On Settling into Your Body (Blog #1053)

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Today I’ve been thinking about, and trying to, relax. I’ll explain. Last night I listened to a podcast that said if you audibly sigh (like, AHHHH) when you exhale enough times (five to ten seems to work for me), it will cause you to yawn and, consequently, trigger your parasympathetic nervous system. Your parasympathetic nervous system being the “rest and digest” part of your nervous system, the part responsible for relaxation and healing. Your autonomic nervous system, of course, being the “fight or flight” part of your nervous system, the part responsible for hauling ass or, if necessary, kicking ass and taking names.

Naturally, we need both parts of our nervous system. The problem being, however, that the majority of us spend way too much time in “fight or flight” mode, either because we live in a high-stress environment (like America) or because we’ve suffered a trauma and our bodies haven’t completely processed (or realized its over) yet. Or both.

More and more I realize just how much stress I carry on a daily basis in my physical body. My shoulders have been tense for decades. My hips are tight. Often I can’t bend over and touch my toes without first taking a muscle relaxer and saying three Hail Marys. You get the point. Alas, somewhere along the way I convinced myself these little aches and pains were normal, a natural consequence of growing older. But having experienced some wonderful improvements in terms of headaches over the last few months thanks to upper cervical care, I’m starting to believe, like deep down and really, that freedom from chronic pain is possible. And whereas I wish I could just push a button and–voila!–be at ease in my skin, I’m learning that this type of freedom 1) comes incrementally, not instantaneously and 2) often requires practice.

Getting back to the idea of relaxation, recently I ran across a blog that reminded me of a form of standing meditation I learned through Chi Kung. Since the blog explains it better and more in depth than I could (or even have a desire to), suffice it to say that teachers of the stance claim that it can help improve posture, increase relaxation, decrease pain, and stimulate chi (energy) flow and, therefore, promote healing. You know, in as little as ten minutes a day. And whereas I can’t personally speak to all these claims, I can say that the stance has helped me relax this last week. Like, you don’t realize how much tension you carry in your body until you begin to let it go. Even a little.

Along the lines of letting go, I’ve done the audible sigh/exhale and yawn thing several times today, either when I felt like it or when I noticed tension in my neck or shoulders. I guess part of the idea behind this practice is to “retrain” your nervous system. This makes sense to me, since my normal reaction to pain (my habit) is to brace against it rather than relax in to it. Consequently, my body has learned to be uptight and on edge constantly. Which is no fun. But after just one day of consciously letting go ever so slightly, I already feel more at ease, like there’s more space here. Plus, what’s great about this exercise is that it can be done at your kitchen table, in your car, hell, in line at Walmart. This afternoon I tried it while bending over and trying to touch my toes, and, y’all, I went from not being able to touch the ground and feeling pain and tension to being able to touch the ground and feeling loose and (mostly) flexible in only six exhales.

This experience, in addition to a number of others, convinces me that–generally speaking–our bodies absolutely CAN relax and be flexible. However, more often than not, they haven’t learned to. Better said, our nervous systems haven’t been convinced it’s SAFE to. That’s what I keep reading over and over again, that our bodies create pain and stiffness because they perceive that we’re in danger, that there’s some sort of threat. And no, it doesn’t matter that you know you’re safe, sitting here right here, right now. If your body doesn’t know it (if it hasn’t fully processed your past dramas and traumas), it continues to be “on guard.”

More and more I’m grateful to my body for always trying to keep me safe. Sure, it’s frustrating when something hurts, but I’m coming to truly believe that if the brain, body, and nervous system can create pain, they can uncreate it. This is when healing really gets fun, when you begin to see what a wonder you truly are, what you’re really capable of. All of a sudden or over a period of time (and what’s the difference, really?), tensions relax, pain that showed up out of nowhere goes back to where it came from, and you let go of the notion that things will never get better. Settling into your body, your home, you breathe deeper than you have in years. Finally, you feel safe.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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On Something Good (Blog #753)

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Wow. I’ve spent the last eight hours–except for a few bathroom breaks–on the futon in my family’s spare room, either working on a puzzle, reading, or–now–blogging. I’d intended to only work on the puzzle for an hour, but ended up working on it for–I don’t know–four. You know, I got focused. I kept thinking, One more piece.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a couple podcasts/interviews about trauma and/or healing. One was with David Bullard and discussed something called “blink-flash” meditation, which involves 1) thinking of a mild to moderate stressful event (anything that makes you cringe to focus on), then 2) thinking of something pleasant (like a walk in the woods or your favorite song) while 3) crossing your arms and alternately tapping your shoulders and blinking your eyes (three blinks per set for several sets).

Sounds crazy, but I tried it, and the anxiety I felt around my original event lessened. (You’re supposed to rate the event on a scale of one to ten before and after the thinking/tapping/blinking part.)

Another podcast/interview I listened to was with Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing/spiritual approach I’ve been absolutely fascinated by lately. Here’s a link to the interview if you’re interested. IFS proposes that we all have different “parts” of ourselves that are longing to be listened to and understood and that when we do listen to and understand them, they essentially transform from an enemy to a friend. For example, someone’s angry part may just be trying to protect them from getting hurt again. Schwartz says that the ego that many psychological and spiritual disciplines refer to is essentially our parts, specifically our “protective” parts, and that rather than trying to rid ourselves of it, we should find out what it has to say. I’m paraphrasing, but he says, “Jesus welcomed the outcasts in the outer world. I’m asking you to welcome the outcasts in your inner world.”

