The Call Beneath the Skin

I never set out to become a healer.

In fact, I resisted it with everything I had. For many years, I dismissed the sensations in my hands, the visions in my dreams, the unbearable discomfort in my body that could only be soothed by something I didn’t yet understand. Something was calling me—tugging beneath my skin, spiraling through my muscles, whispering through pain that wouldn’t stop until I listened.

This calling didn’t arrive with an instruction manual or a mentor’s guidance. It came through my own body—through chronic discomfort, sleepless nights, emotional overwhelm, and what felt at times like a descent into madness. I wasn’t taught this work. I lived it. I followed the thread of tension, of twisting, of spinning fascia, like Ariadne’s thread through a maze. I learned to unwind. I had to.

I didn’t know it then, but what I was experiencing was fascia—a connective tissue that science often overlooks, but which I would come to understand as the living matrix of memory, pain, and potential. I was guided by something greater than myself. I felt it in my fingertips, in my feet, in my spine. I followed spiral lines up through my hands, down through my toes, and deep into the structures of the body no textbook had shown me.

My awakening to fascia was not linear. It came in flashes and spirals, in pain and in silence. I would work on myself for hours at night—rotating, stretching, pressing—until a tightness gave way and another revelation surfaced. Often, I didn’t know what I was doing, only that I had to do it. This was not optional. It was spiritual. It was sacred.

Over time, patterns emerged. I began to see how the fascia wrapped the body like a cosmic map—interconnecting systems, storing trauma, and guiding healing when touched with intention. And I began to feel something extraordinary: peace, relief, and a connection to something larger than myself. I was becoming whole.

But in those early years, I was alone with it. I doubted myself. I tried to walk away. I poured myself into other paths—crafts, businesses, distractions—but the spiral kept pulling me back. Fascia wouldn’t let me go.

And so, I began to listen.