In this ongoing series, Pulse contributor Steve Morley explores the effects of sensory deprivation and reports on his experiences using the flotation tanks and other therapeutic resources at Murfreesboro’s Float Alchemy. (Previous installments can be found at boropulse.com/floativation).

In last month’s installment I began a dialogue with local doula and birth educator Amanda Johnson. She’s been generously sharing her knowledge of the birth process and helping me explore the mysterious matter of how my mother’s amniotic fluid deficit might have affected me during and after my birth. As Johnson explained, there’s little research to date about adults who were born to mothers with oligohydramnios (a Scrabble-winning word describing a womb with a lower-than-normal level of amniotic fluid). Even so, she supported my speculation that discomfort inside my mom’s fluid-deficient womb might have set the tone for my emotional sensitivities, chronic muscle tension and lack of ease with physical movement, and my inconsistently regulated breathing.

So, what does this have to do with using a flotation tank, which I’ve been doing at Murfreesboro’s Float Alchemy since late summer? Well, perhaps it’s an abstract notion, but I’m seeking a therapeutic reconnection to my womb experience via the flotation tank, based on my assumption that the two environments would be comparable in some ways.

Johnson confirmed my thoughts. “Floating is very similar to the womb experience, as far as we all understand it, although the actual womb experience is most likely more noisy.” Noisy, indeed—the womb excursion includes a ticket to a pulsing, 85-decibel suite of thumping heartbeat, swooshing fluids and other body sounds, the physiological equivalent of a 1975 concert by The Who . . . doing one of their most subdued numbers.

I’ve learned that the tank does resemble a healthy womb in that it’s a darkened environment with “neutral warmth”—that is, a comfortable temperature perceived as neither hot nor cold. In the tank, one experiences the lightness of zero gravity. While this doesn’t precisely match womblike conditions, which also includes pressure from contact with Mom’s uterus, the fluid in the womb does create a degree of buoyancy.

“Amniotic fluid,” Johnson notes, “provides a multitude of uses to the unborn baby and the mother. It provides a cushion for the baby,” she says, “keeping compression from the uterus from cutting off as much blood flow.”

So, how much amniotic fluid is “enough”? How much of a deficit must exist to create a quantifiably negative experience for the baby? Serious deficits are known to pose significant health risks for baby, but it’s difficult to estimate what kinds of comparatively minor effects—though adverse nonetheless—might result from amniotic fluid levels that aren’t dangerously low.

In part 5 of Floativation I projected an image of myself trying to stabilize my position inside my mother, a notion that later brought a quizzical look to the face of my chiropractor. She considered it unlikely that I had developed my abnormally high muscle tone (hypertonicity) by exerting my tiny limbs against jarring movements inside the womb, but thought it quite possible that low fluid could have caused me to be less comfortably positioned inside my mother than might be the case with a full supply.

Amanda Johnson told me that the possibility of a baby’s abnormal position in the womb is one of several reasons why she recommends float tanks to expectant moms she serves as the owner of Gentle Voice Prenatal Support. Johnson, who has visited Float Alchemy and describes her own floating experience as “weightlessness—not knowing where your skin has ended and the water begins”—goes on to say that “floating is excellent for relieving stress and tension in muscles and can lessen pain in our bodies. As a pregnant woman, the extra weight from the baby, placenta, amniotic fluid, and her own blood and tissues, put a strain on the body. Floating,” she affirms, “is a fantastic way to allow muscles to totally relax and release the tension and tightness from supporting this added weight.”

Among the potential benefits, she adds, are relief from edema, sciatica, round ligament pain and more.

“For a blissful hour, they are completely weightless,” Johnson says. “Some mothers use floating as a way of bonding with their babies as well, as many babies move a little more when their mothers are completely relaxed.

“Floating can also be an excellent way to encourage a baby in a suboptimal position to ‘flip’ or rotate into a more favorable position,” Johnson continues. “We usually want to see babies presenting head first, facing their mother’s back. If a baby is in a breech or transverse position, floating has proven to be promising when used along with other techniques to encourage these babies to move. This can help a woman prevent a cesarean or an external cephalic version (ECV).”

Having been floating semi-regularly for months now, I’m well acquainted with the stress relief and associated benefits it offers, despite having never, um, been pregnant. In fact, having been too busy to fit in a visit to Float Alchemy over the last month, I’ve begun to notice how much more readily I lose my cool under pressure. So, yes, I can testify that floating has the potential to take the edge off of stress. But can it also lead to a sense of restoration, delivering me from a less-than-ideal womb experience? Certainly, it’s led me to the point where I can even ask that question.

Johnson firmly believes the tank can be a valuable therapeutic tool, providing a physical connection to a womblike environment. That connection matters, she says, because “there is so much physicality that goes on with the development in the womb, and the feelings in the womb. Floating is a really great way to open the door to that. It gives you that physical experience to relive it.”

Pondering all of this, I had a recollection about my first therapeutic massage, 30-some-odd years ago. After my session, my masseuse shared an observation she’d made from working on my muscles: “you aren’t grounded.” In three words, she summed up the awkwardness I’ve long felt in my body.

Only now am I beginning to understand how this might relate to factors at play during the prelude to my debut as baby Steve. One’s physical orientation is in fact tied to a process during gestation that relies on the baby’s ability to tumble gently in Mom’s amniotic fluid and respond to her movements. This helps the baby develop an awareness of body position and, ultimately, a sense of balance and groundedness.

I’m still gathering more specifics from my mom about her pregnancy, but it’s clear that she lacked the fluid level that would have allowed for optimal development. It gave me a shot of hope when Johnson suggested that I could use visualization during a float to mentally reframe my birth experience. “Are you wanting to be grounded now? Are you wanting to loosen that unease?” she asked me, as much rhetorically as not. Absolutely! my mind silently screamed. “Be honest in what you’re looking for,” she advised, “and then go from there.”

Honestly, I’m seeking freedom from internal constriction. The tank awaits.

Stay tuned, Murfreesboro, and may the freedom of the float be with you.