I’ve learned a lot about pain over the course of my life in various ways and to various degrees. I continue to deepen my understanding and relationship with it. Here are some of the things that have risen up in the past couple of weeks. Spoiler alert… it’s about an ankle, and maybe something more...
September 20th… it’s a beautiful sunny Saturday, and I’m enjoying a nice leisurely stroll with a group of lovely, loving humans on the hillside above Canandaigua Lake during a retreat I am participating in. The weekend is all about love, respect for earth and all her beings, and connecting to the fiercer, gentler feminine energies within us. There’s been a lot of talk about receiving, and our last meditation showed me clearly that I’m not great at it.
As I walk along, chatting with a new friend, taking in the beauty of western NY in early Fall, I fail to see the small hole in the path and in an instant, I’m on my butt, foot and ankle stinging sharply. I pause to allow the shockwaves to move through. I’m pretty sure it’s not broken, and one woman offers some Reiki. As I catch my breath, I’m not quite sure what I need, and I let the small group that’s gathered know that. They respectfully wait until I know I need a couple of hands up and someone to lean on as I gimp back to the retreat center. Since that initial shock, this is what I’ve learned.
1. Surrender. When you find yourself on your butt because you didn’t see the hole in the path, there’s not much else to do. Go down. Hang tight till the sharp stinging settles down. Admit you don’t know what you need. Breathe and breathe again. Tune in and listen to the body’s wisdom. Allow people to help you – you are human and therefore subject to injury, after all. Breathe some more. Hate it all you want, but here is where you are.
2. Shit happens, like it or not. Lessons come in undesirable ways. Don’t waste time being embarrassed or ashamed – no one thinks you planned this. ‘Nuff said.
3. Receive and then receive some more. If you’re an, “I’m good. I got it. Let me help you” type, it can be humbling and hard to let others do for you. It is for me. Humble yourself and receive anyway. Allow love and care. Be grateful and gracious in receiving. There are natural caregivers, soul tenders, in the world who are tremendously grateful to be able to serve. I am deeply grateful for people who showed up for me and honestly, I’ve never felt more loved and cared for by people I didn’t even know than I have throughout this experience.
4. Ask for what you need. Even though people want to help, they may not know how to help you in this particular moment. They can’t know what you need or want unless you ask, and damn, is that vulnerable! You may have stories about not being needy, that it’s weak to need anything at all, or that you shouldn’t impose on others. You may have spent most of your life being the one who takes care of everyone else, the one who’s strong, steady, reliable… the one who holds it together and doesn’t inconvenience anyone with your needs. Before you can ask anyone else for what you need, you must first admit to yourself that you have needs and wants (just like every other human in the world!). Then you have to be clear enough to articulate them to yourself, brave enough to ask, trusting that someone will honor your request. And, if they don’t, move on to someone who will. Not everyone is or can be your person.
5. Let go of trying to do anything in your usual way! You are being required to slow down, move mindfully and watch where you’re going. You simply cannot move at your usual pace, the rushing around you take for granted. Everything takes longer and requires forethought. You can’t expect to be able to take a quick shower, dash out the door, and make it to breakfast on time! So, surrender, accept the reality that is this body in this moment, and lovingly allow it to move in the way and at the pace it can, even if you hate every bloody moment of it!
6. Receive some more. If, by the time you do get to breakfast, you’re tired or hurting, let someone bring you a plate of food, a glass of water. Receive. Ask. Receive. Perhaps, like me, you haven’t had to receive like this in a very long time – for me it’s been 32 years since I broke my back and had a 4-month-old baby that I’ve needed quite so much physical care! Two years ago, I definitely needed loads of care as I navigated raw grief. As I receive, I soften. My heart opens a bit and I connect with the care-offerers in a new and grateful way.
7. Allow space and time for healing. Our bodies, our hearts have a tremendous capacity to heal, but they cannot be forced or rushed. Because we dislike discomfort, we may want to push through, find the miracle ointment, the miracle cure that will let us be over and done with this bit rather than move organically through the healing journey. Pain is tiring – allow extra time for rest. It’s necessary. Now is the time to lovingly honor your body and its rhythm. Like grief, physical healing cannot be hurried along. You can support it, and it’s going to take its own sweet time, whether that’s an inconvenient pain in the ass to you or not. So, settle in and be here for it, open and allowing… because, really, the alternative will only frustrate and aggravate things, and possibly make things worse.
8. Find new ways to move. When you can’t do what you’ve always done, what is possible? What options are available to you? I’ve found I can hole up alone and feel sorry for myself or find new ways to engage. No, I can’t dance wildly like I would LOVE to! But I can sit in a chair and dance with my arms, shoulders, head, and legs – supported, held, safe from the risk of further injury. I can lie on the floor and put my legs up a wall (bonus elevation!) and let the dancing and stomping of others move through my body. I can seep in the vibration of music, lyrics, and movement, and know it’s healing for body and spirit. I don’t have to create it all. I can allow others to energize me, delight in the joy of their joy, allow my envy at their athleticism, send love and gratitude from my heart – even when things aren’t going my way.
