Migrane

Let me tell you a story about migraine — about an immense tension that built up in layers, like mountain rock forming over centuries.

Quietly, slowly, deeply — one layer merging with another — until crystals appear. They may look beautiful, but in truth they are compressed pain.
Pain that is too heavy, too sharp, too unbearable for a small child.
Rejection. Neglect. Denial of the most basic needs that form the foundation of life.
And the person simply lives and adapts to the conditions they were given.
Until, years later, we meet a radiant forty-year-old woman — beautiful inside and out — yet carrying this unbearable, almost inhuman tension within.
At some point she finally feels it’s time to turn her attention to her own body — not to her clients, not to others — but to herself.
Because the most difficult, frightening, and painful thing is to connect with what lives inside and truly feel it.
You can help others brilliantly and still avoid creating the conditions to meet your own inner pain.
And since I work in a body-oriented way, I meet people at the point of pain, at the edge of discomfort.
Like migraine — which often intensifies around perimenopause, when the body can no longer carry what it once could.
It begins to stop your life.
Migraine won’t let you do anything: you can’t think, you can’t look, you can’t function.
It paralyzes your world.
And what’s worse — the fear of the next attack grows.
You begin to fear your body, to fear yourself — afraid that in the most important moment the attack will come, and nothing will help.
That’s when we go deeper.
When medication doesn’t help, when there’s no answer, we start looking.
And we find those ancient layers — they begin to rise, to surface, to release.
One aspect that often emerges is guilt.
Sometimes guilt for something specific — but often guilt simply for existing.
Guilt for the hair, the skin, the eyes, the body shape.
I want to share with you the story of one meeting — between a little girl and her father who rejected her.
Not because he rejected her, but because he rejected something within himself.
The daughter, through her appearance, showed a deep, primal strength — her ethnic roots.
I’m speaking about the ethnic aspect — about how in many cultures there are “white people” and everyone else considered lower in rank.
I’m speaking about Indigenous peoples across countries.
This runs very deep.
Today we talk about diversity and inclusion — but one law, one generation cannot erase the buried sense of humiliation, the feeling of being second-class, of not being white enough, of being treated differently.
The rejection of ancestral language, the denial of ancestral culture, the attempt to hide one’s roots — to assimilate completely just to belong — all of that leaves a mark.
And so the little girl carries guilt — simply because her unruly hair, her dark skin, her dark eyes remind her father of something he tried to erase.
The voice of the ancestors speaks through her appearance.
That rejection and neglect from the father is not about her — it’s about his inner conflict.
Because often, when we look at another person, we don’t see them — we see our own wound.
And we can’t face it.
This is what often happens between parents and children.
Especially when siblings differ in appearance — some lighter, some darker — and attention fixates on how they look.
But what hides beneath that fixation?
It’s painful — and yet deeply meaningful.
It reaches far beyond the personal — beyond guilt or the relationship with the father.
It connects to the lineage, to society, to collective trauma.
The roots go not only to the father, but much deeper.
And that’s fascinating.
I’m sharing just one small thread of a much larger tapestry — where not only appearance and guilt are woven, but also the gift.
Among Indigenous peoples, healing traditions and certain energies are passed through generations — they search for the one who can receive and carry the gift.
It travels like a wave through the lineage and finds the person strong and ready enough to hold it.
Not everyone can receive or transmit such energy.
In some families, those healers still exist — grandmothers, grandfathers, carriers of the old ways — in Latin America, Africa, Asia.
When the tradition is close, still alive, it’s powerful.
For others, like myself, the connection is distant, broken, lost — and we create something new out of many scattered pieces.
A kind of new age lineage — a synthesis born from fragments.
But whether close or far, this healing force is part of our becoming.
Because severe migraines often mean more than physical pain — they show that we are holding back not only our own emotions, but also the ancestral energy that wants to flow through us.
Sometimes, there is no choice.
It’s like the “shamanic illness” — when you are chosen, and you cannot refuse.
Your wellbeing depends on accepting the path.
So this case that began simply with migraine unfolds into a stunning, intricate pattern — beautiful, painful, alive.
That’s the story I wanted to share with you, my dear ones.
And I’ll be watching with curiosity to see how it continues to unfold.
Migraine.
A deep guilt toward the father — for the appearance that reminds him of ethnic roots he tried to forget.