my left shoulder

and the pain of letting go

Growing up, I loved massaging my dad’s shoulders. They were rock hard, and it was so satisfying to soften them up. I figured out moves like standing up and putting all my weight onto the tightest points with my elbow. I learned to drumroll with the heels of my hands up and down his shoulders to tenderize the muscles.

At the dry cleaners, he used his shoulders to pound away at stains on clothing for decades, taking them in and out of the washer, hanging them to dry. As he sat in front of the TV after a 12-hour day, I took my place in helping him recover.

I smiled when he would inhale sharply, or let out a groan when I found a particularly painful spot. The biggest compliment would be when he would say “시원하다!” which is the same word you use when you feel a cool breeze on a summer day.

Back then, what I wanted was his approval for doing it well. But looking back, I realize he was teaching me he couldn’t let them stay relaxed for long. To survive in this world, your body will bear the cost. And it didn’t matter if you went into debt. There was still more you had to spend.

As I grew up, I inherited his shoulders.

I learned to play guitar in 7th grade, and by 9th grade I was playing at church, leading people in songs during service. The guitar hung over my left shoulder, so I could make music and sing songs to show how pious and devoted I was to God. Because in order to survive long enough to get to heaven, my body had to bear the cost.

When I became a photographer in my twenties, I had a camera bag full of gear slung over the same shoulder for 10-12 hour shoots. The strap dug into my shoulder as I took thousands of images. I would photograph 30-40 weddings a year on the weekends, and other gigs during the week. I followed his lessons and didn’t let it relax. I was doing what I loved to do, but it still felt like survival. When the bag wasn’t on my shoulder, my shoulder still carried the anxiety and scarcity I couldn’t let go of.

When the pandemic forced me to stop everything, my shoulder got tighter, carrying all the uncertainty. There were times when it would seize up so badly that I couldn’t turn my head unless I shrugged. Eventually a knot showed up in my left shoulder, hard as a bone, painful as an open wound. If the body keeps the score, this was the part that held a grudge and didn’t want to let go.

So about a year ago, I started seeing Danush, a bodyworker. From the first session, he focused on releasing that knot. I’d had massage therapy before, focused on trigger points or tight muscles, but this was different. This was about letting go. My body didn’t know how. It wasn’t just my muscles that needed to release, but the grief, anxiety, and shame that held them together.

He’d ask me to inhale deeply and would press into my shoulder as I exhaled, long groaning sighs. They sounded different from my father’s. They were more raspy and guttural. I was pleading with my body, saying it was ok to relax, ok to let go, even if we didn’t know how.

I’m sorry I took you for granted. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to what you needed.

Between my sighs, Danush told me he was sending unconditional love to my shoulder. My shoulder started to listen. During some sessions, I would shudder and weep as something I couldn’t name would release and come out of me.

I’m feeling into my shoulder as I write this, and the knot is still there. I don’t know if this knot will go away, but I am listening to it as long as it stays.

These days I’m hearing something similar to what apostle Paul heard when he asked God to take away the thorn in his side:

“My grace is enough for you, because power is made perfect in weakness.”