ASMR: The Powerful Practice That Helped Me Let People In

“For the person that needs to see this today: Your heart will heal, your tears will dry, your season will change. Rest tonight, knowing the storm will end.” ~Unknown

Like many people, I didn’t have the easiest time growing up. Between having a toxic family upbringing and being bullied, I learned to trust nobody and keep to myself. Being naturally bold and self-sufficient enabled me to move through the world independently, relying on as few people as possible. Living this way was the closest experience to safety I could reference.

Over the years, my lifestyle of hyper-independence increased, and I …

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“For the person that needs to see this today: Your heart will heal, your tears will dry, your season will change. Rest tonight, knowing the storm will end.” ~Unknown

Like many people, I didn’t have the easiest time growing up. Between having a toxic family upbringing and being bullied, I learned to trust nobody and keep to myself. Being naturally bold and self-sufficient enabled me to move through the world independently, relying on as few people as possible. Living this way was the closest experience to safety I could reference.

Over the years, my lifestyle of hyper-independence increased, and I drifted further away from others. This coincided with a new career field I’d moved into that required much travel. As I threw myself into making money, I cut ties with many of the remaining relationships in my life, wanting to rid myself of anything that felt interdependent.

“I don’t need anybody now,” I justified to myself. “As long as I have money, I can buy support.”

This wasn’t a dig at the people in my life as much as it indicated a deep feeling of unease that had always followed me in relationships. Connection was challenging for me, and I hated being faced with my perceived failures.

As much as I wanted to disappear into the busyness of work, as time passed, I couldn’t escape how painful it was to be alone. I would often wake up in a new hotel room unsure of what city I was in, and feeling so lonely, I thought at times that I might literally die from the pain of it. The self-imposed isolation started to feel like a prison that I didn’t know how to break out of.

The more I tried to distract myself, the more suffocating the isolation became. It was as if the walls of the hotel rooms were closing in on me, mocking my attempts to fill the void. Each morning, I would force a smile onto my face, pretending to be content with my solitary existence. Still, inside, my soul ached for connection.

During this time, I desperately craved human touch. Sometimes, I felt as though my body was withering like a flower while sensing the absence of a loved one to cuddle with or hug. I wanted physical contact that felt gentle and nurturing. Touch that allowed me to feel a sense of home.

Yet, deep down, fear gnawed at me. Fear that if I allowed myself to let others in, to depend on them, I would be vulnerable to the same pain and rejection that had haunted me in the past. I had constructed a thick fortress around my heart to shield it from potential pain.

I wish I could say that one day I woke up and decided to make a change, but it took time. As the magnitude of my trauma started to come into focus, I developed a newfound appreciation for the parts of myself I had judged because of their unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Harsh criticism was replaced by tenderness and even admiration for all I’d been managing to hold up. For the fact that I had still managed to strive and dream and hope in the face of so much pain.

But it wasn’t until somatic practices were introduced into my life that I was able to heal some of the more profound wounding that had been following me around.

Somatic means “of the body” and is a growing area of study in the mental health and wellness space. Research studies reveal how trauma isn’t located strictly in the brain but is held in our nervous system and physiological responses.

For example, our body kicks into action when we encounter a stressful situation. Our psychology cannot tell the difference between physical or emotional pain, so its first instinct when encountering either is to move into a flight-or-fight stress response.

This shows up in the body as a spike in cortisol levels and blood rushing to our legs s