Why Changing Your Language Changes Everything

I want to tell you about a patient I'll never forget.

He was an elderly man whose wife had been coming to the clinic I worked at to see another therapist.

So, with her encouragement, he figured he'd give a massage a try.

Came in twice, and he wasn't really sold on it.

After his second appointment, we were sitting in the waiting area sorting out billing and rebooking, and I asked him if he wanted to book anything else for down the line.

And he wasn't sure.

But his wife didn't hesitate.

She looked at him and said, no, you're rebooking right now.

You're a completely different person when you come home from these appointments.

He hadn't noticed it himself, but she had.

Every time he walked back through that door after seeing me, something had shifted.

His mood, his demeanor, the way he carried himself.

Whatever was happening in that treatment room was following him home.

So we started booking him in about every three weeks.

Now here's the thing.

He had been diagnosed with PTSD after serving in the Navy.

He'd been on a vessel when a fire broke out and he witnessed some crew members get seriously injured and some of them didn't make it.

And when he got on my table, he talked every single appointment.

In fact, I'd have to kind of end the appointment a little bit early because of how much he loved to talk just to give him enough time that we could have enough of a conversation.

He'd open up about what he'd seen in the Navy.

He'd talk about traffic, local politics, things that were frustrating him.

And he swore, freely, without any filter, because he knew it didn't bother me.

He could say whatever he needed to say without worrying about my reaction.

And honestly, I don't think anything I did with my hands really mattered.

It was always a low back treatment.