a pound of cure….
The word "cure" came from the Latin "cura," meaning "care" or "concern." When the French incorporated cura into their lexicon, it morphed into "curer," which meant "to care for" or "to heal." That leap---from concern to heal---is a philosophical bridge I’ve negotiated over a lifetime in the healing arts.
My personal induction into the emotional realm of “care and concern” came via a childhood lightening strike. My sister was born developmentally disabled and much of her care and concern fell to me, the big sister. Beverly was six when she died, I was eleven. A sudden loss that tenderly lives on in my bones. Roots of care and concern are the unflagging legacy she bestowed.
For girls in the 1950’s who entertained career dreams, options were limited: nurse, teacher, secretary. Really. Unconsciously motivated by this childhood story, I chose nursing. My side-step to physical therapy happened after high school. That’s a different story but holds the exact same through line: care and concern.
I appreciate this chosen field for the variety of healing experiences it has provided. My first job was with physically challenged children. In my youthful innocence I never put two and two together. Never saw the direct connect with my sister. Which simply amazes me. I also worked in home health and acute hospital care before settling into adult orthopedics: treatment of bones, joints, muscles, fascia and often the nervous system. I loved helping folks restore mobility, alleviate pain and return to full lives.
I invested myriad post-grad hours studying the big world of manual therapy: comprehensive assessment, hands on treatment, patient education. The nuts and bolts leap from care and concern to healing. My hands developed into divining rods for tightness. For fifteen years I used my hands to provide the manual support my patients needed. All the while I paid attention. I learned a lot. I saw evident patterns emerge. And finally, in the course of treating my own injury, a brilliant light went on.
I discovered how every manual release skill translates to a self-care roller or ball technique. A process you can do on your own. My hands provide the precise massage needed for discovery and also give you a head start on releasing tightness. I cherish this table work. This piece is not generic. Change does not happen trying to follow tired old exercise hand-outs. This piece takes skill built over decades of experience.
It took time to develop this vibrant library of self-care skills and I suppose I’ll always be in the development process. But every orthopedic injury needs the same 3 interventions: strengthening, stretching and releasing. Stretch and strength have always been educable for home follow through. But release of tight fascia, muscles, joints---what I provide with these slowly aging hands--- is also learnable. It’s an organic take home from the treatment table and provides such immediate relief.
So here’s the bottom line. If you want to sit in the passenger seat, if you’re looking for someone to cure you, do not come to me. But if you’re ready to take the leap, plant your butt in the driver’s seat, if you long for caring, concerned, uber-seasoned support, I’m your gal. Support for you to be with your beautiful body just as it is while together we put skills in place that will positively affect change for what challenges you. Quality physical therapy is not a band-aid. Effective care gets to the root of what ails you and then provides the support you deserve on the road to healing.
If this intrigues you, consider an individualized one-on-one session. Not quite there? Drop in to any one of the four upcoming Letting Go workshops; get a big taste and learn some of that immediate relief skill. Come feel, come breathe, come change.
❤️Bella