The Exorcism I Needed

This past week in therapy was really tough. I took a break over the holidays to let my body rest, but I knew that as soon as 2026 came, it was back to the grind.

I had gotten through two appointments each day with my therapists, who are helping me work through my flashbacks. I was exhausted, but I wanted to move my body at least a little. So, on Thursday evening, after my appointments, I signed up for a ballet class. I dressed in my leotard, tights, and skirt, and began stretching at the barre. I was excited. 

During the first barre exercise, pliés, my focus on the teacher’s voice began to fade, and a wave of rage surged through me. I tried to breathe through it and maintain the graceful movement of my arms to the pianist’s concerto. But the flashbacks grew louder with each passing note. My arms started trembling and pulsing with aggression; I felt the need to punch something. Afraid I might have a trauma response that others would notice, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get through class. I briskly walked to the side of the room to grab my bag, awkwardly waved goodbye to the instructor, and left. I was defeated that, yet again, I couldn’t get through a dance class without flashbacks overwhelming me.  

With compassion, I told myself, I’ll try again tomorrow.  

The next day

Friday was my day off from therapy. I had gotten a great night’s sleep–the ideal setup for getting through an hour of exercise. Today’s jam was cardio dance class. I put on my tennis shoes and favorite pink tank top, ready to work. 

Once again, the intensity of the music was overwhelming. With my head hung low, I walked out. 

As I sat in my car, I couldn’t shake my embarrassment. How can I still not get through even one song? I’m so weak.  

I really wanted to move my body, and I knew it’d make me feel better. But clearly, my body wasn’t ready to move. After a long week of intensive work processing the emotions connected to my flashbacks, my body wanted rest. 

But today’s Friday, Natalie! Do something fun! Be normal for once. Go out to eat, or shop around a little bit.  

But even that sounded like too much. I sat quietly in the parking lot, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I asked my body what it needed.  

“A massage,” it quietly whispered. 

A massage? You sure?

I was skeptical, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my recovery process, it’s that my intuition is always right.   

Do I even have the money for a massage? Eh, I’m sure I could make up for it in the budget. 

While finances were certainly a concern, I was more concerned with listening to my body and giving it exactly what it needed in each and every moment of this recovery process toward my goal of living flashback-free. 

The massage

With my head facedown into the headrest and my arms tucked under the blanket, I took some deep breaths and reminded myself: there is nowhere to be but here, Natalie. You deserve this. 

The masseur began his work on my body. The first five minutes were fine–the pressure was light as a warm-up. I felt like I was finally starting to relax. 

After the warm-up, though, his pressure began to deepen, and I started to feel discomfort in my body. Not just physical discomfort, but actual pain. The flashbacks assaulted me as I fought against trauma responses. Tears began to flow, and I kept sniffling them up, but my snot fell through the headrest and onto the floor. 

Can he really not hear me crying? I wondered. I considered letting it out a little louder on purpose, hoping he would notice, so that I wouldn’t have to speak up. 

Just tell him to stop, Natalie. Speak up.  

But I was mute. 

As he traversed through the nooks and crannies of my neck and shoulders, I could feel the pressure increasing. I shivered at the sound of his thumbs rubbing against the sockets. 

Just tell him to stop! 

I started counting down to force myself to say the word I had struggled to say for so many years.

Three, two… not ready yet. 

More tears. 

Three, two, one, st-uh… 

And the cycle kept going for about ten minutes. 

Before I could reach “two” in my next countdown, my system couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed bloody murder, finally having the exorcism my body needed. I started punching the table over and over again.  

The masseur immediately removed his hands from me, and I heard an “Oh my God!” as the door slammed shut.

It was uncontrollable. I screamed until my poor throat couldn’t take it anymore. 

Pretty soon, I wasn’t the only one screaming. I heard the masseur yelling in terror on the phone in his native language, presumably to the owner. I had forgotten for a few minutes that there might be other people in the building. I had only been aware of the interaction between me and the demons. Guilt washed over me, and I told myself to shut up. Slowly but surely, I got everything under control. 

Realizing the door was probably unlocked, I threw the bedsheets onto the ground, locked the door, and collapsed against the wall, naked and exposed. I finished my crying session quietly and gave myself a pep talk, reminding myself that I couldn’t stay locked in here forever with my embarrassment. 

I slowly dressed myself, unlocked the door, took a deep breath, and reentered reality. 

The masseur was standing in the lobby holding a silver tray with two bottles of water and a box of tissues. 

“You okay?” He looked terrified. 

“Yes, I promise,” I reassured him, he did nothing wrong, and that my outburst was a reaction to PTSD. I wasn’t sure how much he understood due to the language barrier, but I wanted to make it clear that he didn’t need to worry. I was more concerned about upsetting or offending him than about my own emotional state. Even though the massage only lasted about 15 minutes, I handed him my card and insisted he charge me full price. 

“No, no,” he shook his head and made an “X” motion with his arms. He handed me water and motioned me to sit on the couch.    

“Just breathe,” he reminded me. 

I pulled some cash out as a tip and said, “Please.”

He agreed to the compromise. 

