June Practitioner Spotlight: Jenna Frisch

“Chinese medicine is not just theory but a way of paying attention. It is poetry and a life philosophy and provides a context for recognizing our nature.”

Like many healing art practitioners, I found my way to my practice through my own healing. What I sought at the beginning of my process was a medicine concerned with all of me - the mental, emotional, spiritual and physical - and practitioners that could accompany me on my search to know myself, to feel alive, rather than prescribe an antidote to my very human experience.

I discovered an interest in massage therapy via a yoga training that I took in order to be part of a nurturing, healing community. My teacher was studying myofascial release at the time and walked us through a couple mini partner massage sessions. Connecting to a person in that way, being held in that way, was a life changing experience. There was a tenderness in the touch that welcomed release, as if layers of myself were shed - the pieces I didn’t choose so much as learned to wear - and I knew instantly that I wanted to pursue a hands-on approach to healing.

I fell in love with Chinese medicine at McKinnon Body Therapy Center where I first learned about the meridians, the Five Elements, and how this medicine is alive within each of us. Chinese medicine is not just theory but a way of paying attention. It is poetry and a life philosophy and provides a context for recognizing our nature. It carefully, and without bias, honors our whole experience. As a practitioner, I appreciate having this context when talking with my clients about the interconnectedness of all things, from what we feel to how we think to the way we move in the world. Through the meridians and acupressure points, I can touch and hold the experience of my client as I am guided by the body to offer the greatest benefit in the moment.

Part of my passion for being a massage therapist comes from accompanying others along their healing journey, and part comes from sharing what I have learned. Recently, I began teaching Acupressure and Shiatsu at McKinnon which offers a chance to deepen my relationship to Chinese medicine while inviting others to begin their own. This medicine has helped me deepen my relationship to myself most of all, which is where all healing begins.

Love Letter to My Body

“This is adapted from a post I wrote 3 years ago. I will be turning 45 this month and the more time passes, the deeper my love and acceptance for my self, my body, and my children. Happy Mother’s Day to Mothers everywhere <3 ”

One day, draped over me, Max playfully touched my breast, a fading instinct from three years of breastfeeding. He refers to my breasts as mama and me as mom. I pushed his hand away and gave him a stern look. He asked, “Mom, how old are your mamas?” “My mamas,” I replied with a certain nostalgia, “are 42 years old.” He continued, “Mom, “how old is your cheek?” as he brushed his hand against it. “My cheeks are 42 years old.” “Mom, how old are your feet?” “My feet are 42 years old.” “Mom,” now with a giggle, “how old is your butt?” “My butt, is 42 years old.” And on and on to other body parts.

When he left, I felt somehow reunited with my body in a way that I hadn’t before. Like a long devoted lover that I had taken for granted, I had forgotten what we had been through, these 42 years. How she’s always been there for me, serving me, protecting me, keeping me company, communicating to me, allowing me to enjoy life and create and make love and give birth and hug and run and dance and swim. About how she always responded to my true needs. How she made me rest and slow down with illness and how she always recovered and was there for me no matter what abuse I put her through.

To listen deeply to one’s body is like listening to anyone one loves, it is to put one’s own agenda aside. And that is not an easy task. Too often I was deafened by my agendas for what my body is supposed to look like and feel like. How she’s supposed to move through the world. What she’s supposed to withstand without complaining and how she’s supposed to perform. With so much agenda, it was difficult to hear what my body was actually feeling, actually communicating to me. When I didn’t listen to my body when she needed rest or nourishment, I ended up in pain and turmoil.

When it is time to lay down and die, my body will tell me to let go. And when that day comes, my wish is that I will continue to love, trust and be in gratitude for her. Even as she seems to be failing, I believe that she knows better than I what is best for me. My body has always told the truth. No matter how I try to hoodwink the world and myself, my body displays plain and simple truths.

I pray that I will listen quietly and surrender. And have the courage let go of the fine companion that has seen me through the trials of this life so that my spirit can finally soar with trust and gratitude. Thank you to the one so close to me I almost forgot her constant presence. And thank you to the silly wise little one who emerged from her to remind me of my mortality.

Love & Community, 

The Healing Power of Writing by Jenna Frisch

““If you can “let go” and tell the truth of what you have experienced or imagined, you can write.” ”

— Pat Schneider, Writing Along and With Others

I write to understand myself. I write to listen to the stories that live within the folds beneath my skin because in telling the stories there is listening. By listening, we bring our process into the light of awareness. Without this awareness and being able to see what lives behind the shadows, without calling it forth, we cannot transform it. With this awareness, we are empowered with the knowledge we need to start healing.

In my bodywork, healing happens when my hands are listening. The body holds physical, mental, emotional and spiritual stories, which I hear when someone is on the table before me. My fingers are antennas that reach out across the landscape of the body feeling for places that need moving, or holding, or filling. Writing is another way we allow these stories to be told. Writing offers awareness of how we take in and hold the world inside. It connects us to ourselves.

Writing can also be a tool through which we connect with others. We can share some part of ourselves with those who will listen. Our words don’t even have to try. They are our gift that reaches out and touches someone, bridging the gap of separation, by making them laugh, or nod in agreement, creating a healing effect. When we write together, it is helpful to have guidelines that build trust and keep us feeling safe, so that our unique voice is honored and our authenticity can shine. To build that safety, I rely upon the Amherst Writers and Artists (AWA) method, which I first encountered with Peggy Simmons of Green Windows. It is based on radical affirmations, such as  “a writer is someone who writes” and the guiding principles of AWA create equality while protecting the author.

The first time I wrote in a space held by the AWA method I saw in myself and others a fury of creative genius. I see it each week I write with the elders at St. Mary’s Homeless Shelter in West Oakland, many of whom have had interrupted education though many are also well educated. And I see the tender way this writing process brings them together in something other than their homelessness. Through this process, we create a bridge where the memoirist and the science fiction author and the first time writer can come together. And this, a coming together, is healing.

Click below to learn more about Jenna's coming workshop on Apr 29 (Saturday) from 3-6pm.