Soul Care: Embodiment and the Fortress of Disassociation

In January 2022, I attended an Embodied Healing workshop by my friend Wanjîkū Kîarîe of Integrated Living (Kenya). We gathered in the sanctuary of Eastern Mennonite University in Harrisonburg, VA. The space was surrounded by stained glass windows and filled with the soft light of a Winter afternoon. It was a gentle setting where I comfortably sat beside my friend Drew Hart. The session began with a grounding exercise. We closed our eyes, settled into our seats, and followed the prompts of the co-facilitator. All was well initially, but as we were guided into deeper attunement with our bodies, I could feel mine tense and lock up. I could no longer hear the facilitator's prompts over my mind telling me,

"No, we need this armor; the more you remove, the less protection you will have."

My mind then started to recall every microaggression and trigger from the past 24 hours: the confederate flags on the drive to the conference, the white woman who imposed herself on an intimate conversation with a friend, the white man at the hotel holding the door open for the white family ahead of me, whose kind and friendly demeanor quickly turned cold and angry as our eyes met. But those things were commonplace for me.

I'd lived in a majority-white community for 13 years where racism was pedestrian and hidden in plain sight. Casual xenophobia and overall disregard for me, a Brown-bodied woman, was routine. These things dwelled on the periphery of my consciousness. I didn't have a community to hold and unpack these things. To take note and be present with each instance would damage my soul irreparably and keep me in a perpetual state of outrage. Who had time for that? The few times where I shared my experiences with the liberal white people around me, my assessment of what happened would be interrogated with the insinuation that perhaps I was being too sensitive or possibly overreacting because,

"I'm sure they didn't mean it that way."

Or they just stared silently, waiting for me to stop talking because my reality made them uncomfortable. But why was I being bothered with all of that at that moment when I wanted to be embodied? It was at that moment, I recognized the impact of living this way while acknowledging its necessity. An unlock. This realization filled me with overwhelm and deep sadness. Disassociation in white spaces is how I existed. This awakening was profound and integral to my healing of racial trauma and ability to grab hold of joy. But my individual awakening was not enough in itself; it required something more.

Community

This conference was the first time I would meet some of the friends I made after my exodus from the church in June 2020—the community I built on my deconstructing, decolonizing, and liberation journey. For 3 days, I got to sit in the presence of Indigenous, Black, and Queer friends. I was safe to fully arrive with no pretext to make me or my existence legible to them. I could speak without the burden of explaining myself. I could just talk and be heard. Although I practiced my faith outside the confines of traditional church, I broke bread with Pastors, Professors of Theology, writers and healers. Exchanging ideas and stories, seeing them close their eyes and nod in sincere understanding, was a balm to my soul and an ecclesiastical hug from the Most High God. This was the community I did not have the courage to pray for. I am an introvert who loathes small talk and empty spiritual platitudes. I choose silence over idle banter always. At that time, there was no loss of words, awkward silence, or forced attempts to "make conversation." Just flow.

In the workshop, Wanjîkū led us in ceremony, and an ease returned to my body, I returned to my body and was present. The morning after arriving at the conference was the first time I had met Wanjîkū in the flesh. When she saw me, she hugged me with what felt like her entire soul, and as she pulled me in, she said, "You are safe here." I hadn't confessed anything to her beforehand to prompt such a greeting, and I typically prefer formality as I am "not a hugger," but in this situation, I recognized her as a sister. She greeted me according to her Divine knowing, and my body allowed me to receive her genuine act of love and welcome. Embodied. As we approached the end of the workshop, there was room to ask questions. Ever present with my epiphany during the grounding exercise, I asked Wanjîkū, "How do we practice embodiment in a world that is hostile toward our bodies and forces us to disassociate?" Wanjîkū replied,

"You do as much as your body will allow; there is no need to rush or force it. These are practices to help you return to yourself."

Return to Self

Inhale. This is my body, and I will listen.

Exhale. Thank you, body, for keeping me safe and for your wisdom.

Inhale. Not everyone and everything deserves full access to me.

Exhale. My essence belongs to me.

Inhale. I will move through this world, gatekeeping as I see fit.

Exhale. This is my body and I decide.

Inhale. I am at home here. I am safe here.

Exhale.

Soul Care

We exist in a world that is unwelcoming and unceasingly violent. This is why I prioritize members of the Global Majority in my work as a Soul Care Practitioner. I was invited to co-facilitate a mixed space with individuals who are white, and members of the Global Majority. As we were working through the rules of engagement, one of my well-meaning white co-facilitators said,

"Rebekah, the reality is, no place is truly safe for BIPOC."

I realized that was precisely the work I was meant to do, and I was going to go and do that. I excused myself from that project and launched Thambusami. It is from this space of love and a deep desire to provide sanctuary for the Global Majority that my work exists. Should you need a safe space to come home to yourself, I am here to journey with you.

With Love,

Rebekah