Some thoughts from personal experience on this topic. This entry is mainly based on self-analysis, on the basis of which I draw some general conclusions; I freely admit the methodological flaw in this way of reasoning (and even more so since I am not a “pure” example of this body type*), but those who are interested in a more systematic account will anyway refer to the literature on the subject. So:
By virtue of repeated violence and threats of violence during early childhood, the masochistic body type (“Maso”) develops two sets of marked body patterns.
Firstly, spasticity of the following muscles or muscle groups: (i) buttocks and thighs (gluteus medius and minimus, pectinius, quadriceps, rectus femoris, and the hip adductors); (ii) the deep pelvic and perineal muscles (the pelvic floor, which consists of three muscles, and the perineal pouch, see here for photo) involved in defecation and urination as well as in maintaining posture and (iii) the transversus and rectus abdominis muscles.
The original purpose of tensing these muscles was to protect the genitals from damage. The need to protect the genitals also has a symbolic interpretation and charge, insofar as it represents an attempt also to defend the ego from assault. The spasticity of these muscles is naturally paired with a lack of tonus in the muscles which move the hip and pelvis upwards and outwards.
Associated with this, a pattern of breathing is developed in response to pain and assault whereby oxygenation of the pelvic region is reduced, and thereby also its sensitivity to pain. This appears to involve primarily the transversus abdominis muscle, which is the deepest of the abdominal muscles and inserts into the linea alba (the line which runs from the solar plexus downwards). Spasticity of this muscle effectively shuts off energy flow along the front of the body, separating the pelvic region from the abdomen. It also limits the depth of abdominal breathing.
In addition to this, the Maso develops constrictions in the jaw and throat, running as far down as the solar plexus and also involving the pectoral muscles. These constrictions aim at inhibiting the vocal expression of anger and pain. The effect of constrictions in this segment is also to draw the shoulders forward and to compress the sternum from the manubrium (upper part of the sternum) which is compressed by the clavicles until the xiphoid process (region of the solar plexus).
In combination, these two groups of muscular spasticities arch the spine in the form of a C, a posture which expresses and communicates resignation and defeat.
Such spasticities develop in early childhood and inevitably have a permanent developmental impact at the skeletal level. The anatomy in particular of the pelvis/hip area is affected by the imbalance between muscle pairs which results from permanent tension in the adductor muscles.
The Maso’s energy economy is characterized by a high level of primary energy in the genital region but a limited ability to circulate and use this energy, requiring discharge at low thresholds, or otherwise manifesting as anxiety. Essentially, the Maso is unable to tolerate a high level of energy is his body, because of the fact that this energy overcharges the genitals. Compulsive masturbation is a way to avoid anxiety. Anxiety manifests itself because the discharge of energy has been blocked. As anxiety increases, discharge scripts are cathected. These scripts are typically sexual in character and develop into more or less developed forms of obsessive-compulsive behaviour. Such scripts may be actually enacted, or merely direct the expression of sexual desire. The masochistic character also has a tendency to overuse and possible abuse of alcohol. In my case there is also a tendency to compulsive eating and obesity, which is a common, but I am not sure whether general, characteristic of the body type.
Clearly, the therapeutic challenge is to loosen these two sets of primary rigidities and to deepen the breathing so that the pelvic area is better oxygenated.
*) As regards physical body armoring, however, I think this type predominates, both based on self-observation and on theoretical grounds which I omit.
Hi!
Reading your post, I am most aware that you are sharing something very real and personal about your own history and your relationship with your body. I am grateful for the opportunity to get to know you better! But since you are also making some general points, I hope I can respond in a conversational way, without in any way minimizing that the most important of what you’ve written is your own personal experience.
I am sure that there is an important connection between how children are treated, their relationships with their bodies as children and then growing into sexually mature adults, and their long-term health. But I do find your description to be very deterministic, almost mechanical. I am sure that what you describe—the development of a certain posture as a consequence of childhood abuse—can and does happen in some cases. But the idea that a particular posture is a sign of a particular and specific traumatic history sounds like some novel, Freudian phrenology. Health, the body, and human psychology (especially when they overlap and interact) are all too complex and retain a lot of their mystery. People in outwardly good health, for example, may have excellent healthy relationships with their bodies; but they may also be extremely anxious about their health, about their appearance, fearful about food, pathologically frightened of aging. And while this may be, in some cases, obvious; in many cases it is not. Bad posture may be a consequence of a sedentary lifetime on bad furniture, or just genomic misfortune, and may occur in someone with a lively and positive relationship with his or her body. I am *not* saying that we should just throw up our hands and give up on investigating and understanding the kinds of connections between personal history, attitude, health, socialization, and so on, which you are talking about. But there currently is, and there may always be, a certain inherent and irreducible complexity and mystery.
