Reclamation: Returning to the Body After Bipolar Disorder, Loss, and Trauma
Reclamation: Returning to the Body After Bipolar Disorder, Loss, and Trauma
Grounding in the Present
I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to reclaim something—not as ownership, but as connection.
Now living in Mexico City, I’m learning how to root softly, to listen to the land beneath me, to arrive gently in each day. This act of listening, of returning to the body, is my way of reclaiming presence after years of feeling fractured by bipolar disorder, loss, and trauma.
The Fracture
There was a time when I lived mostly in my mind—caught between extremes of energy and exhaustion, hope and despair.
Bipolar disorder can make the world feel too bright, too loud, and then suddenly colorless. It’s not just emotional turbulence; it’s a full-body experience that pulls you away from yourself.
When I lost my father suddenly, and later my mother, grief layered itself onto that existing fragility. Trauma, loss, and mental illness each taught my nervous system a different language of survival—and it took years before I could begin to translate them back into safety.
The Return Through Movement
Movement became my bridge back to myself.
Dance, in particular, offered a kind of nonverbal prayer—a way to breathe, to feel, to remember I existed beneath the diagnosis and the pain.
As a somatic therapist, I often invite clients to reconnect with the body, but my own practice began out of necessity. Through dance, I learned to notice the subtleties: the way breath moves through ribs, the grounding weight of my feet, the simple act of reaching toward sunlight. These were my first steps back toward wholeness.
Reclaiming as Relationship
Reclamation, for me, is not about taking back what was mine—it’s about learning to belong again.
To my body.
To my breath.
To this moment.
And now, to this place—Mexico City—with humility, reverence, and care for the history that holds it.
I move carefully here, not to claim space, but to be in relationship with it—to listen to the rhythm of the city, to notice the warmth of people, to learn from the stories that came long before mine.
Each day is an act of reciprocity: the land offers its grounding, and I offer my attention.
Living with Bipolar, Living in Balance
Even now, bipolar disorder remains a quiet undercurrent in my life.
I manage it through medication, therapy, movement, and community—but more than anything, through awareness. The same sensitivity that once overwhelmed me now serves as a guide. It reminds me to slow down, to tend, to rest. It allows me to meet others in their pain with empathy and understanding.
There’s still grief. There are still hard days. But I’ve learned that healing isn’t the absence of struggle—it’s the ability to meet that struggle with compassion.
The Invitation
Reclamation is an ongoing process.
Some days, it looks like dancing.
Other days, it’s rest, stillness, or simply breathing.
It’s not about perfection—it’s about presence.
Wherever you are in your journey, know this:
Your body remembers the way back.
You can begin again, softly, in connection—with yourself, with others, and with the world that holds you.
About the Author
Nicholas Duran, LMHC, is a queer, Mexican American somatic therapist and expressive arts practitioner offering virtual EMDR and body-based therapy throughout Washington State. Through movement, mindfulness, and creative expression, Nick helps clients reconnect to their inner wisdom and capacity for healing.
