Moving again.

If you just want my rating: Mark gets five stars from me. But I’d like to invite you to read on.

It will give you a fuller picture. I don’t hand out five-star reviews lightly. Over the years I have become increasingly sceptical. So five stars mean something, don’t they? Please take a little time — as a gift to yourself too — and read what follows.

To give you that fuller picture, I want to tell you something about myself. A short summary that offers a better perspective.

Pleased to meet you. I am Jo, 52 years old. Of those 52 years, 33 were spent going in and out of hospital, from one therapy to another, from one treatment to the next and through still more examinations. So much, so often, so intense, so many different approaches…

I went from having a highly trained body — sports academy, at least thirty hours of sport a week, no smoking and only an occasional drink — to months in hospital. Out of nowhere I could no longer walk or speak, my sight disappeared, the strength left my hands and my arms ended up in a hopeless position too. After hours of different kinds of therapy, I slowly got back on my feet, but I was no longer the same person afterwards.

Over those 33 years, this happened to that extent five times. In between, something would fail almost every day, at any time and anywhere — or so I thought; I no longer do. For example: I am waiting for a train at Amsterdam Central Station and want to board. Within seconds I can no longer see. There you are. Or I am playing in the garden with my children, who were still young at the time, and suddenly my legs give way, I lose my speech and I become less and less aware of what’s around me. The examples are endless.

Yet until around ten years ago, the medical world said nothing was wrong: it was all in my head, it was psychological. And the way they treat you then… At the same time, I had been subjected to incest on several occasions from the age of eleven. It was active during the first ten years, less frequent during the fifteen years that followed, with several attempts until fairly recently. My parents knew.

In short, I was given two labels: CPTSD — multiple trauma over a long period — and FND. You can look it up if you wish; I have almost all the symptoms. Neurology did not work well with psychiatry. Psychiatry considered me too intelligent and too strong and did not know what to do with me. I cannot count how often I heard, both medically and privately: ‘You will manage.’

All right, then I will do it myself. I read books from many different disciplines, completed courses of study and attended workshops and lectures. I learnt something everywhere. I developed myself and applied what I learnt in my own practice for 25 years. I carried on because I had to. According to the medical world, the people in my life and the wider system—including the UWV — there was nothing wrong with me. So I knuckled down and kept going. I learnt to manage it and used all kinds of tricks and adaptations to hide it.

A few years ago, I was done. After another major collapse and years of rehabilitation, my body was done — I no longer recovered as I had after previous relapses — and so was I. And I mean truly done. I gave up. In the meantime, the medical world had developed new insights and apparently something really was wrong with me after all. The UWV had also received that new information: I was assessed as fully and permanently unable to work.

And then what? For the years ahead, I was first supposed to reduce my exertion to zero and my stress to zero. Surely that was a joke? I give myself credit. For the past five years, I really did try and do that again. A Jo 2.0.

Did it work? No.

All right, then I would just muddle through the next few years. But my flame had gone out. No drive left. Taking my own life isn’t in my nature. But neither is living like that.

I do not believe in coincidence. Somehow, I found a blog by Mark Paasman. That text contained things that rekindled my flame. Oh no—not something else to try. Surely not. But yes, I did.

I sent Mark an email. That led to an initial consultation—which I also wrote a positive review about—and what followed was a ‘40-metre approach’ for me.

Mark has the strength, insight and method to tear those labels from my forehead. They did not interest him at all. Jo 1.0, Jo 2.0: nice try, but no. There will be a Jo 3.0, rooted in the original Jo. She was always there, but she became hidden beneath all kinds of things: trauma, fear, pain, assumptions, other people’s opinions and judgements, and so on. She had been moulded in clay, layer upon layer upon layer. In order to survive.

The tools Mark gave me during the sessions brought clarity. By being direct and honest with me, he cut right through those layers. Back to the basic elements, and from there I will build again. Little by little. Time and again. From positivity, trust and — something deeply important to me — love and patience.

Yes, I had and still have a great deal of knowledge and experience. But I did not have the strength to use it for myself. Other care providers really did give me a great deal too, but it was like scraping at that layer of clay. Mark does not concern himself with that clay layer at all. Mark stands by his method, lives it and is genuine—something that matters deeply to me. That is what makes his sessions more than just the next trick.

I’m still on this journey with Mark, and I’m moving forward again. As you have read above, that is quite something.

So yes: I wish you could have someone like Mark in your life. And yes, this is why I give Mark five stars without a moment’s doubt.