Everything Changes

I had a rough summer this year. I was treated for Lyme disease and the whole process had a significant impact on my ability to do the things that I like to do. It took a toll on my body. There were days I did not want to do anything and would have been happy to stay in bed all day.

I experienced swelling in my joints and other physical complications. There were several weeks during which I was rarely outside and could not walk around much. 

In the midst of all this, I experienced a lot of worry and fear. For some of my symptoms, it was hard to know if they were related to the Lyme or if something else was going on. I felt uncertain about the future and unsure how, when and if I would feel better. When would I feel more like myself again?

How many of us have been there? It can feel scary when our bodies experience pain, injury or illness. For those of us that have a history of previous or chronic illness, it can also touch old feelings about how we were treated in the past or old fears that we will not be okay.

There were times over the last few months when I wondered if this was my new reality. Would I have to give up hiking and dancing? I had memories of when I learned I could not tolerate gluten, even in the smallest amounts, and how fundamentally life-changing that was. Was this like that or would it pass?

Perspective

For me, this time, it did pass, by and large. I went for my first significant hike since August last weekend. I was still cautious, especially when going down hill, and I was so pleased to be out and about, hiking in the woods. I walked for hours, pausing and resting here and there. As I hiked, I felt more confident in my body again. "I can do this," I thought. I found comfort in knowing I did not have to give this up.

As I hiked, I reflected on how far-fetched this reality had seemed only a few weeks prior. I touched on another feeling as well, the feeling that healing is possible. It takes time - it can feel like it takes forever - and, eventually, things change and something shifts, one way or the other.

People's State Forest, Connecticut

We are not static beings. The world around us continues to move, grow and decay. When I was stuck in my apartment for days on end with little movement, it was easy to forget that life continues to change, always. It is not always for the better, but sometimes it is. And sometimes there is grace and okayness even in the center of something that feels awfully not okay.

Recently, I was reading Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. In one chapter, she describes an experience she had with her son when he was ten and nervous about sleeping so far away from her in their new home. She set him up with a sleeping bag and pillow on the floor next to her bed. Over the course of several nights, he was able to move farther and farther away, scootching his bag down the hall, through the living room, and, finally, into his new bedroom. A few times, he had to move his sleeping bag backwards to be closer to her.

Lamott writes that grace is like that, "scootch, stall, catastrophic reversal; bog, bog, scootch." That captures how life feels to me, too. We scootch along, doing our best, get stuck, backtrack and eventually end up at a new place. Then we do it all over again. We can fight the whole thing - sometimes I am completely committed to the fight. Or, we can ride the waves, knowing that there will be peaks and valleys, scootches and stalls, and that life keeps happening, changing and shifting. 

Why I Love to Dance

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Last Saturday I taught a Mindfulness and Movement workshop. I guided the participants in meditation, stretching and qigong. I invited each person to feel into their own movement impulses as I played songs with various rhythms and tones. We moved and danced, together and separate, around the space. Connecting with my body, my creative expression and others in this way is one of my favorite things.

My body loves to move. The more I move, the better I feel. I used to run cross country and track in high school and college. I loved it. My body felt strong. The rhythmic quality of running was always something that calmed me and reset my mood. Over the years, running started to feel too hard on my body. I looked for alternative activities and could not settle on anything that gave me the same feeling, physically or mentally.

Then, five years ago, I was introduced to moving in my body in a whole new way. I attended my first SomaSoul training with Dan Leven at Kripalu Center for Yoga & Health. When Dan put on music and invited us to walk around the room, feeling into our hips, legs and feet and feeling the music, I felt awkward, nervous and shy. It was somewhat like learning to ride a bike - my body did not quite know what to do. Still, I remember going to bed that night feeling like there was something to this that I liked and wanted to explore. 

Being in My Body

That "something that I liked" was a connection to my body. This was new territory for me at first. It was also full of richness, depth and meaning. As I began to experience my body's reaction to music, I could feel a new world opening up. This was a world of emotions, sensations, movement and creative expression.

Moving in a creative way in response to music, i.e. dancing, fulfills my body's need to move. I use muscles I do not usually use. I feel energized and alive. I sweat, I laugh and I feel. I feel my arms and legs. I feel my heart and guts. Emotions bubble up in response to some lyric or tone. I am moved and I am moving.

The beauty of moving in this way is that I am listening to my body and letting it tell me what it needs and wants. When I was a runner, I was generally telling my body what to do. Go up this hill, finish strong, stride out here. Now my body and I have a different kind of relationship.

One of the differences is that I spend more time in the core of my body and less time in my head. This is especially true when I am dancing. My body responds to the music and I follow. I am not thinking, move here and move there. The movement comes from some place else. It feels like what creative people say when they talk about getting out of their own way and letting something flow through them. 

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Dancing in a group of people also gives us a unique opportunity to connect with people without words. We can dance around others and with others, mirroring their movements or having our own expression. This can be especially powerful for people like me who can feel awkward in social situations and conversations. Here it is our bodies doing the talking, so to speak. We can play and experiment with being together and being apart.