This isn’t, I don’t think, a purely academic question. I would worry that someone with a psychological/deterministic view of health might see every little thing ‘wrong’ with their body as a badge of abuse they’ve received, or a reminder of the inner progress they have not made, or both, and that this might make it harder to accept, love, and fully inhabit their own bodies.
A related question that occupies me sometimes is how people change their relationships with their bodies, when they enter a practice that supposedly deals exactly with that. I do sometimes find myself judgmental about groups I have seen or spent time with, which while nominally celebrating the body, seem largely made up of people with outwardly rather poor relationships with their bodies.
I have heard in both Christian and Buddhist contexts, using the same basic metaphor and similar language, that when you find the right practice for you, it should “bear fruit.” While this should perhaps be understood primarily spiritually (and it is indeed so understood in the anti-body, flesh-mortifying traditions of Christianity and ascetic Buddhism) I don’t think it should be understood *exclusively* spiritually. Especially not within traditions and practices that don’t indulge so much in the body-mind, body-spirit, and other such finally false dichotomies.
I have always felt that ‘new’ spiritual practices share all the same weaknesses and face all the same pitfalls as the most ossified old churches, and any illusions to the contrary only increase the likelihood of falling victim to those traps. I believe I observe, more often than not, a high degree of dissonance if not hypocrisy, between the stated values of spiritual communities, and the directions in which the members can be seen to move and evolve.
So my question to any group or practice, and to you personally, is this: Do your practices actually bear fruit? I don’t think knowing the right words is enough. Affirmations or wise quotes about the body are not enough. I do think it’s reasonable to expect that right practice should lead to a natural inclination, on the part of the practicant, to make healthier choices. For example, to manifestly, and without a sense of great effort or discipline, behave in a way that is more loving towards and therefore better for their bodies. The Buddhists to whom I referred earlier used vegetarianism as an example of a practice bearing fruit. Their claim was that vegetarianism itself was not an imposed rule, but an inevitable consequence of the practice of eating mindfully. I do not personally have a categorical problem with my carnivorous place in the food-chain, but I think it’s a nice illustration. Does your practice make healthier choices and attitudes come more naturally?
-frederick
Thank you Frederick. What I wrote was intended as a kind of commented case study. It was far beyond my objectives to argue the case for body psychotherapy but I can refer you to Neil Totton’s excellent book on the subject, as well as the primary sources such as Reich’s Character Analysis and Lowen’s Language of the Body. What you write contains a number of misconceptions, too general in scope to deal with in a comment here. Perhaps therefore we have an opportunity to discuss shortly viva voce. Obviously I do very much believe that the therapeutic practices which are based on the body psychoanalytic premises I allude to, do bear fruit. It scarcely merits the name, for me, of a “spiritual practice”. It is a therapeutic practice and should be held to that standard, though in the end I believe this is true of all spiritual practices. The increasing consciousness of ones own body and its relationship to ones emotional states is certainly not something that gives rise, in my experience, to the type of negative attitudes to the body to which you refer. I have never encountered any such thing. The fact of perceiving injury makes one more tender towards ones body where previously attitudes were, even if not consciously, more negative – resulting for example in bodily injury, illness, reduced mobility, and overeating. Anyway, as a science body psychotherapy cannot stand at the basis of a spiritual community because it is necessarily subject to constant revision and critique. Therefore I cannot, and no one can, interpret it authoritatively and the risk to which you refer does not in my view arise. In any case it is important to understand that it is only one component of tantra as developed by Advaita and several other schools. It always exists alongside the other precept of tantra that all is perfect now and that nothing stands in the way of ecstasy and enlightenment. This rather obvious paradox nonetheless seems to me very important at the level of spiritual practice and also avoids any such teleological trap.