Trust is such a wonderful experience in life when we have it and so difficult to reclaim when we don’t. Building trust in each other, our tribes, our working environment and our general reality, seems to be a very important factor in a calm lifestyle.

I have a story where a wonderful man had every reason to not trust his story. This touched my life and changed my perception in a double way, let me explain…………

It was a Saturday and a man had booked a session with me for a relaxing massage, having been referred by my contacts at the busy local visitor center, in the very popular small Dutch town nearby. He was a healthy mid-50’s man, who came in all buttoned-up, in a shirt, tie and stiff jacket, looking like a principal of a school. He was serious, aloof and very matter-of-fact.

My mum welcomed him, offered tea or water, while I listened for any clues in his conversation, with regard to friendliness or open communication. As I prepared my room, I heard silence.

I went out to the reception and he followed me into the therapy room, sitting immediately, removing his shoes, absently listening to my instructions before I left him to undress and climb onto the table, face down for his massage. I stood at the doorway, requesting my Guides and his to come in and assist me, as he seemed more closed off than my usual clientele.

I stepped in and began working his physical body into more balance. He was as tight as a ball of string, with less elasticity. The pictures came and they shocked me. I was seeing a young 5-7 year old boy being hit by an imposing, angry man, who appeared to have a drinking demeanor. The father figure had a large stick or hard bat and was beating the boy. The boy was covering his ears and his head, which still caught the blows. It was relentless. While I worked on the man, the silent tears fell onto my cheeks. I wiped them away with the shoulder of my tunic, and kept going. I turned him over onto his back and gradually completed the massage. His body definitely softened and opened up, while I was challenged with whether to share with him what I had been remotely viewing all this time. The massage was complete and silence hadn’t been broken.

I left him to dress, as I stood outside the room, my heart in one hand and a cup of our filtered water in the other. I stepped in, handed him the water and closed the door. I asked him tentatively if I could share my insights while his massage had taken place. He nodded with the cup to his lips. I began to relate the pictures of the father figure and the boy, who bravely took all the beating.

I stood with tears at the very back of my eyes, looking openly at this unblinking man, who didn’t say one word. He shook his head and told me I must have been mistaken. I reeled, felt very embarrassed and apologized for mixing my wires and that I don’t usually get those pictures wrong, and was entirely willing to claim my mistake. I wished him well and hoped he had a good massage experience, and please disregard my inaccurate conversation and accept my humble apologies for getting it so wrong.

I left him to complete, while I went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, rinsing my face at the sink, questioning how I could have been so totally off base.

I waited until I heard the door of the healing center close and then walked up to my mum at the front desk, telling her I really got that last session wrong. She smiled at me, letting me know I couldn’t have been wrong about the massage at least, because he rebooked for the next week.

I felt better, yet dreaded the next week’s appointment.

The man that entered the reception was in a Hawaiian style shirt, shorts and flip flops. He was smiling, relaxed and more than chatty to my mum. He complimented her on her shirt and let her know he was very happy the healing center existed. I was already blown away and I felt way more confident as I collected him to bring to our session room.

He sat and removed his flip flops, looking straight at me, asking me not to leave yet.

He told me I had the visions exactly right. He just wasn’t ready to admit out loud what he’d buried for over 50 years. He then looked at me and thanked me, with watery eyes.

I got really choked up as I listened to what he said next with my whole heart.

It was all true. His father was harsh, frustrated with his own truths and addictions. He blew his anger at his son. He beat him all the time, with sticks and bats and anything hard. The marks weren’t obvious and nothing was done to stop him. This was his brutal childhood. He lost trust in his own experience and life story. He had worn headphones, playing music in any silences, to drown out the memories that had hurt him so badly, on every level. After our session he had removed the headphones to sleep for the first time in over 50 years. He started to trust himself again. He had already booked for his wife to come and see me as she had lived with other trust issues, without being able to place the origin of them.

Our work took a whole other state of grace and his energy lifted to a place where he could finally breathe out. Nobody was going to hurt him. He could trust himself again. When we were complete with his massage and he was drinking water, preparing to leave the healing room, he told me he was married for the second time. The first marriage had ended because she felt she couldn’t reach him, and his relationship with his two adult sons was more distant and less honest and loving than he wanted.

He had arranged a weekend getaway, letting his sons know it was important for him to share something. The two young men, very curious, had agreed to join him, to stay on the boat he owned and had barely ever yet enjoyed. He was nervous and it was time for him to come clean emotionally.

While he was out on the boat with his sons, I was with his 50 year old wife. I laid her on the table, and within a few moments of the massage, I was immediately shown a tiny baby. I was encouraged to place her in the fetal position and rock her, with a soothing tune escaping my lips. She quietly wept the whole time. When our time was complete, I left her to gather herself, and I returned with the customary cup of water.

I let her know I had worked on a tiny baby, being instructed to hold and love her, empowering her with trust again. She acknowledged that she had been a premature baby, placed in an incubator in the days of premature births. Arms reached in to feed and care for the babies, yet holding, nurturing and loving them was considered risky, and so they were left alone a lot.

The reality of this had taken its toll. She had lived her life being aloof and not at all tactile with anyone. Her proclamation had always been that she wasn’t a hugger. She tearfully thanked me, hugging me as though she was never going to let go. It was so amazing and more than sweet. I was hugged for the whole 50 years, talk about making up for lost time. I had no idea that a baby could carry a memory that would impact their life for the whole of their life.

If that wasn’t enough, I got a heartfelt email from her husband within days. He had gone out in the boat with his boys. They all sat there in their life jackets while he openly cried and told them his truth, apologizing for shutting them out all these years. They wept and hugged him. They all felt close and loving toward each other. It was a very special weekend. Their relationship had altered forever, and his cuddles with his darling wife were more than priceless.

Trust was restored in all areas for all those lovely pebbles of life in that family.

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Love & Blessings,
Ruth

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