Earlier this evening I finished reading Explain Pain, a book about how–in the majority of cases–pain is created in our brains (and not just our bodies) as a way to protect us. One of my takeaways from the book is that if you have a particular pain (in your neck, let’s say), it can be useful to notice when it does and doesn’t hurt. For example, if it hurts to turn you head, you might notice that it only hurts to turn your head when you’re sitting up, but not when you’re lying down. Along this line, the book suggests trying to find ways to reach the same position (head turned) without experiencing the associated pain. Like, you could sit in a swivel chair and turn your lower body while holding your head still. Or move your eyes first, then let your head follow (instead of moving them both at once). Or hold your mouth open while you turn your head.

As I understand it, the idea behind these suggestions is that our brains often associate certain movements with certain (painful) outcomes. Maybe you were in a car accident, so it thinks, “It’s not safe to turn my head.” So it creates pain as a protective mechanism. But if you “slip in the back door” and create the same outcome by getting there in a different way, your brain will get the message that “this (end result/position/movement) doesn’t have to hurt.”

Currently it’s 9:20, and I’m overwhelmed by all I’m learning. My brain is mush, like a nice bowl of grits. One the one hand, all this information is exciting. On the other, I’m worried that I “won’t get it” and that “it’ll work for everyone else, but not for me.” Of course, these thoughts are welcome. Also, I’m telling myself something I saw on Facebook recently–I haven’t come this far to only come this far. In other words, everything I’m learning is just another piece of the puzzle, and it’s all adding up to something. What that is, I don’t know exactly. But more and more, I think it’s something good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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On Emotions and Pain (Blog #751)

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Currently I’m out-of-town, sitting outside at a restaurant, waiting for a dance to start at 7:30. It’s 6:00 now. I plan on driving home after the dance, and because that will be late, I’m blogging now, before the sun has gone down. I’d like to start doing this more often, blogging when I’m coherent and not exhausted and, therefore, irritable, upset, and distracted. We’ll see how it goes. I have a lot of practice blogging during the wee morning hours, and there’s certainly something to be said for writing a blog about your emotions when you’re, well, emotional.

I’ve been emotional all day. One minute I’ve been sad. Lonely. The next I’ve been laughing out loud, totally content to have the day to myself. Recently I adopted the motto “all parts are welcome,” so I guess I can’t complain when different parts (or thoughts or emotions) show up. That is, far be it from me to host a party and not attend to my guests. Not that it’s fun or comfortable to feel upset or grief, but these are the ingredients of our lives, and–in my experience–if you dampen one emotion, you dampen them all. Want to feel less joy? Shove down your sadness. It’s that simple.

I don’t like this fact any more than you do.

I spent this afternoon looking at books. I didn’t buy any (believe it or not), but I went to three stores. Before that I had brunch (pancakes and eggs) and read a book. Well, half of one–Explain Pain by David S. Butler and G. Lorimer Moseley. Honestly, it’s one of the most fascinating things I’ve read lately and explains a complex topic–pain–simply. I’m not to the “what to do about it” part yet, but the book proposes that whereas, yes, sometimes pain is due to nerve damage, structural or joint problems, or damaged tissue, this is just as often (if not more so) not the case. That is, there are plenty of instances in which there’s structural deterioration or injured tissue without pain. For example, when I tore my ACL, I didn’t feel a thing. Granted, I had some adrenaline flowing, but my knee didn’t hurt even after my adrenaline calmed down. Even though I’d severed an entire ligament.

The book says we don’t have pain centers or, um, pain buttons in our bodies. Also, just because you cut your finger, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll experience pain. Indeed, once my neighbor threw a hammer over our fence, and despite the fact that it hit my head, I didn’t start crying until I saw blood several seconds later. According to the book, this is because the meaning we ascribe things has a huge influence over what our bodies feel. Just as importantly, the meaning our brains ascribe things is what ultimately determines whether or not we feel pain. This is because–apparently–our bodies send signals to the brain when “something” is wrong. A cut finger, for example. Then the brain interprets that information and decides how to respond. To be clear, it has a lot of choices. It could cause you run away; it could cause you to cry. But if the brain thinks that the most appropriate choice is for you to feel pain, then that’s what you’ll feel.

In other words, to quote the book–no brain, no pain.

The book says that the basic rule of pain is that if your brain perceives a threat–if it thinks that you’re in danger, Will Robinson–you’ll feel pain. Said another way, if you feel pain, it’s because your brain thinks you’re in danger. This goes against a lot of historic wisdom, of course, but it makes sense to me. Again, because of what I experienced with my knee. Also because of people who experience pain or sensations in limbs they’ve had cut off or were never born with. Clearly in those situations the brain (and spinal cord and nervous system) are involved in the creation of physical sensation and/or pain.

I can’t wait to learn more.

This might be a stretch, but I think this “pain being related to feeling threatened” thing could be applied to our emotions. For example, this morning while getting ready at my hotel, I was dialoguing with myself about why I’ve historically felt the need to bend over backwards for certain people in my life even when my efforts were clearly fruitless. Suddenly I had a vision of an applicable memory from my childhood, and a voice in my head said, “Because if we don’t, they won’t love us.” Then I started crying. More and more, the release of tears is my signal that I’ve hit on something deep-down true. For example, when I read that pain is often felt because we feel threatened or “not safe,” I also cried.

Ugh. So much of my life I’ve felt “not safe.” Not that I feel ever-moment terrified, but I can never quite relax. It’s like my muscles are always tight, more tense than they need to be, ready to fight or flee. I can only breathe so deep. Granted, this has gotten a lot better. It IS GETTING a lot better. More and more, there’s a lot of relief in understanding that even when it’s emotional or in pain, my body is trying to help, trying to send me a message. Sweetheart, something is wrong. We need you to take another look at this. Something isn’t working for us. So if for no other reason than the fact that my strategies thus far haven’t been working for me either, I’m now making all the more gentle effort to turn my ear inward and simply listen, to finally hear and connect with my inner wisdom.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

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