpless. Now she was going to kill me. I prayed I would die before I had to set eyes on that stinking decomposing body that was once my mother. Just before it seemed like she was finally breaking through to me, I mercifully woke up”.
Weekend Holotropic Breathwork Workshop 10-11/2/1996
I attended this 2-day Workshop which was held on the 10/11th February, 1996. It was non-residential.
Twelve participants (seven regulars, including myself) were, as always, supported on our journeys by Lynn.
10th Holotropic Breathwork Workshop 10/2/1996
The first session got going around 9.50am. David chose me as his partner and we decided he would “breathe” first. His experience was a relatively quiet one, though he did need some body work on his arms towards the end of the session. We finally left around 1.30pm.
After lunch we started back at 2.15pm. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to my session as I feared it might all revolve around my mother’s recent death. As usual we did our relaxation exercises which helped me to forget my worries and so allow me prepare for my journey.
“After about five minutes of breathing, I’m aware of tingling sensations in my body. Some time later it feels as though something is being inserted down my throat which I vigorously resist with a lot of coughing and gagging. This discomfort continues for quite some time, with me struggling to breathe while choking on the object being forced down into my gut.
Following my desperate attempt to escape complete suffocation, I begin to sense the familiar presence of someone standing over me, lashing out at my body with a stick or strap of some kind. In intense pain I cry out to them to “please stop”, then in anger I scream “fuck you” several times. This goes on for a long time until finally worn out, I begin to cry uncontrollably.
I’ve lost all sense of time and eventually, exhausted from my suffering, I curl up on the mattress and cry quietly to myself. I’m now aware of a tremendous tension in the left side of my upper gut, which I know will have to be released sooner or later.
I close my eyes and drift peacefully into a light sleep.
When I awake Lynn is lying beside me and when she inquires how I’m feeling, I’m able to tell her about the discomfort in my gut. She gets me to turn onto my back and begins to apply gentle pressure on my tummy while I do some deep rapid breathing. Almost immediately there is a huge build up of energy which causes me to scream my lungs out. With encouragement from Lynn I keep this going, then abruptly turn over onto my tummy with her hand still in place.
In this position, I begin to cough and gag violently bringing up copious amounts of mucous, which does not seem anything near enough to rid me of the shit which has, during the course of a lifetime, remained festering inside me. I want to puke up all the anger and sadness that has fucked up my entire life, all the pain (mental and physical) inflicted by my parents, and all the hurtful remarks passed by all those cruel bastards who took advantage of me because I was never able to stand up for myself and say “STOP”.
I think it is David who hands me the tissues while I continue to spit out my pain, and I have a feeling now that I will die if this doesn’t soon stop. What seems an eternity later, I finally come out of my agonising despair needing to sit upright. As the realisation of what I’ve just been doing begins to sink in, I start to shake uncontrollably from head to toe.
Lynn remains with me, pressing her hand against my feet to help calm me down. When the shaking eventually subsides, I wrap my arms around her neck as tight as I can, and rock myself really hard for ages. I then tell her that I’ve coughed up almost a lifetime of pain and anger and that perhaps there is a connection between that and my compulsion to be sick after I’ve stuffed myself with food. She is such a good listener. I’m ready to leave at 5.55pm”.
During the break I drew my Mandala which depicted a young infant surrounded by four people, one of whom is inserting a tube-like object down a baby’s throat.
This image is also surrounded by four red markings of anger.
We returned to the session room at 6.30pm. I admired and envied the openness of the other participants and was painfully aware of my own inability to share deeply with them. For some reason I felt frightened and needed to seek comfort deep within myself.
We finished up at 7.30pm. Got home around 8.30pm.
I wasn’t too talkative with anybody so I stayed out in the kitchen for a lot of the time. At around 11.00pm got a violent bout of nausea which totally immobilised me for a while. When I recovered I tried to organise myself for bed but was too depressed to do anything. Cried really hard for about fifteen minutes, then eventually went to bed somewhere around 1.00am.
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