Last night I started reading a book called Reichian Therapy by Jack Willis. I’d never heard of Reichian Therapy before, but I ran across it while doing my Googling thing, and it’s apparently based on the work of psychologist William Reich, who was a student of Freud’s. His theory was that behavior springs from personality, which springs from “character,” which is the deep down part of you that you never think about and is totally your parents’ fault. Neuroscientist Candace Pert say your body is your subconscious mind, and Reich says it this way: a person’s character is manifested in their body. So rather than simply doing “talk therapy” for the mind, Reich developed a method for both the mind and the body.

Anyway, this book I started reading–it’s  thirty-five dollars on Amazon or free if you download it here. (Warning–it’s five hundred pages long.) So far, I’m about one hundred pages in, and the theory behind the therapy makes a lot of sense to me. Willis says that when a child cries, it’s a full-body experience–their eyes water, their face contorts, their chest heaves, their breathing changes. When an adult comes along and says, “Quit your damn crying,” all of those physical processes have to stop. If a child gets the message that crying is wrong or embarrassing often enough, tension develops throughout their body in order to prevent crying not just in their eyes, but also throughout their entire body. If this doesn’t change, the adult child may be able to cry, but it will look simply like a few tears streaming down their cheeks, not the heaving-sobbing deal. Unfortunately, their character and body literally prevent anything more. And maybe they think, I wonder why my shoulders are so tight.

Willis’s book is unique in that not only is it free, but it also appears to relay, in detail, a series of exercises and practices to “change character,” release tension from the body, and promote healing on multiple levels. I’m just getting started with the exercises, but since one of them is simply looking at yourself the mirror every day, I’m already a fan. But seriously–the idea is to look at yourself the way you would a stranger in a restaurant, asking yourself, “What is this person feeling? Are they anxious? Are they elated?” Last night when I tried this, I realized how tired I looked around my eyes. Then I noticed that my jaw looked angry. I’m not sure what this exercise did on a subconscious level, but it did connect me with self-compassion. You’ve been through a lot, Marcus. Go easy, would you?

During the next exercise (which I was practicing when I took tonight’s selfie), I was instructed to “make faces.” You know, raise your eyebrows, shift your jaw around, flare your nostrils, whatever. Again, I’m not sure what this accomplished–I’m assuming it was about releasing tension–but it sure was fun.

The last exercise I’ll mention involved reaching your hands out in front of you and holding the position for twenty seconds. I tried it a couple times, and the first time I reached slightly up. The second time, however, I reached down. That’s funny, I thought, why would I reach DOWN? Well, I immediately remembered being a small child and how my dad would set me and my sister on top of the refrigerator. I remembered this being fun, but I also remembered wanting to get down and not being able to. Thus the reaching down. (Like, help!)

I don’t recall why I was on the refrigerator–maybe I was in time out, maybe my dad was kidding around, maybe he was on the phone. Maybe I asked to be up there then changed my mind. Regardless, I couldn’t get down when I wanted to, and part of the message my little brain and body received was, “You can ask for help, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get it. Better to take care of yourself.”

See how easy it is to screw up your children?

Honestly, that was it last night. There wasn’t a big emotional upset or hub-bub during the reaching exercise. I didn’t get upset with my father. I felt a gentle letting go in my shoulder blades, nothing major, then had that brief memory. The book says this is normal but not the goal. So try not to pay too much attention to sensations that arise, memories that come up, or emotions you feel. Just let them be, then let them go. Also, do the same for your dreams, which is where the big changes really happen and could get a little weird or crazy after doing the exercises. Last night I dreamed I had worms and a small octopus crawling under my skin, so maybe that means I’m doing something right–or Reich, as it were. (I crack me up.) Anyway, the book says the weird stuff isn’t the point–letting the mind and body fix themselves is. So go easy and take it slow–the slower, the better.

I think it’s really fascinating that the memory about reaching out and asking for help came up last night. Just this week my therapist and I discussed my independent nature, my determination to do everything on my own. Then that night, the night before my mom’s surgery, I had dinner with some friends and students, and all three of them–unsolicited–said, “We really do want to help you if we can. You don’t have to do this alone.” Honestly, I don’t know if the conversations with my therapist and friends sparked the refrigerator memory or if the book exercise did. It really doesn’t matter. But I’m coming to believe that when it’s time for healing to happen, you get it from all angles. Misperceptions are corrected. The body shifts ever so slightly. Whatever needs to happen, happens. This is the mystery I’m always talking about, the idea that for all the problems life creates, it creates that many more solutions.