Every emotion has an immediate physical reaction

Please note: My experience was a highly unusual chain of events. When dealing with pain, people should always follow the advice of medical professionals.

I walked into the foyer of the Midland Hotel in Manchester. It was a Saturday morning in August 1997. I was taking part in a seminar on the revolutionary training techniques called S.A.Q.

The seminar was hosted by an American guy called Randy. S.A.Q was short for speed, agility and quickness. I would be helping him demonstrate resisted plyometric leaps. This involved me jumping several times as high as I could, both with and without resistance.

Walking into the seminar, I felt excited. I could see around 200 people waiting in anticipation for the quick feet and explosive power demonstrations to start. I was flattered to be a part of such a big event.

At this exact moment, my phone rang.

It was a slick, dark purple Sony Ericsson with an aerial and a flip-top cover. I took the call quickly. The reception was good. I could hear my uncle Robert's voice clearly. He was my mum's youngest brother and one of five children.

"Stephen, your mother died this morning, I thought you should know. I'll be in touch regarding the funeral, once I know what's going on."

I thanked him and asked him how she died.

"Her pancreas erupted whilst she was on an orthopaedic ward."

He hung up.

Whatever the cause of death, it sounded painful.

As much as I had been anticipating the news of my young, yet long-suffering, alcoholic mother's death, the shock rippled through me. However, as the seminar began, I focused surprisingly well.

I was first up to demonstrate. I did my standing leap. This was measured. Then resistance was added and I prepared myself to leap eight times. I wanted to do well.

All eyes were on me. I pushed hard with every ounce of strength I had. As I propelled into the air with a powerful leap, my lower back exploded. I crumpled to the floor. It was as if a hot poker had been pushed into my spine.

I literally crawled back to my seat, in front of hundreds of stunned spectators. I felt humiliated. But, the heat and pain in my back were impossible to ignore.

Weeks and months of agony followed. I could barely walk. Sleeping was fitful and there were moments I could do nothing but lie on my back. I spent a small fortune on physiotherapists, chiropractors and massage therapists. But, the pain was still excruciating.

My final visit to the physiotherapist was a sobering experience.

"You'll never run or play sport again. My advice is to have an epidural and have the lumber spine fused. Potentially, you'll need a stick to walk for the rest of the foreseeable future."

"You'll never run or play sport again."

I was 32 years old, sporty and super active. It sounded like a death sentence. But, my physio was a five nations rugby physio. He knew his stuff. There was no point doubting him. I rattled home on the bus to East Croydon Station. My head was numb and my back still a box of firecrackers going off in bursts of agony.

I kept working as a personal trainer. I was busy and still revelling in the newfound financial freedom. Plus, I was due to go to Hollywood to train the cast of a major film for several months.

The threat of my back pain ruining this amazing opportunity was pressing heavily on my heart. Flying for twelve hours would be my idea of hell right now and literally impossible.

So, three times a day I iced my back, did lumber sciatic nerve slumps and took an anti-inflammatory. I did all I could to improve my situation. Surely, the pain would go? But, nothing changed.

I was beginning to feel hopeless.

One of my personal trainer clients suggested I go and see Soizic. Soizic was a psychosynthesis healer. I'd never heard of psychosynthesis healing before but I was willing to try anything. Although it sounded like a crazy option, I was desperate. The idea of an epidural and a stick as a walking aid for the rest of my life was enough motivation to explore every possible avenue.

I knocked nervously on Soizic's door. She was a bright-eyed, warm, smiling, French, 50-year-old woman. I immediately felt safe. She was expensive at $60 per hour. So, I decided to let go of everything. I would let her do anything without question or doubt. I would not hold back. I was here to learn.

What followed was a life-changing moment.

Her therapy room was cosy. Large crystals, framed meditative quotes and old dusty books filled the wooden shelves.

We talked about childhood and the recent death of my mother. This was to be the focus. Soizic lead me through a sound and colour guided meditation that involved opening my chakras and making guttural noises to accompany them.

Part of me did wonder what was going on. It felt alien. I was self-conscious. Could this really work? But, I had made a promise to myself. So, I began, ooooh, arrrr, ohmmm ahhhh, ehhhhh, eeeee. My eyes were closed. I was transported to somewhere otherworldly as I chanted.

The incense swirled in the small room. Soizic encouraged me to verbalise my pain and anger. We visualised my mother talking to me, asking for my forgiveness and asking to share my pain. She reassured me of her deep love for me. I knew somewhere inside my cynical side was doubting it all. But, I just ran with it. I had no other hope.

In a moment of true intensity, Soizic told me she was about to pull all the emotional pain out of me. The force she put into the pull was more powerful than I could ever have imagined. She fell back with a deep human guttural noise and I collapsed into a huge cushion.

Tears were running down my face.

The stillness was beautiful. The late autumn sun poured in through the window. I was exhausted. Soizic looked exhausted too.

In time, we reversed out of the meditation and closed our open chakras. With a final rub on the top of my head, I stood up. I experienced a mixture of lightheadedness and mild embarrassment.

"Stamp your foot," She requested.

I'd been unable to put any weight through my right foot for three months without passing out in extreme pain.

But, I did as I was told. I stomped my foot hard on the floor, steeling myself for the electric shock of agony to course through my back.

Nothing.

I did it again.

Still nothing.

I handed over $60 and gave Soizic a hug. I walked outside and along the street. It felt like I was hovering instead of walking. The lightness of my body and mind was unreal.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on a bench with the sun on my face. A deep peace ran through me. I had never felt so calm in my life. What on earth had just happened?

The agonising pain in my back was completely gone.

The stick I would have to use forever, along with the nightmare the physio had painted for my future, had evaporated into thin air.

My debilitating back pain was gone. An intuitive healer, with the brightest eyes I had ever seen, had healed the agony no one else could fathom or solve.

I was a new man with a new lease of energy. My mum was dead, but there was an understanding deep within me. My unexpected peace and lack of chronic pain told me everything would be OK.

Dealing with the loss of a parent is never a straight-cut path. The pain can come in many different forms. And when dealing with physical pain, people should always follow the advice of their doctors or medical professionals.

My experience was a highly unusual chain of events that will remain with me forever. I learnt that by embracing the pain I feel and being open to help from others, I can begin to process my emotions and deal with my grief.