“Happy birthday, daughter. I wish you’d never been born.”
Don’t worry. The story has a happy ending.
It was the day after my 30th birthday. Mom called to wish me a happy one. The fact that she’d remembered to call at all was a surprise. We’re not big on celebrating silly things like birthdays in our family.
That call was 23 years ago. I was six months pregnant with my first (and only) child. After a few minutes of chit chat, Mom said,
“I had a body release yesterday in my craniosacral treatment.”
I was excited to hear that since I’d experienced the release of a body trauma during a craniosacral treatment a couple of years earlier. I was laying on my back, relaxed when I inhaled a huge breath, curled into the fetal position then spun myself on the table three times, unable to breathe.
When I got home from that treatment I called Mom to tell her about the weird experience I’d had. In her matter-of-fact manner, she said,
“Oh. You just re-experienced your birth. The umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck and you were being choked so the doctor had to spin you three times to get you to breathe.”
