I love going on adventures, so I took the famous Greyhound bus from Sedona to Los Angeles. It was the most comfortable way to get from A to B as I was traveling light but with a lot of luggage. It also reminded me of my backpacking days in Australia, sitting on a luxurious Greyhound bus for almost 30 hours, admiring the scenery and having WIFI on board. So, the 10 hours to Los Angeles were no tragedy. On the contrary, I was looking forward to it: I could finally read, listen to podcasts, relax, meditate, write … everything you can do on a long journey.
But this bus has a very different reputation in America, and God wanted to show me again that it’s better not to have any expectations. But I only realized this once I had boarded the bus.
Right at the beginning I came into contact with Daniel, a 31-year-old man, who helped me stow my suitcase on the bus. I noticed him not only because of his helpful nature but also because of the smell of alcohol. I took mental note of him, said goodbye to my friends, and got on the bus to find a seat. However, the bus was full to the brim with passengers, which frustrated me. Just as I was about to sit down and make room for my bags, Daniel called me to the front. He was sitting directly to the driver’s right, with plenty of room and an empty seat. I was relieved, and he was clearly delighted.
Daniel is from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and he is picking up his cousin from Indio to drive him back to Albuquerque for rehab the next day. He worked for Greyhound for 13 years, which removed the question mark on my forehead. Daniel joked with the bus driver and, as I said, helped stow the suitcases. Not to mention that Daniel was sitting in the most comfortable seat on the whole bus, which, luckily for me, he was now sharing with me.
We quickly struck up a conversation. Mainly because Daniel is only a year older than me – which, without hiding it, shocked me. I would have guessed he was in his mid-40s because his face and body looked like he had much to say. And Daniel did. He told me that he works around the clock and looks forward to the weekend because he can be at church and help others. At that moment, I pricked up my ears because my own father was an alcoholic and worked as a sexton in a church years before he died. So what was stressing him out so much that he had the inner urge to numb out? What was he running away from, and what pain was he holding on to? These and other questions gradually ran through my mind.
His eyes were glassy from the alcohol, his face was puffy, and his laugh seemed more like a mask. He was more concerned with filling other people’s glasses than his own. I saw a man with a big heart but didn’t give his heart a chance to speak and breathe – for fear of what he might find. This manifested in panic attacks and a stooped walk with slumped shoulders that protected his heart on a physical level.
In my work, I focus on helping men release their stored emotions and recognize where they are trapped in the body. We express our feelings through our “body language.” Our body stores our unconscious feelings, and we unconsciously communicate them to others through our posture, tone of voice, and facial expressions. Therefore, our bodies carry the memories of our trauma and grief deep within our tissues.
Most men I work with (and especially in my own experience) have this deep-seated fear of opening up entirely because of things that have happened in their past in this or other lives. These deep wounds (usually from childhood) cause an energetic imbalance in their sense of safety, security, esteem, and recognition. The lack of self-love manifests in self-sacrifice, self-sabotage, manipulation, and/or excessive self-sacrifice to get love.
Unfortunately, we have grown up in a wounded society where men have been taught that they must always be in control and just “suck it up,” “don’t show emotion,” and be “real men.”
When they don’t feel safe enough to talk openly about their feelings, desires, and needs, an inner disconnect ensues, keeping deeply stored emotions such as shame, guilt, and fear stuck in the lower centers.
The result, in most cases, is addiction. Addiction to pornography, alcohol, food, drugs, and sex. There is a need for external things to compensate for the inner lack. The intoxication of chemicals combines emotionally with male fears: the deep feeling of loneliness and isolation.
Cultural constraints also play a decisive role. Poverty, war, violence, and the constant struggle for survival leave their mark. That is clear not only on a physical and mental level but, above all, on an emotional and energetic level. If we are not affected ourselves, we often cannot imagine how deep the wounds of the older generations are in us and what psychological and physical effects they still have on us today. This also reminds me of my grandfather, who feared for his life in Russian captivity during the Second World War. They never talked about it. It was a taboo.
It is Daniel’s wish to become a father himself one day. However, he is afraid of failing and passing on the trauma to his family.
Daniel grew up as the eldest son in a family of five. His parents argued almost daily and not too infrequently; he was used as an emotional and, unfortunately, also, physical punching bag. He told me about a scene he experienced when he was three years old: his father was lying on the bed, Daniel was in the room with him, and his mother entered the flat with a powerful kick. She stormed into the room, shouted at his father, and became violent with him. She kicked him. He reacted, grabbed her by the throat, and pushed her against the wall. His parents are now separated, and Daniel has had no contact with his mum for four years.
He reminds her too much of his father. She also blames him for the death of his younger brother. “You’re the eldest. That means you’re responsible for your siblings,” were some of her last words to him.
Daniel’s eyes glazed over, just like mine. Now, the tattoo on his upper arm made sense because I had seen the date “1994” all along: Daniel’s younger brother died almost five years ago. He hasn’t cried since then. He lost himself in alcohol, weed, and cigarettes – until one day, he woke up and knew he had to change his life. He gave up smoking, started his own business with his father, and took a job at the church, which meant working non-stop. Despite this, he still feels lonely when he comes home at night. The inner emptiness is still there. However, he no longer turns to drugs, as he used to, but to the Bible, as he tells me. He has broken off contact with his friends. They don’t understand him and make fun of him. “They only call me when they’re bored or want to smoke weed.”
