I Thought I Would Be Happy After Turning 40

Prologue

It was when I was in the third grade of elementary school.
I don't know why I thought that.
But I was convinced that,
“I will be happy after I turn 40.”
It wasn't a dream for the future, nor was it a wish.
It was simply a conviction and a resolution, as if I knew that was how it would be.
Thinking about it now, I, too, at that time,
wanted to be loved by my father.
However,
I had no sense of being loved.

Chapter 1: The Night of the Fireworks Festival

It was the summer of my third year in elementary school.
I went to a local festival with my friends.
I was wearing a yukata handed down from my cousin.
It had long rooster tails drawn on a white background.
When I put on the geta sandals my mother had bought for me, I felt like I had become a little more grown-up.
I felt happy, as if I were wearing a treasure.

The fireworks would start after 8:00 PM. But my curfew was 7:00 PM.
Even though I couldn't watch them, I stayed until the very last minute, and then ran home, feeling reluctant to leave the beautiful fireworks behind.

When I opened the front door and looked at the clock, it was 7:01 PM.
“Oh...” My body froze.
The next moment,
“Yutaro gaa! (I told you so!)”
My father's angry voice came flying at me.

I was ordered to sit seiza-style on the hardwood floor right in front of where my father was napping.
The analog clock in the living room clicked every minute. That sound seemed incredibly loud.
Click.
Click.
Even though time should have been passing, the minute hand barely moved.
My legs started to go numb. They throbbed with pain as if they were burning.
I wanted to cry. But I was the one who was late. I was the one at fault. That's what I thought.

Whenever I tried to shift my legs even a little,
“Nanba shiyokka! (What are you doing!)”
he would yell.
I was scared. It hurt. I had no choice but to wait for time to pass.

Around 9:00 PM, my mother said to my father,
“Isn't that enough? Let her go to the bathroom.”
Then my father yelled, “Nanba iiyokka! (What are you saying!)” “Besides, it's fine to kill your own children!”

I thought to myself in my heart,
Oh, Mom. Please, I wish you hadn't said anything.
The more you say, the longer it just drags on.
I know the flow of my father's mood well. If someone interjects, it becomes catastrophic. So I have no choice but to endure it in silence.

I held in my need to use the bathroom, too.
The pain in my lower body grew stronger and stronger.
Click. Click.

Around 10:00 PM, my mother whispered,
“Micchan, it's okay now. Stand up. Papa is asleep.”
The moment I tried to stand up,
“Nanba shiyokka! Oi wa netoran zo! (What are you doing! I'm not asleep!)”
My father's voice came flying at me.
I reflexively tensed my body. I bit the inside of my mouth. I tasted blood.

Click. Click. Click. Click.
How long will this go on? That was all I could think about.

It became midnight. My mother pulled my arm, but I no longer intended to stand.
Because I felt like if I stood up, I would have lost.
But my father was sleeping while still facing me.
I was dragged to my futon and fell into a deep, mud-like sleep.

The next morning. My father greeted the morning as if nothing had happened.
I stared at my father's back as if to pierce it.

I wanted to be loved and acknowledged by my father.
But at that time, I couldn't think for a second that I was loved.

That night, I
“I will be happy after I turn 40.”
I don't know why, but I decided that.

Chapter 2: I Was Searching for a Way to Be Happy

Actually, I had been searching for a “way to be happy” since I was in elementary school.
The teacher at the calligraphy class I had been attending since the second grade
would give me a monthly religious magazine every month.
I think it was originally a booklet for adults.
But I
read it voraciously.

In none of the children's books
was the answer I wanted written.
What I wanted to know was,
how could I escape from this suffering? How could I become happy? That was all I cared about.

My father often yelled. There was no relief from the tension in our house, day or night.
That is why the words in the monthly magazine felt like salvation.
Every night, I would sit formally on my futon,
recite the words written on the pages, and bow my head.
I wanted a home where we could smile. Looking back now, I think I was quite desperate.

I continued that for nearly a year.
But then, that night of the fireworks festival arrived.
Just for being one minute past my curfew, I ended up having to sit formally for nearly five hours.
Even though I had been praying.
Even though I had been reciting the words to become happy.

Religion does not save people.
That was my own conclusion as a third-grader in elementary school.
From that day on,
I stopped sitting formally to pray.

Instead, I decided on something strange.
The day after that incident,
I decided, "I will be happy after I turn 40."
Why 40?
I still don't know.
To me, 40 meant being a respectable adult,
standing on one's own two feet,
and being someone who could choose their own life.
To my child's eyes,
perhaps that is how it looked.

Chapter 3: I Studied Because I Wanted to Be Acknowledged

Ever since elementary school, I
could never even dream
that I was smart.
A dull, uninspired child.

"You idiot."
Ours was a house where I heard words like that every day.
My yelling father was an idiot. My mother, who was yelled at, was an idiot. And I, their child, was an idiot.
That is what I thought.