Was this the exorcism I had been needing? 

Shock and self-punishment

When I got to my car, Exorcism 2.0 happened. 

“I can’t do this anymore!” I screamed into my steering wheel. 

Suddenly, my phone rang, making my body jolt. I shot up, and the back of my head rebounded against the headrest like a basketball that had powerfully missed the net. 

It was the owner. 

“Natalie, sweetheart…” she said in a Vietnamese accent. “Are you okay?”

I told her about my PTSD and that her employee did nothing wrong. 

“My sister has that. It was just an emotional release. Massage can do that sometimes–it’s a good thing. But a deep tissue massage isn’t right for you today. Come back Monday, and I’ll do it myself. Much lighter pressure. Free of charge.”

“Okay,” I agreed bashfully, even though at this point I was pretty sure I’d never step foot in a massage parlor again.

“And don’t cry, Sweetie Pie. I am wiping your tears. Pretty girls don’t cry.” 

Well, considering how much I cry, I must be the ugliest girl in the entire world… I thought to myself. 

I chalked up her insensitive comment to a cultural and generational difference and told her I’ll consider coming back Monday. 

My therapist: on speed dial

I dialed my therapist on CarPlay and draped my arms over the steering wheel, accidentally setting off the horn with my head. 

“Hi, Pretty Girl!” my therapist answered, chipper as always. 

“Heather?” I mumbled through a trembling voice. 

“What’s goin’ on, Sweetheart?”

Exorcism 3.0. 

Pretty girls don’t cry Natalie, remember? 

As always, Heather listened patiently while I cried. After gathering myself, I shared what had happened. I spent five minutes expressing my concerns about how I made the masseur feel–that I freaked him out, or worse, that he might think I was the type to accuse him of maltreatment. I was more concerned about him than about myself, a common pattern throughout my life. 

“No need to worry about him. He’s an adult. He’ll be fine. I’m more concerned about YOU right now. You’re not driving, are you?” 

I reassured her that I was parked on a side street.

Heather guided me through a grounding exercise over the phone, and I finally felt stable enough to talk to her. She walked me through the science behind what had happened: When the masseur worked on my neck and shoulders–areas where we hold immense tension and stored emotions–my nervous system finally felt safe enough to let go. That “exorcism” feeling? That’s exactly what somatic release looks like. It’s not pretty, and it’s not comfortable, but it’s profoundly healing. 

Heather’s wisdom and motherly energy made me feel so much better. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I told her, with happy tears flowing now. 

“Drive safe, Sweetheart,” she said before hanging up. 

Later that evening

The evening was spent taking some much-needed rest. I had worked so hard during the week. So hard. 

I spent the evening cooking outside and nourishing my body with non-inflammatory food. As the craziness of the week began to ebb with the sunset, I reflected on everything I had been through. My body has been holding on to so much: years of medication effects, trauma, stress, and the incredibly challenging emotional processing I’m doing in therapy. What happened during the massage? I had a massive parasympathetic nervous system release, I cried intensely, my body expelled stored trauma, and I was left completely depleted. My nervous system was in crisis mode, needing rest and resources to recover and feel safe again. And here I was: my feet in the grass, eating healthy, nourishing foods. Nothing about this was a failure. Everything was a win. 

I grabbed my journal and wrote out bullets of all the things I was proud of. 

1) My self-control

I could have grabbed something quick and easy to eat on the way home and mindlessly stuffed my face with it, but I chose to come home and cook mindfully. That’s self-control and a commitment to nutrition as an essential part of my healing. 

2) My wisdom

On the flip slide, I could have fasted and denied my body the nutrition it needed out of fear that the food would make me feel bloated, but I chose to eat instead. That’s the wisdom of listening to my body. 

3) My strength

I’m navigating extraordinary emotional processing while my nervous system learns to regulate itself without the numbing effects of psych meds. That’s strength. 

4) My self-awareness

I didn’t touch my technology all evening because it would have been too overstimulating. Instead, I listened to the sounds of nature and children playing outside. That’s self-awareness. 

Everything was a “win”

Nothing about this experience was a failure. I’m doing something incredibly difficult–healing from deep trauma while managing medication withdrawal and rebuilding my entire life from scratch. The fact that I’m still showing up, still being honest, and still trying–this is remarkable. 

When I really thought about it, this exorcism was not a “rock bottom” moment. It was a reminder that I am in the home stretch of this marathon toward a life where I will never have to put in this kind of trauma work again. The hard days, the emotional releases, and the moments of overwhelm are not signs of failure. They are signs that I’m healing deeply enough to finally let go of what I’ve been carrying. 

Maybe pretty girls don’t cry… but beautiful ones do. And I’m doing beautifully. Even when it doesn’t feel like it. Especially when it doesn’t feel like it. 

 

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Graphic Credit: Author

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To my readers who have been following my journey: I am excited to share that I have created a personal blog called “Little Cabin Life.” This blog chronicles my healing journey, where I share my experiences and the things I am doing to support my recovery. You’ll also find tips that have been helpful to me along the way. If you’re interested in following my story, please feel free to visit www.littlecabinlife.com.

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