Full Moon, Cupping & the Body That Remembers: When Life Decides You Have to Grow

I'm sitting here in the middle of a super full moon, and I can feel it in every layer of my system.

Today I've got time on my hands because I'm doing cupping therapy — and even though I probably look like some strange version of a 1980s supermodel, that's not really what's happening. What's actually happening is that I'm working through layers of ache, tension, and old holding patterns in my body that have been sitting there for far too long.

Growing Up Wild in 80s Toronto

This whole process takes me back to growing up in Toronto in the 80s, when kids like me were just roaming around freely, disappearing into parks, getting into mischief, and somehow always surviving it all. There's a kind of wildness in that memory, but also a kind of innocence. Even danger felt different back then. I remember stories of kids getting their Doc Martens stolen, of running from trouble under streetlights that felt like giant search beams catching you mid-flight.

And honestly, that's what this full moon feels like. Like a massive spotlight has been switched on, and there's nowhere left to hide from myself anymore.

Being Rolled by Life

I feel like I'm being "rolled" by life right now — like the universe has decided that staying small is no longer an option. My smaller self still wants comfort, still wants to stay in the familiar, still wants to shrink back into what feels safe. But something bigger in me is saying no. Not anymore. You have to grow now.

And it doesn't feel gentle.

It feels like pressure in the body. It feels like old trauma rising to the surface — because for me, everything lives in the body. When I say everything, I mean everything. The freeze response I learned as a child, the tightening, the bracing, the armoring of muscles that once helped me survive — it's all still here. I can feel it in my lower back, my hips, my ribs, the places that learned to hold still when stillness was the safest option.

I used to fight. I used to run. But mostly I froze. I became very good at being still, at clenching, at disappearing inward while the world moved around me. That kind of survival doesn't just vanish. It lives in the tissue. It lives in the nervous system. And now, in moments like this, it starts to unwind.

So I work with it. Shiatsu, yoga, cupping, heat, movement — whatever helps the body remember that it's allowed to soften now. That it's safe enough to release a little at a time.

But It's Not Just Physical

There's also this deeper layer of life asking me: are you sure you're done with the old version of yourself?

Because every time I say yes, life tests it. People show up with old patterns. Situations try to pull me back into old roles. Manipulative energy comes in quietly, sometimes subtly — and I can see it now. I don't miss it the way I used to. The illusion doesn't hold the same weight anymore.

Still, it's uncomfortable. Because seeing clearly means you can't unsee things. Once the veil lifts, you don't get to pretend you didn't notice.

Between Grief and Clarity

And that's where I am right now.

Between grief and clarity. Between letting go and stepping forward. Between the old identity I once lived inside and whatever is forming next.

There's grief in that. Real grief. Because once you see people and situations for what they are — not what you hoped they could be — something soft in you has to accept it. And that acceptance isn't easy. Especially when you're someone who has always felt deeply, always seen potential, always believed things could transform into something better.

But sometimes they don't.

And part of growing up in this way is learning to choose what is real over what is possible in imagination.

So I'm learning to stand in that truth. To choose myself more clearly. To stop negotiating with what drains me. To step out of the freeze response and into action, even when it's uncomfortable.

Signs That I'm Not Doing This Alone

Strangely, in the middle of all of this intensity, there are moments of support too. Little signals that I'm not doing this alone. The right people appear at the right time. Things shift unexpectedly. Doors close, but others open just as quickly. It's chaotic, but it's not random. There's a pattern in it that I'm starting to trust more, even when my nervous system is still bracing for the next hit.

Because that's the thing — my body still expects the next boot to drop.

But another part of me is beginning to wonder… what if it doesn't?

What if this is the phase where I finally get to walk without bracing?

What if the pressure isn't punishment, but release?

What if I'm actually being guided out of everything that no longer fits — even if it takes the form of endings, discomfort, or loss?

Staying With It

So I'm staying with it. The cupping, the movement, the tears when they come, the clarity when it lands. I'm letting the body do what it needs to do so the mind can stop trying to control everything.

And I can feel it — slowly, underneath all of this intensity — something is reorganising itself.

Not into the old life. Not into the old identity. But into something I don't fully recognise yet.

But into something I don’t fully recognise yet.

And maybe that’s the point.

For now, I just keep going.

 

For full vid, go to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao2Z7cCvjpg