From my experience, I know that my clients’ biggest fear when they show vulnerability is being judged and criticized by others. Can you imagine that? That’s how deeply ingrained our programming is. Yet vulnerability requires so much inner stability and security and is one of the most influential acts of courage.
His grief runs deep. The weight on his shoulders is heavy. Even though he knows that his mother is projecting her grief, her feelings of guilt, and her “failure” onto him – it hurts. And this pain needs to be heard. But what happens if we don’t surrender to our pain and grief? I am convinced that it will catch up with us in the form of illness and a feeling of deepest emptiness and powerlessness. If we surrender to it, we will realize that the real grief and the original wounding took place much earlier: In childhood, as a newborn, and perhaps even in the womb.
Our first and most intimate connection to our mother occurs in the womb.
In the book: “Warrior, Magician, Lover, King – A Guide to the Male Archetypes Updated for the 21st Century” by Rod Boothroyd, it says: “This union appears to be a state in which the baby experiences mother and child as one and the same; in the baby’s consciousness there is no sense of separation. Psychologists tell us that a baby only becomes aware of itself as a separate being after a few months of life.”
I realize that without support, it is more difficult for men to connect with their feelings and heal the wounds created consciously or unconsciously, intentionally or unintentionally, during this time. Trust in feminine energy is mainly built up – or blocked – during this time. And yes, we are all born with different levels of resilience; what wounds one boy or girl may leave another untouched.
And there’s more: “We can feel this experience of oneness again in adulthood, at least to a certain extent, at the moment of orgasm, when we seem to lose ourselves.”
Every behavior and addiction has an origin, and we are responsible for overcoming it.
These lines are also thought-provoking and sum it up beautifully: all love and all connections can bring us both joy and suffering: Joy when we have it and sorrow when we lose it. We even feel sorrow when we don’t get the love and connections we are entitled to just because we are alive. Our grief revolves around the absence of what should have been ours but never was.”
When my best friend died unexpectedly five years ago, my biggest fear became an overnight reality: losing someone I loved more than anything.
It wasn’t until my boyfriend at the time broke up with me two years after her death that I broke down. At the time, I had also blamed myself for her death “…because I should have been there for her.” The fact that breaking up with my ex-boyfriend was the trigger for my inner journey was incomprehensible to me for a long time. At the time, all I wanted to do was die. And that’s precisely what I did. But this death went better than I had imagined at the time.
I never expected that I would find answers to my greatest fears and that my grief would heal hand in hand with my inner child. Today, I realize that the grief I felt back then was the grief that I had unconsciously suppressed for years and was, therefore, never able to express. But it caught up with me. I was still too young to understand the impact my father’s emotional absence was having on me. Grief is not only when we lose something – but also when we should have something, but it was never there. When I gave myself the inner permission to feel and express my pain, I was able to better understand my fears, my anger, and my self-harming behavior. I gave myself and my inner child the attention, love, respect, and affection it so desperately wanted at that time – in my case, from a male person. Energy healing, shadow work, and bodywork are, therefore, essential for me.
Rod Boothroyd also writes: “Feeling grief is a natural reaction to loss of any kind. Grief can shake us to our core and destroy our image of being ‘independent’ or ‘strong’ – grief connects us to our vulnerability and allows us to recognize our simple human need for connection. It connects us to our core and what is most important to us – to love and have a deep connection.
For some reason, in our society, we label grief as “painful”. But this pain is actually the pain of grief that is not expressed.
Loving yourself and all parts of yourself is not easy. Especially if one or both of your parents were not emotionally present and your emotional needs were not fully met. This is difficult even if you come from a “perfect” family. After all, we are all human, and making mistakes is part of being human. That’s why we all carry this wound to a greater or lesser extent.
For this reason, we need to listen to our inner child to better understand and comprehend it. It is even more important to take on the role of a loving parent for your inner child. If you can’t do that or embrace your inner child, how can you become a good parent yourself?
Daniel knows that he can break the trauma loop in his family and is already in the process of breaking it. In fact, we often have our biggest breakdown just before we break through.
“Why have you been drinking?” I asked him. He looked at me and paused for a moment. “Because I wanted to sleep on the way to my cousin’s house. I didn’t sleep a wink the night before. It’s become much rarer that I reach for the bottle – but it happens. You held up an important mirror to me today. I’m grateful to have met you and have much to process and think about.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and I could feel how honest and healing our meeting was for both of us.
Before he got off, he opened his rucksack and took out a packet of snacks to hand out on the bus. “What are you doing?” I blurted out. “I don’t need the food anymore.” “Are you sure about that?” He grinned and put the box back in his bag. “I need the food for myself because I’m returning to Albuquerque tomorrow.”
The time on the bus flew by. The seats behind me gradually became vacant, but I also enjoyed our encounter. That’s why I wanted to stay. Daniel thanked me often – but as much as I helped him – he helped me too, as I felt safe and connected. This made me smile and think of Ram Dass’s quote: “We are all just walking each other home.
The encounter with Daniel again showed me that we all carry a story. We all have experiences with us. Unfortunately, these experiences are not always positive. We all carry wounds and traumas within us, and emotions such as anger, shame, guilt, sadness, and fear run so deep that our psyche has developed various defense mechanisms over the years – which were quite helpful for a while. All well and good. But that no longer helps us. Quite the opposite. It prevents us from being authentic, living our truth, and realizing our dreams.
Before we said goodbye, Daniel asked me if I had any ideas for a tattoo, as he still had space on his upper right arm. I replied: What do you think about forgiveness? He looked at me and smiled. “Yes, it feels good, and look, it fits right there.”