Breathwork #8

Tangled in My Mom’s Umbilical Cord

I needed to get free, but I didn’t want to sever our connection.

Holotropic Breathwork #8

When we arrived at the location for breathwork in Woodstock, NY, I was tired. My partner and I had been arguing. In some ways, we almost didn’t make it, at least not together.

It was a small group, nine of us in total. We did the usual meet and greet on Friday night, which I always find nice and comforting. My partner excels at these things. He lights up. He talks to everyone. He even is capable of smiling and laughing, even though we have just been fighting.

I am not capable of the same. I felt worn out, cold. I wrapped myself in my green woolen sweater, aware that it was still summer and most people in the room were sweating. Even though I felt badly, I warmed up to those around me as they shared their reasons to be part of this group.

Mid-day on the second day, I breathed.

This time, it didn’t even take a breath. I suspect that I was already “in”, perhaps even before arriving in Woodstock.

My back felt hot, like the flames from the burning of the witches were rising up my back. I imagined maybe I was one of them.

The first thing I saw was Aslan, from the Chronicles of Narnia. He was laid out on the giant slab of concrete like at the end of the story. I then saw Jesus rising above him, and I felt my body move into the shape of him on the cross.

I had all sorts of feelings of the witches, Aslan, and Jesus being martyrs. Feeling about the people around them of “they know not what they do”. Feelings of anger. Feelings of acceptance. Feelings of deep sadness around the ways of man.

As I held my body in the shape of Jesus on the cross, I began to think it must have been very painful for him. I tried to magnify the experience by looking for the pain. I felt some in my lower back and my arms.

Eventually the scene shifted, and I found myself wrapping the sheet around my body, trapping my legs and securing the trap with my arms. I felt as if I were floating in amniotic fluid within my mother’s body. I felt tight, trapped, secure. It was at the same time both confining and comfortable. I felt what it must have been like to go along for the ride as she led her daily life. It was bumpy, wavy, peaceful.

I then began to identify the sheet as my mom’s umbilical cord. It had me tightly confined. I struggled in an attempt to break free from it, and as I realized I could, I relented and let it contain me. I struggled with it again. The same process unfolded. I did this many times. I realized that I needed to get free but that I did not want to sever the connection with my mom.

This realization brought me great pain. I did not want to cut our cord. At the same time, the cord was keeping me trapped. Metaphorically — yes!

Eventually I was able to push past the pain and release one of my feet from the grip that my mom’s umbilical cord had on me. I could see how all life eventually ended, but that life itself would just keep creating.

I saw our world sort of fold into itself, showing that as things died, life persisted. I knew that even if we destroyed our planet, that life would go on. It would never cease to be.

I also realized that when my mom died, she stopped being my mom, at least in the way I know her to be my mom.

I saw how that if we are all just a drop of water in the ocean, that when we die, we all rejoin the ocean. We are all one. I realized that this must be the most beautiful thing imaginable, and so we must all crave it, but I also felt pain. Pain that my mom is no longer my mom and that one day my children will no longer be my children. Life continues but we cease to be — as we are.

I saw my enmeshments with my mom, and My children, and my partner, and my dog and……. I saw that I was so identified with this me, this life, these relationships and that it would all cease to exist.

I felt and continue to feel deep, deep sadness about this.

I got deeper into my relationship with my mom and with the universe as a whole thinking about how we are all mirrors of each other. We are all one.

As I thought of my mom and the mirror I thought about her not protecting me, thus me also not protecting me.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall, you did not keep me safe at all.

I know I need to find forgiveness for us both.

My journey ended with me thinking “Mother Fucker” over and over again in my head. I was feeling anger towards my mom and myself, but also for the literal Mother Fuckers who fucked us over — the men in my mom’s life.

My Dad who left and did not keep us safe. My first Stepfather who sexually abused us. My Second Stepfather who was not equipped to nurture children, although I will concede that he gave us a much safer space to live. He was often cruel.

MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!! MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!

My partner snuggled up with me under the blanket, until the process ended.

It has been twelve days now since that breathwork experience in Woodstock NY. I am grappling what I consider to be an ego death knocking on my door. I want to hide, to tell it to go away, that no one is home.

I know it’s too late for that. I know what has been seen cannot be unseen. I know I am grasping, trying to stay attached to my attachments, trying to hold onto that which is unholdable.

It’s a painful process for me.