9. Cry and find comfort. Let the pain and frustration out. If you’re sad, be sad. If you’re mad, be mad. Don’t hold it all inside. (with a nod to The Pretenders and a lovely version of “I’ll Stand by You” from Brandi just for you here). Tears and yells are part of healing too – our body’s natural ways to release, release, release. Let your heart break open, lay down a little of the protective shield. This is another way of healthily, lovingly honoring what’s here at this moment in your life.
Take comfort in whatever form it comes. For me comfort came in the form of Bugles and cocktail wienies in crescent rolls – things I never eat any more but tasted ridiculously delicious and somehow comforting. What was desired then probably won’t appeal to me again for a good long while, if ever!
10. Take nothing for granted. This idea can be anxiety-producing, but I actually find there is a gift in taking nothing for granted which comes in the form of presence and appreciation. One minute you’re perfectly healthy, walking along enjoying a beautiful sunny day, and in the next you’re laid out on the ground and it’ll be weeks before you can enjoy a pain-free leisurely stroll. You went out on your own two feet and personal power and you had to come in more slowly, leaning on a friend. It’s too easy to miss the appreciation for the strength and agility of our body and all that it does, to forget that we can’t always independently take care of ourselves.
Taking nothing for granted doesn’t mean living in fear or anxiety, but it does invite a savoring of a sweet walk with a loved one, not taking people for granted, and taking a moment to appreciate our bodies for all they do and all they are capable of. We don’t know how many more moments we have or what they will look like, so let’s not miss them along the way!
I hate that I have a twisted ankle and that two weeks later it’s still impacting my ability to move and enjoy life the way I’d like to. Hate that on retreat I couldn’t participate as I normally would. Hate that people I barely knew were asking, “Are you the one with the hurt foot?” Not exactly how I want to be remembered – please, see the sparkle of my fairy hair and smile instead! Remember that delight. Hear my heart and hear my story – remember me for those bits of who I am.
These are not lessons I’ve wanted to learn, and there are lessons here for me. So, for now, for this moment in my life, I honor my limits, I rest more, move more gingerly, slowly with a hitch in my giddy-up. I don’t like it, but it’s ok. I don’t like it, and that’s ok. I respect, “I can’t do this, but I can do that” as I lean into what is possible and let go of the rest. I am in awe of my remarkable capacity to heal, to compensate, to adapt, to rebound, and I’m here for it, knowing that in any moment everything could change.
Take from this what you like into your own life. I hope there's something of value that resonates with you. For me, I know I could easily substitute grief, exhaustion, overwhelm, or illness for a twisted ankle.
What have you learned from less-than-ideal moments in your life? I don’t believe “everything happens for a reason,” but I do find there’s something to be gleaned from most experiences.
September 20th… it’s a beautiful sunny Saturday, and I’m enjoying a nice leisurely stroll with a group of lovely, loving humans on the hillside above Canandaigua Lake during a retreat I am participating in. The weekend is all about love, respect for earth and all her beings, and connecting to the fiercer, gentler feminine energies within us. There’s been a lot of talk about receiving, and our last meditation showed me clearly that I’m not great at it.
As I walk along, chatting with a new friend, taking in the beauty of western NY in early Fall, I fail to see the small hole in the path and in an instant, I’m on my butt, foot and ankle stinging sharply. I pause to allow the shockwaves to move through. I’m pretty sure it’s not broken, and one woman offers some Reiki. As I catch my breath, I’m not quite sure what I need, and I let the small group that’s gathered know that. They respectfully wait until I know I need a couple of hands up and someone to lean on as I gimp back to the retreat center. Since that initial shock, this is what I’ve learned.
1. Surrender. When you find yourself on your butt because you didn’t see the hole in the path, there’s not much else to do. Go down. Hang tight till the sharp stinging settles down. Admit you don’t know what you need. Breathe and breathe again. Tune in and listen to the body’s wisdom. Allow people to help you – you are human and therefore subject to injury, after all. Breathe some more. Hate it all you want, but here is where you are.
2. Shit happens, like it or not. Lessons come in undesirable ways. Don’t waste time being embarrassed or ashamed – no one thinks you planned this. ‘Nuff said.
3. Receive and then receive some more. If you’re an, “I’m good. I got it. Let me help you” type, it can be humbling and hard to let others do for you. It is for me. Humble yourself and receive anyway. Allow love and care. Be grateful and gracious in receiving. There are natural caregivers, soul tenders, in the world who are tremendously grateful to be able to serve. I am deeply grateful for people who showed up for me and honestly, I’ve never felt more loved and cared for by people I didn’t even know than I have throughout this experience.
4. Ask for what you need. Even though people want to help, they may not know how to help you in this particular moment. They can’t know what you need or want unless you ask, and damn, is that vulnerable! You may have stories about not being needy, that it’s weak to need anything at all, or that you shouldn’t impose on others. You may have spent most of your life being the one who takes care of everyone else, the one who’s strong, steady, reliable… the one who holds it together and doesn’t inconvenience anyone with your needs. Before you can ask anyone else for what you need, you must first admit to yourself that you have needs and wants (just like every other human in the world!). Then you have to be clear enough to articulate them to yourself, brave enough to ask, trusting that someone will honor your request. And, if they don’t, move on to someone who will. Not everyone is or can be your person.