So much can be said without words. Last weekend I also had the chance to attend Night Fall in Hartford. Night Fall is an annual outdoor performance that features dancing and puppets. It was beautiful and moving. I was struck by how touched I was by this story that was expressed almost exclusively through dance, visual effects and music. It went right to my core and my heart.

In a world and culture where we can spend so much time thinking, planning and sitting, we can all benefit from experiences of moving and being moved. Certainly, I need movement and creative expression in my life. They nourish me on many levels. If you would like to join me sometime, check out my Classes and Workshops page to see when I am teaching next.  

NO

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There is a song I started hearing on the radio this summer. Do you know it? It's Meghan Trainor's NO. You have probably heard it. I am not one to follow pop music, but I like to turn on the radio sometimes when I am driving. I heard this song and liked it immediately. The reason I like it is because she says "No" in so many different ways throughout the song. 

No is an empowering word. Try it on. And really mean it. Feels good, right?

How many of us were taught to be polite and say yes when we didn't mean it? How many of us have a hard time saying no? If you do have a hard time saying no, it may not feel good to try it on as I invited you to above.

That used to be me. My no was so buried I didn't know where it was. It didn't feel okay to say no. I didn't know how to have a simple expression of "I don't want to" or "I don't like that." It is still something I work on and probably will be for years to come.

Meghan Trainor - NO

Since finding my no, I am learning to embrace it. I practice saying no when I need to and I like to go around saying it for the fun of it. That's why I like Meghan Trainor's song. I want to sing along (and I do) saying, "My name is no, my sign is no, my number is no...Nah to the ah to the no, no, no." It feels incredibly satisfying.

When Our Yes is Really a No

What happens when we say yes, but we don't really mean it? In my experience, it doesn't work out too well. Let's say, for example, my friend or family member calls. I am busy or tired and don't feel like talking, but I ignore that part of me and I answer the phone anyway. Maybe we have a simple, short conversation and it doesn't feel like that big of a deal. Or maybe the caller keeps talking and I start to feel resentful because all I really wanted to do was rest for a few minutes. In that case, I'm not really paying attention them and I'm not really paying attention to me, either. Very likely neither of us ends up getting what we want.  

I have done things like this more times than I can count. In the end, it does not feel very good or satisfying. When we have a hard time saying no, it can feel like we are giving away pieces of ourselves. It can feel like we are spread thin and like there is no barrier between us and the world.  

In this example, here are a few simple alternatives:

1. Don't answer the phone when you don't want to talk. Sounds so easy. And yet how many of us feel obligated to answer our phones all the time?
2. Answer the phone. Tell the caller that you would like to talk to them and you would like to be able to give them your full attention. Ask if there is another time you could call them back.
3. Pay attention to the part of you that does not want to talk right now. Really honor that part of you and let yourself have that feeling. There are times in life that we have to do things we don't want to do. We can still honor the feeling of not wanting to do it. You can experiment with allowing for not wanting to talk and at the same time answer the phone. Notice if that feels any different than answering the phone while ignoring your no.

Having a No to Have a Yes

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The more room we have for our nos, the more room we have for our yeses. As my teachers at Hartford Family Institute say, "You have to have a no before you can have a yes." If we never have a no, our yeses don't mean as much. It can feel like going through the motions without really being engaged in life. Our yeses and our nos give us direction, which contributes to a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction.

To turn it around, think of having a yes to you. What would that feel like? If you walked around the world saying yes to yourself first, how might your life be different?

I want to reiterate that we don't always have to act on our feelings. There are times, when watching young children, for example, that it is inappropriate to say, "I need to rest, you take of yourself." Even in that scenario, we can notice what we truly want and bring care to ourselves in that place. When we care for ourselves in that way, we tend to others with more care, as well.  

Sometimes my no turns into a yes after I have really let myself have it. For example, someone may ask me to do something. My initial, internal reaction is often, "Nope, not gonna do it." This is the part of me that does not want to be forced into anything. I want to know I have a choice. When I notice that reaction in me, I pause and let myself land in it. I let myself know that I could really say no and that would be okay. Once I recognize that, I have more space to feel into what I want. Sometimes, then, I feel how I want to do what has been asked of me. At that point, I can say yes more fully and honestly. That's a game changer.

Whatever your relationship is to your no, it is worth paying attention to. Notice how it feels to say no. Are there any fears that come up? Do they seem true? Do you feel freer or more alive when you allow for your no? Try on little experiments; play with it. As you go about your day, what happens when you say no? What happens when you don't? How does it feel to listen to Meghan Trainor's song and sing along or to walk around your home saying, "No, NOOOOO, Nope, nononononono?" Notice how it feels to say yes. And how it feels to say yes and really mean it. Truly, we need both our yeses and nos to live a full life. NO!! YES!!

What's in Your Dreams?

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Over the last several weeks, I have been working with my dreams. As I spend more time with them and get to know them, I notice I feel less anxious about having a "bad" dream. I am learning to appreciate the gifts that can be found within even the most unpleasant dreams.

So it is with our bodies, as well. When we experience pain, we can move away from it, or we can move toward it. There are many parallels between exploring the pains in our physical body and exploring the meaning of our dreams. 