However, things changed when my brother entered junior high school.
My father would secretly give pocket money only to my brother.
He never did that for me while sober.
Actually, when he was happily drunk, he would say, "Do you want some money?" but
I would turn away, saying I didn't need it.
I wanted it when my father was sober. I wasn't being honest either.

I was frustrated. I couldn't beat my brother in physical strength, words, or cunning.
So, how could I win? What was left for me was studying.

In junior high, I desperately reviewed my notes and studied over and over again.
I could get points on regular tests, but I couldn't improve on achievement tests.
I was just managing through effort. My natural intelligence was limited.
So, every time I didn't get results, I felt as if my insides were being gouged out.
Even so, I didn't stop studying.
Having better grades than my brother was my only place in the house.

I wanted my father to acknowledge me. I wanted him to praise me.
But that wish never came true.
If I got a 4 on my report card, he'd say, "Get a 5." If I got a 5, he'd say, "That's expected."
And I was always compared to someone else.
I was utterly lost in a race with no finish line.

Even so, I decided to go to university.
If possible, somewhere a little far from home.
I didn't have the courage to go very far, but
at that time, I thought I would be happy if I could just leave home.

Chapter 4: I Thought I Would Be Happy If I Left My Parents' Home

In the winter of my second year of high school, I had surgery for a herniated disc.
I had been suffering from back pain since junior high and went to a hospital outside the prefecture many times for checkups.
The two-hour drive each way
was always with my father.
Looking back now,
I think my father was trying his best.
But at the time,
I couldn't see his heart.

I graduated from high school and went on to university.
My first time living alone.
No yelling from my father.
No need to read his mood.
And yet, every day felt empty.

Afraid of being disliked,
I would treat my part-time job colleagues to meals or accept their requests.
In the end, I just became a gofer.
The relationships didn't last long.

Conversely, when someone I could really get along with appeared, I became afraid.
Would they dislike me if I showed my true self?
I wanted to get closer, but I couldn't.
I was like a hedgehog.

Even after I started working, I couldn't keep a job for long.
I just wanted someone to acknowledge me. I just wanted to be needed.
The reason I got an industrial counselor qualification in my mid-twenties
was because I wanted to know people's hearts.
But looking back now, what I really wanted to know was my own heart.
And I had been searching for a long time. How could I be loved?

Chapter 5: I Thought I Would Be Happy If I Got Married

In my twenties, I was still seeking to be loved.
My husband, whom I met at work, had a shadow about him.
An atmosphere like he was carrying something.
I felt a sense of kinship on my own.
Thinking, perhaps this person could understand me.

My husband patiently taught me things, as I was bad with numbers.
He wasn't the type to stand in the spotlight, but he was someone who supported the workplace.
I respected that side of him and proposed to him myself.
I thought I would be happy if I got married. Somewhere, I believed that.

But reality was not that simple.
My husband didn't talk much.
Even when I shared my feelings,
all that came back were conclusions.
Even so, my husband
would clean up without a single complaint
even when I drank too much and vomited.
He never blamed me when I failed.

I must have received that kindness
many times over.
But I didn't realize it at the time.
I mistook love for material things.
I was not yet able to receive love in the form of care and compassion.

Chapter 6: Even After Becoming a Mother, the Anxiety Did Not Disappear

I got married and was blessed with three children.
That alone should have been enough to be happy. In fact, I think I was happy.
Yet, the anxiety did not disappear.

I had been thinking about it since my eldest daughter was not even a year old.
Children will eventually leave their parents.
Would I be all alone when that time comes?
I would imagine a future that hadn't even happened yet,
and let my anxiety grow even further.
I kept repeating that cycle.

My mind and body were gradually becoming exhausted.
There was a time I quit my job due to poor mental health.
When my second child was one year old, I had two self-inflicted car accidents and one accident involving property damage.
The repair costs exceeded 1.6 million yen.
Even then, my husband only said, "Please be careful."

I understand now. I think that was my husband's own way of showing love.
But at the time, with my narrow perspective
compounded by solo parenting,
I didn't even have the capacity to receive that kindness.
I didn't yet know how to take care of
my own mind and body.

Chapter 7: Life Began to Change from the Body

It was by chance
that I encountered yoga.
I just joined a local class.
That was all.
However, after it finished,
a strange sensation remained.
I felt good. My body felt light.
And above all, I felt relieved.
It was a feeling as if something that had been tightly wound for a long time
had finally loosened.

When my third child was in their second year of preschool, I decided to get a yoga instructor certification.
My husband opposed it, so I attended in secret.
There were times I pretended to be asleep in bed and snuck out through the window.
Still, I wanted to know.
Over the course of a year, I studied advanced yoga, maternity yoga, senior yoga, and Pilates to earn my certification.
It wasn't to become a teacher.
I wanted to know myself.
I wanted to align my mind.
The reason I made it my job
was because I wanted a reason to keep going.

One day, my eldest daughter suddenly said,
"You used to be scary, but Mom, you've become kind."
I was surprised, and very happy.
I hadn't noticed it myself, but my child had seen it.

I had always tried to change my mind. I had tried to change my way of thinking.
But the change started from the body.
Regulating my breathing. Moving my body. Resting. Feeling.
As I continued these things,
my mind gradually changed as well.

