Healing is the New Black. (And blue.)

Healing Is the New Black

Healing is the ultimate upgrade—it’s like moving from dial-up internet to fiber optic. If you don’t heal, you’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you, maybe even people who love you, and honestly, they don’t deserve that. Healing isn’t just a trend; it’s the key to living a better, more present life. Trust me, it beats carrying your emotional baggage around like a Louis Vuitton knock off.

This brings me to my experiment with pain and the point of this series, that thing we usually avoid like men avoid leg day. My approach? Leaning in. No, not like leaning in for a peck on the cheek or a quick side hug , but literally leaning into pain. Leaning in instead of recoiling or pulling away. Not running away but saying, "bring it!" I'm all in for the pain, with the help of Luke, a skilled massage therapist/body work expert and a practice called myofascial release. Sounds fancy, but really, it’s the art of digging into your body’s tight spots until they beg for mercy. And no, it’s not whips and chains—that post will go into a different category, kidding you guys, kidding.

In prior posts, I have shared my healing journey through the tools, tricks and techniques that I’ve built my virtual toolbox with. I have come a long way toward healing with these tools. It’s important to understand again, that healing is less about erasing the trauma and more about learning to navigate life in an emotionally healthy way, less afflicted by the memory of the trauma. Because I am doing just that, navigating my life in an emotionally intelligent and healthy way, I believe that I’m ready to start the process of releasing the remnants of the emotions that have settle into my cells. Thus begins my experiment with pain.

The Science (and Sass) Behind Myofascial Release

For the uninitiated, myofascial release is essentially convincing your body’s connective tissue to let go of its pent-up rage, sadness, fear, or whatever trauma you may be holding on to. I often use the analogy of storing emotional pain to stashing old trophies, term papers or other nostalgic antiques that you can’t seem to part with. Energetically one could hoard these emotional trinkets anywhere, but in the yoga world we tend to think of our hips like a garage or an attic. We stash it for safe keeping and our hips stand guard and protect the deep memories in the seat of our soul.

Picture your fascia like cling wrap that’s been crumpled and twisted for years. Luke, armed with thumbs, hands, and elbows of steel and the patience of a saint, is helping me smooth it out. It’s the kind of pain that makes you want to curse but also reminds you, “This is for my own good.” Like eating kale, but more intense. Luke and I actually discussed my goals here and he coined the idea of productive pain vs harmful pain. He is producing productive pain and I am leaning in. And cursing. Maybe even crying. I have literally cried, not because of the physical pain, mostly I can't pinpoint the cause of the tears, but I buy into a theory that the release of these stuck emotions can create some of the original response, or possible they are tears of joy, the result of my cells having a going away party as this jammed story leaves my body like an exorcism. After a session, as I was driving home, I sobbed and laughed at the same time. I've done that after leaving a yoga class too. Also after leaving a family reunion. IYKYK.

The experiment isn’t just about loosening tight muscles; it’s about changing how I respond to pain. When the discomfort hits, my natural instinct is to tense up, flinch, or mentally flee to my happy place (usually involving tacos and some trees). But in these sessions, I practice staying present. Breathing through the pain. Watching it, feeling it, and—dare I say—befriending it, or at least listening to it. I see it as a process of Luke wrenching on my chassis in an attempt to restore me in some ways, and renew me in others. Soothing and smoothing out the dents and dings.

Why Would I Do This?

Because pain, whether physical or emotional, is inevitable. It’s the uninvited party guest that always shows up. And since I can’t kick it out, I might as well learn to coexist with it. This practice is about reframing my relationship with pain—seeing it not as an enemy to avoid but as a messenger with valuable intel. Pain often whispers, “Move. Rest. Pay attention here. Heal this.”

This has me wondering: If I can master controlling my physical response to pain, will it spill over into emotional pain? Could this help me navigate life’s inevitable heartaches with more grace? Maybe it’s not about desensitization but about building tools—like a pain management Swiss Army knife for both body and soul. Can I learn to lean into emotional pain, sooth it and smooth it and not stash and store it?

The Evolution of My Approach to Pain

Back in the day, I treated pain like a personal betrayal. Headache? Ibuprofen. Muscle soreness? More Ibuprofen. I popped those bad boys like Skittles, and my gut paid the price. Over the years, I’ve shifted my approach. Downward dog for a headache, self-massage for tension, and even an extra rest day from the gym when needed. Preventative care is my MVP now.

But physical pain is only half the battle. Emotional pain is sneaky—it doesn’t always respond to yoga or foam rollers (I’ve tried). It also doesn't respond to Busch Light, weed, tacos and retail therapy. Healing those wounds requires a different toolkit: self-love, compassion, and a willingness to sit with discomfort without running away, but by leaning in. And let me tell you, that’s a workout all on its own. Dealing and healing ain't for the faint.

Here's how I see the process as unfolding for me. I worked on the emotional pain with counseling, I built a toolbox to help me respond to triggers causing the pain to resurface; yoga, meditation, exploring nature, journaling, self study and reflection are all helpful to loosen up the pain that has settled in my little cell factories. Luke physically releases the stuck emotions and shows it the way out. I strength train and workout, often with the intention of toughening up those areas, so maybe from now on the only thing that can settle into my cells is joy, happiness and contentment. Maybe some satisfaction.

I'm also really into visualizing my cells as gyms and yoga studios instead of factories, still lots of energy production, but in a style that better suits me.

Why Healing Matters

I share this journey with you because working on healing has transformed the way I see the world. It’s not just about fixing what’s broken; it’s about shifting your mindset and lovingly repairing the damage the best you can. Healing requires compassion—toward yourself and others—and that compassion changes everything. Suddenly, the world feels less hostile, people seem more human, and life feels lighter.

This work is deeply personal for me. I’m here to heal—not just myself but others, too. Pain is part of the human experience, but so is resilience.

So, here I am, fully committing to this

We're just bent, we're not broken.

messy, beautiful process. Because I have one shot at this life and I didn’t come here to fail.

I can help you build an emotional support toolbox with functional healing modalities and I can help you with the physical release of stored emotions through functional movement. You didn't come here to fail either, believe that.

Contact me at Haught Yoga: A Boutique Style Yoga Experience in St Henry, Ohio.

Luke can help too, he owns The Fix, a functional massage clinic in Rockford, Ohio.