As a therapist, I have a deep appreciation for the body’s incredible capacity for healing, and I understand the silent weight of medical trauma. My professional interest in this field is deeply rooted in my own early life experience—a story I share not for empathy, but to highlight the power of commitment and the somatic connection.
My journey began when I was just nine months old, with a medical challenge that would shape my life.
The culprit was a parotid gland tumor. For my parents, facing this diagnosis in their infant was terrifying, demanding a radical and immediate surgical decision to save my life. While the tumor was successfully removed, the immediate outcome was the complete paralysis of the entire left side of my face.
Initially, doctors were cautiously optimistic, attributing the paralysis to my young age and the length of the procedure. They hoped the effects were temporary.
But the paralysis persisted. It wasn’t until months later, after further investigation, that the reality became clear: the seventh cranial nerve on the left side, which controls facial movement, had been severed.
Looking back now, especially through the lens of my work as a therapist, I can only begin to imagine the true depth of what my parents went through. The diagnosis of the severed nerve created a level of emotional complexity and stress for our whole family that goes beyond measure. This tragedy unfolded just as my Dad returned home from Korea. I later realized he was likely managing the silent burden of PTSD, which made stepping into this immediate, life-altering medical reality doubly challenging for him. I often reflect on my Mom’s strength during that time, balancing her worry for me with the emotional demands placed on their new family. I feel profoundly fortunate for my parents’ unwavering commitment. They did not dwell in what-ifs; they immediately focused on charting a course for my recovery.
Rebuilding the Bridge
For years, I lived with a face that only told half a story. The right side could not form an easily understood smile without the balance and coordination that movement on the left side would eventually provide. The left side remained gently still.
As I grew, I became committed to reclaiming movement. However, the path was long; it wasn’t until I was almost 37, after considerable research, that I finally found a specialized surgeon committed to helping people like me, as suitable options hadn’t truly been available before then. This discovery led to years of specialized care, including multiple micro-neuro reconstructive surgeries. These delicate procedures aimed to rebuild a connection between my brain and my facial muscles. The surgeries were pivotal, but they were just the foundation. The true work—the re-education of my body—had to be done in therapy.
I had to approach my face as a complex puzzle, patiently reteaching my brain the language of movement. The progress was slow, requiring meticulous, focused concentration just to achieve the tiniest, most subtle electrical signal.
This is where I met her.
My physical therapist was a true champion who introduced me to EMG biofeedback. This technology uses sensors to measure faint muscle activity, giving me an audible or visual output for my effort. It was the first time I could see my intention translated into a measurable signal, even before I could feel the movement.
The Smile That Came From the Heart
We spent countless sessions willing those muscles to fire. There were moments of forward momentum and extended periods of subtle change.
Then, one session provided the breakthrough. It was just after Easter, and my PT, as she often did on holidays, was dressed in a cheerful, festive outfit—a small gesture that always brought joy to her patients.
I was concentrating fiercely, pushing intention into the muscles around my left lip. The monitor gave a tiny, hopeful flicker. I tried again, and this time, a gentle movement, a whisper of a pull, registered. It was nearly imperceptible visually, but the biofeedback monitor registered the change with an audible signal.
My PT gasped, tears of excitement instantly welling up. “You did it! You moved it! Look, look at the screen!”
I felt a rush of pure euphoria. I looked at her, and with that tiny, hard-won movement still lingering, I blurted out, without conscious thought:
“Did you know a smile came from the heart?”
It was a moment of perfect, healing joy—the true realization of the mind-body connection, and a celebration of the body’s innate wisdom to translate a simple, heartfelt intention into a physical response.
This experience became the true beginning of my deep appreciation for somatic therapy through biofeedback. It demonstrated that resilience isn’t always a dramatic breakthrough; it’s a quiet, determined intention, where the mind and body reconnect to achieve what once seemed impossible.
I still carry the history of my surgeries, but that single, fragile movement continues to guide my work today. It reminds me that compassion, patience, and recognizing the heart in every small act of recovery are the most powerful tools we have.