5. Let go of trying to do anything in your usual way! You are being required to slow down, move mindfully and watch where you’re going. You simply cannot move at your usual pace, the rushing around you take for granted. Everything takes longer and requires forethought. You can’t expect to be able to take a quick shower, dash out the door, and make it to breakfast on time! So, surrender, accept the reality that is this body in this moment, and lovingly allow it to move in the way and at the pace it can, even if you hate every bloody moment of it!
6. Receive some more. If, by the time you do get to breakfast, you’re tired or hurting, let someone bring you a plate of food, a glass of water. Receive. Ask. Receive. Perhaps, like me, you haven’t had to receive like this in a very long time – for me it’s been 32 years since I broke my back and had a 4-month-old baby that I’ve needed quite so much physical care! Two years ago, I definitely needed loads of care as I navigated raw grief. As I receive, I soften. My heart opens a bit and I connect with the care-offerers in a new and grateful way.
7. Allow space and time for healing. Our bodies, our hearts have a tremendous capacity to heal, but they cannot be forced or rushed. Because we dislike discomfort, we may want to push through, find the miracle ointment, the miracle cure that will let us be over and done with this bit rather than move organically through the healing journey. Pain is tiring – allow extra time for rest. It’s necessary. Now is the time to lovingly honor your body and its rhythm. Like grief, physical healing cannot be hurried along. You can support it, and it’s going to take its own sweet time, whether that’s an inconvenient pain in the ass to you or not. So, settle in and be here for it, open and allowing… because, really, the alternative will only frustrate and aggravate things, and possibly make things worse.
8. Find new ways to move. When you can’t do what you’ve always done, what is possible? What options are available to you? I’ve found I can hole up alone and feel sorry for myself or find new ways to engage. No, I can’t dance wildly like I would LOVE to! But I can sit in a chair and dance with my arms, shoulders, head, and legs – supported, held, safe from the risk of further injury. I can lie on the floor and put my legs up a wall (bonus elevation!) and let the dancing and stomping of others move through my body. I can seep in the vibration of music, lyrics, and movement, and know it’s healing for body and spirit. I don’t have to create it all. I can allow others to energize me, delight in the joy of their joy, allow my envy at their athleticism, send love and gratitude from my heart – even when things aren’t going my way.
9. Cry and find comfort. Let the pain and frustration out. If you’re sad, be sad. If you’re mad, be mad. Don’t hold it all inside. (with a nod to The Pretenders and a lovely version of “I’ll Stand by You” from Brandi just for you here). Tears and yells are part of healing too – our body’s natural ways to release, release, release. Let your heart break open, lay down a little of the protective shield. This is another way of healthily, lovingly honoring what’s here at this moment in your life.
Take comfort in whatever form it comes. For me comfort came in the form of Bugles and cocktail wienies in crescent rolls – things I never eat any more but tasted ridiculously delicious and somehow comforting. What was desired then probably won’t appeal to me again for a good long while, if ever!
10. Take nothing for granted. This idea can be anxiety-producing, but I actually find there is a gift in taking nothing for granted which comes in the form of presence and appreciation. One minute you’re perfectly healthy, walking along enjoying a beautiful sunny day, and in the next you’re laid out on the ground and it’ll be weeks before you can enjoy a pain-free leisurely stroll. You went out on your own two feet and personal power and you had to come in more slowly, leaning on a friend. It’s too easy to miss the appreciation for the strength and agility of our body and all that it does, to forget that we can’t always independently take care of ourselves.
Taking nothing for granted doesn’t mean living in fear or anxiety, but it does invite a savoring of a sweet walk with a loved one, not taking people for granted, and taking a moment to appreciate our bodies for all they do and all they are capable of. We don’t know how many more moments we have or what they will look like, so let’s not miss them along the way!
I hate that I have a twisted ankle and that two weeks later it’s still impacting my ability to move and enjoy life the way I’d like to. Hate that on retreat I couldn’t participate as I normally would. Hate that people I barely knew were asking, “Are you the one with the hurt foot?” Not exactly how I want to be remembered – please, see the sparkle of my fairy hair and smile instead! Remember that delight. Hear my heart and hear my story – remember me for those bits of who I am.
These are not lessons I’ve wanted to learn, and there are lessons here for me. So, for now, for this moment in my life, I honor my limits, I rest more, move more gingerly, slowly with a hitch in my giddy-up. I don’t like it, but it’s ok. I don’t like it, and that’s ok. I respect, “I can’t do this, but I can do that” as I lean into what is possible and let go of the rest. I am in awe of my remarkable capacity to heal, to compensate, to adapt, to rebound, and I’m here for it, knowing that in any moment everything could change.
Take from this what you like into your own life. I hope there's something of value that resonates with you. For me, I know I could easily substitute grief, exhaustion, overwhelm, or illness for a twisted ankle.
What have you learned from less-than-ideal moments in your life? I don’t believe “everything happens for a reason,” but I do find there’s something to be gleaned from most experiences.
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