There is a school of thought. One I subscribe to. At my peril. Sweethearts, you will get bashed for less. And please don’t let this stop you from telling me how you see it.
I don’t know when the phrase was coined, late Seventies: Psychosomatic. I define psyche as soul. soma being body. They have a habit of expressing themselves via each other.
So, by way of one example – more to follow: If you get bladder cancer (men) you have not been able to cry. No shit. Water! If you suffer from recurrent back pain (spine) you are likely to be rigid in your approach to live (unless you are tall and haven’t learnt how best to lift a heavy load). If you have Psoriasis your body tells you that you need to grow a thick skin without making it obvious that you are trying to keep the world at arm’s length. What else? Going deaf, blind – and generally limping. Don’t dismiss the thought.
First time I went ‘psychosomatic’, and by golly did I have reason to (sweet eighteen), I doubled up. My friends and I had just come back from Corsica. I didn’t even make it home. Went to the nearest phone box. On the operating table (key hole surgery through my tummy button – didn’t leave a scar). My doctor/surgeon/gynaecologist a shrewd man. Next time I was in knots, he told me, my body will relocate. Probably to my stomach. He was right. Not that there is anything physiologically wrong with it. There never is.
The only thing my current doctor now worries about (better him than me) that I never ever ever ever have a headache. May you draw you own conclusions. And next time you throw up don’t blame the rice you shouldn’t have reheated. Blame your unresolved soul.