My First Experience with Cranio-Sacral Healing®

I wrote this mainly as a personal memoir for myself.

So much happened during the session and afterward that I felt the need to write it down.

It is simply my own experience, my own reflections, and a small expression of gratitude for a moment that touched me deeply.

A Night of Facing Fear

It Started with Five Drops of CBD

This time, I wanted to try it seriously and find out whether it might actually help me. At that time I often had neck pain, muscle aches and sometimes a deep pain in my right arm. There was also constant overthinking, an underlying sense of anxiety, difficulty fully relaxing, strong emotional reactions, becoming sexually aroused very easily, and a diffuse fear when I was around people whom I felt had significant influence over my safety or future.

I realised something important: my body had been living in a constant state of alarm for many years.

I had meditated for a long time and could observe very clearly what was happening in my mind and body. But gradually I began to realise that awareness alone was probably not enough.

It was not only about knowing what was happening.

It was also about helping the body learn again what safety feels like.

It was not only about noticing tension.

It was also about knowing how to work with tension and regulate it.

And body mindfulness did not only mean observing the body.

It also meant helping the body understand that it no longer had to live in a constant state of alarm.

From that point on, I became increasingly interested in approaches that work directly with the body and nervous system – approaches that might help a body that had been stuck in survival mode for far too long.

My Cranio-Sacral Experience

When Something Inside Me Began to Move

I told Martin about my situation.

To be honest, I thought I was simply going to receive a massage that would help with my neck and shoulder pain and relax my body. I knew nothing at all about Cranio-Sacral Healing. But it turned out very differently from what I expected.

The treatment room was small but very cosy. On the wall was a painting of a foetus that Martin had made himself.

I lay down on a heated treatment table, closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths and began to relax.

Martin lifted my legs.

What surprised me was that this simple movement alone made my body feel noticeably lighter. A deep sense of relaxation began to spread.

About twenty minutes later, I had the feeling that something inside me was beginning to move.

No specific memories appeared.

But emotions began to rise.

Then Martin gently lifted and stretched my head. My arms gradually became numb, and my legs also began to lose sensation.

I no longer had enough strength to lift my arms.

The emotions became stronger.

My breathing became deeper and more intense.

My body became increasingly tired.

My mind drifted into a half-awake, half-dreamlike state.

I closed my eyes and breathed out in long, powerful breaths, as if my body were trying to release layers of tension and holding.

Then Martin placed his hands on my lower abdomen while gently supporting the opposite side of my lower back.

This was the most intense part of the session.

My breathing became stronger.

My emotions became more intense.

My body felt exhausted.

And I began to have difficulty breathing.

Martin helped me sit up so that I could breathe more easily.

I was so exhausted that I wanted to say:

“Can we stop now?”

My whole body felt empty and drained.

I felt nauseous.

I had almost no strength left.

I held onto Martin’s arms simply to remain upright.

Throughout this time he kept reminding me:

“Keep your attention in your body.”

At one point he said:

“You have been too far away from your body.”

I do not know how accurate that statement is from a therapeutic point of view, but in that moment I understood what he was trying to convey.

One part of me felt completely exhausted.

Another part wanted to disappear into a foggy, dreamlike state.

To help me stay present, Martin asked me to look directly into his eyes.

Then he guided me to look around the room, notice colours and objects, and name what I could see.

As my attention slowly returned to the world around me, the numbness in my arms decreased noticeably.

Gradually I could move them again.

Then Martin guided me through some exercises for my jaw.

I realised that my jaw was almost always tense and that I often clenched my teeth – perhaps another expression of chronic tension.

He also showed me how I could gently tap my shoulders and arms to strengthen body awareness and reconnect with the present moment.

Step by Step, Returning

Afterward, Martin helped me off the treatment table and accompanied me while walking.

Every step was very slow.

I was not strong enough to stand safely on my own, so he supported me.

We walked through the room twice and then sat down to rest.

Later he took me outside so that I could connect with nature and the cool evening air.

Even walking was difficult.

Several times I had to stop simply to breathe and wait for my heartbeat to slow down again.

When Martin saw how exhausted I was, he asked a friend to bring me a cup of sweet tea.

At that moment, my body really did need the energy.

The Moment I Was Alone

There is one moment I remember very clearly.

When Martin stepped away for a few minutes, a strong wave of anxiety and fear suddenly arose.

The moment no one was beside me, a feeling of insecurity appeared immediately.

I did not know what else to do except sit there, watch the clouds moving across the sky, and try to stay with them so that I would not be completely swept away by the fear.

When we returned to the treatment room, Martin invited me to talk about what I had experienced.

But I was too tired to speak.

Instead, he talked with me for a while and helped me find more orientation in the present moment.

