Welcome into Flight School:
Through these recent chapters of The Summer of '72, first Lungs and now Closing the Gates, we've witnessed how true healing often works—not as a single dramatic moment, but as a carefully charted journey through the body's own wisdom.
The First Landmark: Breathe and Release
When Abrams first "unfolded" me, I discovered that my own healing began with oxygen. Like mountain climbers adjusting to altitude, we must take in air before we can climb higher. Those first needle pricks weren't just about physical pain I experienced in the past—they were about releasing years of held breath, held trauma, held life.
The Second Station: Heart's Guardians
In that second session, Abrams worked on the heart's territory—not just the physical muscle, but the spiritual center where boundaries are both created and crossed. Through Abrams' simple drawing, I learned that some gates need closing before others can safely open. That loving others doesn't mean leaving our hearts unguarded.
Third Stop: The Gut
Next week, picking up on the story, there’s another stop on my healing course, the gut, and that chapter will drop soon, but I wanted to pause so that this memoir (and any decent memoir you read) can do it’s primary job which is help you think about your own inner map. Lungs. Heart. Gut. Are all well in your interior landscape? Do they work in harmony? Or are they at war?
Healing is a journey. A long one. Longer than I could have ever imagined but I’ve learned that it’s also a lot like teaching people to become great writers. It’s one lesson at a time, and each builds on the one that came before. With healing, it’s like this: Conquer one territory and, in doing so, prepare for the next.
Teaching Points from The Summer of ‘72:
True healing is reciprocal:
The healer as guide, not savior.
The body's wisdom as compass.
Trust rebuilt through gentle attention.
Signs you're on the right path:
Tears that come without story.
Breath that reaches deeper.
Boundaries that feel like protection, not imprisonment.
Strength returning in unexpected ways.
A Note to Fellow Travelers
You might recognize this landscape where trauma has redrawn your internal maps, where trust feels like a foreign country, and where healing seems impossibly far away. I want you to know: your body remembers the way home. Like my journey with Abrams shows, healing isn't about forcing new paths but about rediscovering the ones that were always there.
Sometimes we need guides—not to tell us where to go, but to help us read the maps we already hold. To remind us that tears can be coordinates pointing toward home, that boundaries can be beautiful, that breath itself can be a compass pointing toward healing.
For Those Still Finding Their Way
Remember: This map is both ancient and new. Your journey will have its own landmarks, its own pace, and its own revelations. But the territory of healing follows patterns we can learn to trust. Let your breath be your first guide. Then, let your heart show you which gates to close, which to open. Trust that each step prepares you for the next.
The path through trauma isn't linear but spirals like breath, circles like protection around a heart, and delivers healing through the body. You can heal. You can find your way home.
Thanks for being with me, and please, share your own discoveries on the healing journey. I’m listening.
🐦⬛, Jennifer
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