In parallel, I studied gut health.
After that,
I deepened my meditation, learned gut massage, and studied medicinal cooking, eventually earning an international medicinal cooking certification.
Looking back, although everything I learned seemed separate,
it was all heading toward one place.

It was about regulating the body.
When breathing is regulated, feelings are regulated.
When the gut is regulated, ways of thinking are regulated.
I learned that through experience.

Final Chapter: A Signpost

When I perform gut massage,
I notice something strange.
I feel that the abdomen
reflects that person's way of life.

People who try too hard.
People who endure too much.
People who put themselves last.
I met many such people.
And I realized.
That was the old me.

What the body teaches me
was not limited to other people's abdomens.
In January of this year, I heard a talk by someone.
Despite having experienced abuse,
they had high self-esteem
and were living life looking forward.
Their smile was so unadorned and beautiful,
that I was deeply moved.

That person said they had committed to a certain 100-day practice.

"There might be scenery I haven't seen yet."

Feeling that way,
I started my own 100-day practice.
Every morning, I sit in seiza on my futon,
and bow toward the direction of my hometown.
"Father, thank you for raising me."
It was supposed to be just that simple.

But finishing the sentence was extremely difficult!
My stomach would tighten up halfway through,
and it took me 30 minutes
to say that one word of gratitude the first time.
In my head, I thought I had forgiven him long ago.
But my body was clearly still rejecting my father.

On the morning of the 90th day,
I saw a man from behind who looked just like my father.
My gut tightened up again.
But that day,
I accepted it, thinking, "Ah, my body still reacts," and was able to walk right past.

Day 100.
I tried to imagine my parents sitting next to me.
But I just couldn't do it.
I realized that I was still resisting.
But this time, I didn't deny that part of myself.
I don't have to force myself to close the distance.
If I can feel a sense of appreciation for my father's existence
at a comfortable distance, that is enough.
When I was able to be honest with myself like that,
the tight feeling in my stomach
had truly disappeared.

My father is no longer here.
But the relationship with my father
was still continuing within my body.
And only through my body
was I able to move forward just a little bit.
I am still continuing this practice now.

As I continued the intestinal massage,
I began to notice something.
Even with the same constipation, the causes are different.
People who try too hard.
People who endure too much.
People who keep conforming to others.
People who have lost touch with their true feelings.
I felt that the way their stomach felt bloated or cold
reflected the habits of their way of life.

Of course, this is not a medical diagnosis.
But as I listened to them while touching their stomachs,
there were many times when it seemed like their bodies knew the answer first.
I gradually began to think
that perhaps the time spent looking at the person themselves
through their stomach,
not just adjusting it,
was very important.
One day, I had a client, A, for an intestinal massage.

I was surprised by A's stomach.
The lower abdomen was severely cold and tense.

When I asked, "Has there been anything in your relationship with your parents?"
there was a silence for a while.
"...Now that you mention it, maybe there was. My mother would often say things like 'You must at least follow this' or 'Do this'."
The wishes of A's mother and
A's own intentions were heading in different directions.
However, she said that instead of just silently obeying,
she had often acted against her mother's wishes.

"I'm glad I was able to reflect on it."
At the end of the session, that person said that to me.

The body is honest.
The mind pushes itself while saying "I'm fine."
It gets hurt while saying "It's okay."
But the body does not lie.
In the form of back pain. In the form of constipation. In the form of sleeplessness. In the form of irritation.
It had been telling me all along.
I was just searching for answers only with my head,
and I wasn't listening to it.

That is why I created the Sankara-style Intestinal Fortune Telling.
It is not to predict the future. It is not to determine one's fortune.
So that the mind does not have to wander.
To know one's own current location by oneself.
To re-examine oneself from the body.

I felt that a person's way of life appears in their stomach.
So, I began to map the 5 areas of the stomach to emotions, thought patterns,
and life themes, following the Five Elements of Traditional Chinese Medicine.

Physical signs like bloating and coldness
tell you about a person's way of life.
I wanted to create a guide to reading these physical signs
and deliver it to those who need it.

To be precise,
I think I wanted to give this guide to my past self.
To the girl who wished to be loved by her father.
To the student who thought she would be happy if she left home.
To the mother I was, who was full of anxiety.

It's okay.
The answer is not outside.
Your body knows.
That is what I wanted to convey.

When I was in the third grade of elementary school,
I decided, "I will be happy after I turn 40."
Why 40,
I still don't know, no matter how many times I think back on it.

Now that I am well past 40,
I have finally become able to hear the voice of my own body.
It was a life where I thought I wasn't loved.

But looking back,
happiness for me
was not about being loved by someone.
It was about becoming able to treat myself with care.
Perhaps what was truly lacking was not love,
but the ability to receive love.

People can change at any age.
The body does not lie.
That is why I place my hands on my stomach again today.
Because I know that there is a path back to myself there.

*️⃣The following article describes what my eldest daughter helped me grow through. I would be happy if you could read it as well.