A story of pain and healing through touch and somatics - a case study

Published with informed consent for Olive Tree Therapies’ blog. Written by Angel - a pseudonym chosen by the author. Some aspects of this case study have been changed to maintain confidentiality.

My name is Angel and I’m 30, I use they/them pronouns, and I’ve lived with chronic pain, out of control behaviours and bipolar disorder for years. Dissociation is part of how I’ve survived — shutting off from my emotions, from my body, from the world around me. There are still days when that’s my default. I still have very difficult moments. But the difference now is I have something to come back to. A relationship with my body that isn’t always terrifying.

I come for sessions with André that combine somatic trauma work, massage, and we also work with essential oils. The essential oils in particular were surprisingly effective at helping me reconnect with my father who passed away several years ago. Smelling lavander during a somatic session helped me connect with my love for him in a way I hadn’t since he passed away.

What’s changed isn’t everything, but it’s something important. I’m starting to notice what’s happening in my body again. Not all the time, and not without effort — but more than before. Some sessions are quiet and comforting. Others bring things up I wasn’t expecting. André meets all of it with care and presence.

The space(s) where therapy happens at Olive Tree Therapies is calm, consistent, and — crucially — never pushy. That made it possible for me to feel safe enough to actually feel, without falling apart. Some sessions I cry without knowing why. Other times I just lie there feeling the weight of the blanket and the pressure of touch and remember that I exist.

There are still hard days. Some unbearably so. But over time, I’ve started to feel more connected — to myself, to my body, to the parts of me I thought I had to shut down forever. That connection doesn’t make everything okay, but it gives me something solid to come back to. A sense of myself that feels intact, even when everything else feels shaky.

After several months, I told André I hadn’t felt this steadied in myself in years. That feeling — even when it’s fleeting — has become a kind of anchor.