I never thought I would be writing about doing a damn cosmetic procedure. And yet here I am.
I am sharing it because I thought I did all the work - worked out all the kinks, identified my triggers, done the therapy. And then I was completely blindsided by my own body’s reaction to what seemed like a simple cosmetic procedure. It showed me how much my body is still storing and how much I actually went through - even though I love to downplay it and convince myself it wasn’t that bad.
But how bad actually was it?
I recently had PRF EZ Gel done. Here’s the short version: your blood is drawn, spun in a centrifuge to create a gel, then injected back into your face to stimulate collagen and restore elasticity. I wanted it for my under eyes - being Eastern European means thinner skin, more pronounced veins, and looking like a raccoon no matter how rested you are. This was never about aging. It was about not looking exhausted all the damn time.
I was excited about it. Even though I really dislike needles, I am completely fine with blood and can handle emergencies that have nothing to do with me.
Let me start with the walk to the appointment.
I parked, got out, and as I was walking I noticed something glistening on the ground - almost holographic. I caught the numbers first: 1111. I almost kept walking, convinced I imagined it. Then I turned back and saw the rest: MANIFEST 1111. I still almost left it there. But something made me go back, pick it up, and examine it. It was a key tag - the small metal ring had opened and it had fallen off whatever it belonged to. A tiny, beautiful, holographic thing with angel wings and celestial details. Scratched up everywhere except the numbers and the message. I put it in my purse and walked into my appointment still processing it.
I was taken to a room for the blood draw. Have I mentioned I really don’t like needles?
My body knew before I did. It was not cooperating - my blood was barely flowing and then it clotted. When she pulled the needle out, the blood sprayed. I didn’t see it happen but I saw the aftermath - on her pants, the table, the floor. Everywhere. I joked that it looked like a crime scene because what else do you do. We switched arms and the draw went smoother after that.
Here is what I did not know at the time: when you are stressed, your body prepares for injury. It clots faster. It constricts. It was already in full threat mode before the first needle touched my face — literally trying to protect me from the inside. That detail matters. Remember it.
The procedure began. She finished one side of my face and moved to the other - and that is when something shifted. Tears started streaming down my face. Not because of pain. My skin was numb, the discomfort was tolerable. But my body went into complete overdrive anyway. I was shaking. I white-knuckled every object within reach. I was squeezing my own hands so hard trying to hold myself together - because I was not restrained. I was restraining myself. Staying still. Staying controlled. Enduring until it was over. Sound familiar?
I tried to take deep breaths. I tried to control the exhale. I tried to stop the tears. Nothing worked. My body was doing things completely against my will and I could not make sense of any of it. The only thing I kept hearing myself say inside my head was I just want this to end. And I was sobbing because I felt I had no control - over my body, over the next needle, over when it would stop.
My body was so tense she couldn’t even penetrate my skin. Nothing was working. She tried music. She gave me hugs. We took breaks because my crying was uncontrollable. At one point I couldn’t breathe - I felt hyperventilation coming and we had to stop completely so I could lean forward and find air again. She elevated my feet. My face had drained of color. I was shaking and unstable.
And the whole time, underneath the tears, I was thinking: what the hell is wrong with me. It is not that bad. Stop it.
I apologized. Over and over. For being difficult. For taking up too much time. For my body’s reactions being an inconvenience. I could not bring myself under control and I did not know how to exist in that without apologizing for it.
Do you know how long it takes to unlearn that? To stop apologizing for having a reaction to something being done to your body?
We eventually found what worked - numbing spray applied before every single move. Not just for the physical sensation. Something about that pause, that predictability, that someone responding to what I needed - it signaled to my nervous system that it was safe to soften. And it did. We finished. It was a success.
Afterward I asked her: what the hell was that? I delivered two kids easier than this.
She said: that was your PTSD. Something triggered you. But you felt safe - this was a safe space.
That stopped me cold.
I thought I had a handle on it. I thought I had done the work. But the body keeps score even when your mind is convinced it has moved on. Today my body felt a threat - loss of control, repeated intrusion, having to hold still and endure - even though I consented to every second of it and genuinely wanted to be there. My body did not get that memo. It went back to the place it knows so well and it came out swinging. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it. That is not failure. That is how deep this runs.
Nobody is immune. No matter how much healing you think you have done, there is a subconscious layer you do not always have access to - until your body decides to show you. I judged myself harshly in that room without understanding that what surfaced was not weakness. It was evidence. We heal, we thrive, and then this happens and we are reminded there is more.
So let’s come back to the key tag and MANIFEST 1111.
I walked into that appointment carrying a sign I almost left on the ground. And what did I manifest? The thing I didn’t know I needed to see. My body showed me in full how much it is still holding. How much is still stored. How real it all was, even when my mind wants to minimize it and say it wasn’t that bad.
But how bad actually was it? Today I was handed the answer.
I am a strong person (trust me when I say I am ready for weak people problems). And what I mean by that I have a body that will clot its own blood, brace against needles, and also collapse into tears during something it chose - because it has been through enough and it remembers every single bit of it even though my mind chose to forget. What finally got me through was not willpower. It was the practitioner who created safety. Who hugged me. Who paused every time I needed it. Who never once made me feel like a problem to be managed.
Your body can only surrender to safety. When it finally finds it - it will tell you everything.