My mind could follow his words as if it needed something to hold onto in order to stay connected with reality.

Gradually I felt stronger.

More stable.

Eventually the session was over, and I was able to return to my room.

Staying with the Fear Alone at Night

Midnight and the Loop of Fear

When I returned to my room, everything seemed fine.

I ate some bananas and chia seeds to replenish my energy after the intense evening. I even felt well enough to do a few simple yoga stretches before going to bed. I lay down, relaxed and slowly fell asleep.

But at around 11:30 p.m., I suddenly woke with a strong wave of fear.

The fear appeared without warning and quickly filled my entire mind.

I could not find any specific trigger.

I was not afraid of a person.

I was not afraid of a particular situation.

It was simply a very strong feeling of fear.

Then a loop began.

I became afraid of the fear itself.

And I became even more afraid when I realised that it was the middle of the night, I was alone in my room and no one was with me.

The two fears reinforced each other and grew stronger.

The more attention I gave them, the stronger they became.

I sat up immediately.

My first thought was to bring my attention back into my body.

I took some massage oil and began rubbing my arms, shoulders, neck and body quite firmly.

Not because I was trying to fix anything.

Simply to feel my body again.

To remind myself that I was still here.

Still breathing.

Familiar Ways of Escaping

After I had massaged my body for a while, another survival response appeared.

Almost automatically, my attention shifted toward pleasant sensations in the body.

I recognised this pattern very clearly.

Whenever pain or fear became overwhelming, a part of me would look for pleasure and pleasant sensations in order to calm itself and escape what was happening.

And I have to admit: it worked.

For a short time, the fear moved into the background.

My attention was replaced by more pleasant sensations.

But it did not last.

Soon I realised that this was only a temporary solution.

The fear was still there.

It had never disappeared.

As soon as the distraction lost its effect, the fear returned and gradually took over again.

So I stood up, turned on some music and began moving with the rhythm.

I walked around the room and allowed the music, the movement and the emotions it brought up in me to give me a little more space to breathe.

That helped too.

But after a while I realised that this was another temporary solution.

I stopped.

Stood still.

Straightened my posture.

Looked ahead.

And began to face the fear directly.

Stopping and Meeting It

In that moment I remembered something I had taken from an earlier therapy session:

“Stop looking for another teacher. Become the teacher yourself.”

I stood upright.

I looked straight ahead.

I repeated these words to myself several times.

I was still afraid.

I still did not feel completely safe.

But I kept telling myself:

“I can do this.”

Then I began speaking to the fear.

Not against it.

Not trying to push it away.

But speaking to it as though it were a part of me.

“I know you are here.”

“And I am here with you.”

“I know you have been trying to protect me all these years.”

“I know you have done your best.”

“And I am grateful for that.”

“But I am okay now.”

“You do not have to stand guard all the time anymore.”

“You can rest now.”

“Thank you.”

I do not really know how to explain what happened afterward.

But it felt as if the fear had listened.

It did not disappear immediately.

But it slowly became softer.

Quieter.

Lighter.

God Is Love

Perhaps for the first time I really understood something about what it means to love myself.

Not self-indulgence.

Not convincing myself that everything is fine.

But being able to sit beside myself in the most difficult moments instead of running away.

I began to feel connected with myself again.

To feel more at peace with what was happening.

And the fear gradually became quieter.

In that stillness I began thinking about the love of God.

A very simple thought arose:

If God created all beings, then surely there must also be love for what has been created.

And if there is love, then there must also be lessons within suffering.

And a way through even the deepest difficulties.

I remembered a sentence I had heard many times before:

“God is Love.”

That night, for the first time, these words felt not merely like a thought but like a direct experience.

In that moment, it felt as though I was not only making peace with fear.

I was also making peace with being human.

With weakness.

With uncertainty.

With wounds.

And with the path of being a human being, which each of us has to walk in our own way.

Returning

At that point, it felt as though everything had finally been understood. Heard. Held with compassion and kindness.

The fear was simply a part of me that was exhausted after years of trying, in its own way, to protect me.

I stood still for a while.

Breathed.

Felt my body.

Felt the calm returning.

Felt myself settling back into balance.

At around 2:00 a.m., I went back to bed.

In that moment there was nothing left to run away from.

No reason to seek pleasure and pleasant sensations in order to escape.

No reason to look for a partner to fill loneliness.

No reason to seek affection to soothe my insecurity.

And no reason to look for a teacher to show me the way out of my own suffering.

For the first time that night, I felt completely at peace with where I was.

Nothing needed to be fixed.

Nothing needed to be avoided.

Nothing needed to be found.

I lay down.

And slowly drifted back to sleep.

The next morning I woke quite early.

My body felt lighter.

My mind felt calmer.

Although I still felt somewhat weak from everything I had been through.