Embodied Healing in the New Year
For the curious. For the path-forgers, the allies, the open-minded. For those craving more. "The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door" ~Derek Walcott
This headdress was made by my wonderful mother, Tori Moore, for a performance in the inter-abled dance and music production, A Cripple’s Dance. I was moved to dance in bed with it on, and it was evocative and liberating. It later inspired a dance scene in my film, Move Me.
July 4th, 2023 marked my 11th “injurversary.” On that day, eleven years ago, I broke my neck and became a quadriplegic. I come from a small town on a little island in Lake Superior, and when I was injured, it shook the whole island. News of my injury spread like wildfire. Our floating microcosm grieved on a national day of celebration.
And so that date, July 4th, carries weight not just for me, but my whole community back home. And inevitably, every year friends reach out to ask me how I’m doing and if I’m OK.
This year was no different. On my 11th “injurversary” a dear friend asked me, “How are you feeling?” and without hesitation, I told her that I felt really good about this year. I felt a new energy that was sending me on an unprecedented mission.
For some reason this number, eleven, felt like an imminent renaissance, a new era in my disabled existence.
A shift was stirring in me. Not just a wondering, but a newfound belief that there was more for me. Waiting for me. More joy, more pleasure, more comfort in my body, more intimacy with myself and others, more physical access to myself and my world. More listening to my body and my truth, whether unbearably uncomfortable or downright delightful. I was identifying that there was a deeper level of healing and commitment to my existence as a woman with a disability that I had just begun dancing with.
I grew up dancing and received my degree in Dance from the University of Montana, I was a certified yoga teacher, and I was starting a dance company at the time of my spinal cord injury. Dance and movement were my life. In 2019, seven years post-injury, I finally came back to dance, after a devastating hiatus. The first project I danced in was an inter-abled project called A Cripple’s Dance. It was revolutionary for me. It introduced me to movement as a wheelchair-user in a way that gave me the intimacy and connection that I missed and needed.
It was embodied healing. Resistance. A way for us to celebrate in a culture that tells me over and over: you aren’t enough.
You aren’t enough when I can’t fit in spaces—literally and figuratively. You aren’t enough when there are no accessible bathrooms. You aren’t enough when I try to peacefully call out the woman who parks illegally in the accessible parking spot and she dismissively tells me, “Get used to it.” You aren’t enough when I'm three months into my time in Hawai’i and I still haven’t found a way into the ocean. You aren’t enough when I fill out paperwork and the space under ‘employment’ is already filled out, in mockingly large capital letters: DISABLED.
These micro-aggressions, the world’s constant hum of not enough, wears us down. Tell us we don’t belong.
I know in my bones I deserve more, but a wounded part of me is still searching, striving, trying to find myself in spaces that no longer feel like home.
I’ve struggled deeply over the last eleven years, searching for ways to move. Ways that feel good to me. Ways that give me the workout my body needs. Affordable and accessible ways. I can’t just throw on my sneakers and go for a run anymore. I can’t grab my mat and head to the next yoga class on a whim.
Movement for people with disabilities often means sacrificing a lot of your day to get to the only accessible gym, or schlepping a bunch of equipment around to get to the accessible trail. If you’re like me, it means asking for help from a caregiver or friend, and managing multiple schedules, just so you can access movement. Be it getting a ride, (I’m fortunate to be able to drive, but I’ve spent many hours on the bus and booking/waiting for rides), or getting transferred onto the yoga mat or into the pool.
We sacrifice, we put in the effort, we problem-solve because we’re human and we want to MOVE.
Sometimes having a disability can feel like a full-time job, and it is always a part-time job at the very least.
Everyday we rebuild our IDGAF-ness while holding space for our tender-exhausted-hurt-pissed-off-ness. All the while, juggling our desires and pursuits for change. I have to remind myself to have the audacity to live the way we all deserve—freely, unapologetically, and embodied.
Embodiment is where I find peace. Using my body to better understand and feel my way through life’s ups and downs and all-arounds. In movement. In breath. In touch, taste, smell — all the feels in my sensuously crippled self.
A practice of embodiment teaches us we can take back the ownership and validity of our existence. We can heal and grow. We can find magic and joy. We can find community and connection. This practice is a way to say yes to ourselves in a culture that tells us no.
Sometimes we have to create these spaces for ourselves. In our homes, on our screens, and with our people. That is what I hope to do here.
Care Collective is for the underserved and underrepresented. For the curious. For the path-forgers, the allies, the open-minded, the compassionate. For those longing for a more embodied life experience. For those longing for connection. Care Collective is a space to talk about the things that aren’t being talked about enough, the things that need more transparency and visibility — grief, adaptation, disability, sexuality, sensuality, ableism, accessibility, care work, relationships, creativity—all of it.
What if this year we gifted ourselves with a deeper acknowledgement of our bodies? I want to say to my body everyday: I love you. You’re my best friend. Or, ‘hey, do you want to be best friends?’ Maybe I’ll buy myself some beautiful flowers this week so I can smell their deliciousness and stare at them while I do my morning cares — challenge the seemingly mundane with my sensuality.
Paid Subscriber Benefits
Weekly Dance Meditation
Move with me in a live dance meditation class. This is an offering to celebrate our bodies this year. Together. Like a weekly sensual dance party.
Haaaaay.
Class will be held Live on Zoom on Tuesday night at 7:00 pm CST
Class will be recorded and available to watch for 1 week for subscribers. Paid subscribers will receive a zoom link the day before class.
Monthly Embodied Healing Guidebook for ALL BODIES
Includes links to meditations, videos, all ways to connect to our bodies.
Tools for creating embodied healing in our lives from ANYWHERE—your bed, your wheelchair, your car, your living room.
Monthly Moves Playlist
A new curated playlist monthly, by yours truly, for your embodied healing. It’s deeeelish.
*All of this for less than the price of a yoga class!
**Also, if cost is prohibitive to you accessing these resources, email me. Community memberships are available upon request. Please reach out.
If you live on the fringe—this is for you.
If you’re tired of swallowing your emotions, and you’re ready to get quiet, listen and feel into them—this is for you.
If working out isn’t enough and you want to feel something more when you move—this is for you.