What yet unknown information is held deep within the unexplored parts of our being? Like the messages in our bodies, these messages from the night are worthy of our attention.

"As the mind explores the symbol, it is led to ideas that lie beyond the grasp of reason." -Carl Jung

Unitarian Universalist minister and dream explorer, Jeremy Taylor, believes that "all dreams come in the service of health and wholeness." He argues that we dream about things we are ready to see and the fact that we are dreaming a dream means we have the capacity to work through it in some way.

This matches my experience. Dreams often point to the issues we are wrestling with in our waking lives. Having a dream about these scenarios gives us the opportunity to explore them in a different way. Dreams are full of metaphor and symbol, which invites us to tap into the non-linear parts of ourselves. We "get out of our head," so to speak. 

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Dream Work

As I have been delving into my dreams, one of my favorite questions to ask has been, "what is the question this dream wants me to be conscious of?" Another similar approach is to ask "what is the gift in this dream?" These both allow me to open into the possibility that there is something in my dream that wants to be seen or known. 

There are many different approaches to dream work. As a starting point, I like Jeremy Taylor's Dream Work Toolkit. He describes "Six Basic Hints for Dream Work," including "No dreams come just to tell you what you already know." 

Another way to begin is to give your dream a title. This can be a way to capture the essence of a dream. The title may be a simple description of the focal point. What stands out to you in your dream?

Whenever we have unpleasant dreams, we have a choice about how we respond. If we want to, we can explore the meaning in the dream. For example, we can imagine facing the scary creature coming at us. By engaging with this creature and seeing it, does it become more or less scary? What does it have to tell us? If something feels too scary to face, can we imagine an alternative ending where we get away from the scary thing or where something or someone comes in and protects us?

There are many creative ways that we can work with the images and characters of our dreams and find resolution. In my experience, dreams show me parts of myself that are hidden in the shadows. Working with our dreams is a chance to bring these parts of ourselves into the light.

Hello, Pain

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One recent morning, I woke up to find that my left ankle was swollen and in pain. I was getting ready to go to work, hiking and camping for the weekend, and I was not happy that my ankle was hurting. Truthfully, I was scared. My mind went to a million places at once. What happened? What's wrong? Should I go to work? Should I stay home? How can I take care of myself and still get to work and do my job?

I applied a homeopathic cream to reduce the swelling. I took an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory pain reliever. I wrapped my ankle and went to work. 

How many of us have done that before? We carry on and push forward and go about our day even when our body is giving us clear signs that something is up. I modified my work load for the weekend, skipped one of the hikes and took it easy as best I could. I was okay. And, I wasn't really listening to my body.

Even when I returned home, I kept going. I assumed my ankle would get better and did not pay it much attention. I rested, sort of. I convinced myself it was getting better, the swelling was going down and my range of motion was increasing. This was true, but clearly my ankle still hurt and was still swollen, days later. I could not walk normally or put my full weight on my foot.

Listening to Our Bodies

Perhaps you are not like me and you would have gone to the doctor that first day. Sometimes I do that, too. This time it took me a full week.

As a Somatic Therapist, here's where it gets interesting. I went to the doctor because I finally slowed down enough to listen to my body. Literally. I asked my ankle if it wanted to go to the doctor and I heard, "yes." Clearly. From my ankle itself, not from my head.

Intellectually, I had a sense that it would be helpful for me to have someone else examine my ankle. However, it was not until I really heard my ankle's response that I went to the doctor.

The doctor's visit itself was partially helpful because it ruled out certain possibilities, nothing broken, nothing strained. Okay, that's what I suspected all along. Now I could turn my attention to what I know how to do, which is to get to know the experience in my ankle and listen to what it wants to tell me. 

Alligator in the Ankle

Throughout the week, I had been sensing into my ankle on and off, but only half paying attention. Twice I asked if there was an image in my ankle and twice I saw an alligator clamping down on the joint. In those moments, I did not want to know anything more about that, so I moved on to whatever else I was doing.

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I started to realize I wanted someone to be with me as I got to know more about this alligator. That's why I was avoiding it, I didn't want to explore it by myself. It felt like too much.

So I got help. With the skillful and caring presence of Jessamyn Tallyn, who is a practitioner of Jin Shin Jyutsu and Manual Osteopathy, I was able to hear more clearly what was going on in my ankle. I saw the bigger picture and had a better sense of what was preventing me from grounding and standing fully in my left side. She helped me release something and bring in love and gentleness, which encouraged the flow of energy. Something started to shift.

My sense is that all of the ways we have of caring for and listening to our bodies are part of the healing process. In my case, I needed to go to the doctor for diagnosis, or at least to rule out certain possibilities. In some way, that was the beginning of me taking my ankle seriously and listening to what it had to say. That was the beginning of my healing process. Our bodies have so much to tell us when we are ready to listen. 

On one level, my ankle continues to heal and feel better. On another level, I gained something else, too. The best way I can describe it is to say that I retrieved some part of me. Through listening to my body and understanding the ways I was constricting and holding myself back, I was able to let some of that go and regain a sense of fullness and power.