Self Care

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For many of us, the election last week was hard, to put it mildly. I went through periods of grief, heartbreak, rage, disbelief and fear, among others. These emotions are still percolating in me in varying degrees. What I am most aware of as I sit down to type is an underlying feeling of uncertainty.

What do we do when things happen in the world that feel scary, unbelievable or challenging in some way? We can feel devastated or defeated. We may feel powerless, angry or scared.

For me, today, it is hard to know what to do. I cannot say what will happen in the coming months or how our country may change as a result of this election. I think it has already begun to change - or perhaps I am seeing things more clearly than I had before. Still, I do not know what the future will be.

What I do know is that I want to be part of the group of people who are committed to coming together and standing with those who are most vulnerable among us. I know I want to include my heart in any actions I may take. I know I want to be available to those who are hurting.

Given all that, what do I do? The title of this blog gives it away. I can practice taking care of myself. I can listen to what I need so that I may be more in myself and present regardless of what happens. Some days I simply need comfort wherever I can find it. This can be the healing salve that allows me to go on in the face of uncertainty and fear.

Below I share some of the things that bring me comfort and joy. Even when things are hard, we need to remember there is love and goodness, too. And, sometimes, the most comforting thing can be to allow ourselves to feel our pain with another who knows how to feel their pain.

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Finding Comfort

Here are some of my comforts. I invite you to consider what comforts you, as well.

I will start with the trees, the moon and the stars. The other night I was driving home and saw the Orion constellation rising on the horizon. He was flat on his back, parallel to the ground. I wanted to say, hello dear friend. Nice to see you again. Winter must be on its way.

I find comfort in connecting to the parts of the world and the universe that seem beyond time. Giant, old trees. Big rocks in the middle of a river, shaped by time and water. The brilliant full moon, which continues to wax and wane, again and again. All these things give me pause and remind me of the grandness of life. Then, in some paradoxical way, I feel less small.

Music is next. Music can speak to me and express something in me I did not even know was there. Some songs cut through all my exterior boundaries and land squarely in my heart. I am grateful for that. I can cry and sing and move and, somehow, feel renewed.

I had the experience last week of singing with a group of women, singing so loud I was almost shouting, tears streaming down my face, and I felt alive. I felt powerful in my pain and glad to be surrounded by others who shared my grief and rage and understood.

Lastly I will include two seemingly opposites. I find comfort in community and in solitude. I need both. I need to hold and be held. I need to connect with others and know I am not alone. I also need times to sit in silence by myself, to reflect and take stock, and to feel into my inner quiet places.

I offer all of this as possibilities of nourishment as we journey into whatever is next. May we find our way together. May we go in peace.

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.

Bringing Kindness to Pain

When you see a tree growing in the woods, do you say to yourself, that tree sure could be straighter or taller or more tree-like? Do you pick on it and find fault? Or do you appreciate it for its beauty, its shade on a hot day, or its display of colors in the fall? 

Personally, I love trees. I see trees and I am so struck by something I cannot even name. I am filled with awe and wonder. I react to all kinds of trees in this way, especially if they are growing in unexpected places - like coming out of a rock - or are particularly snarled.

If trees are not your thing, what is? What do you love? What is something that you deeply appreciate when you see it, something you greet with care no matter how it appears? What touches your heart?

Now You

Before we go on, notice how it feels to deeply care for something or someone. How would you greet them? What would you say or do? Can you imagine being gentle and caring? Can you imagine loving them with all of their snarly imperfections?

Now, can you imagine greeting yourself in this same way? For some of us, that can be challenging, especially if we are in pain. We may feel impatient, frustrated or annoyed. That is absolutely understandable. When I am in pain, my first unconscious reaction is usually some version of "what is wrong now?" said in a not-so-nice way. I have to practice bringing kindness to myself and to my pain. 

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The Practice

Here is what strikes me about this. If I am in pain and mad about it, I am fighting with myself. Not only am I uncomfortable because I am in pain, I am uncomfortable because I am moving away from the pain in some way. Maybe I am tensing around it or constricting my muscles. I am wishing the pain were not there and doing something on a body level to try not to feel it. And I am cranky about it.

If, however, I pause and remember that I could greet my pain the way I greet the trees I love, my experience changes. The pain may or may not feel exactly as it did. Oftentimes, I soften and the pain shifts or lessens to some degree. Even if that is not the case, I still feel more at ease because I am no longer fighting a part of me.

This can be a challenging practice. In my experience, it is worth it. I like to think of it this way: each time we can bring kindness to ourselves, we are building a reservoir. One drop at a time is all it takes. Over time, the reservoir grows and it becomes easier to access.

You do not have to be in pain to try this. At anytime you can imagine a drop of love being absorbed in your body and in your reservoir of kindness. As you do this, your capacity to love you grows.

May you be at peace

Nature as Healer

This weekend I had the opportunity to hike and camp in northwestern Connecticut. I spent 2 days in the woods, cooking over a fire, chopping wood and sleeping under the stars. As I drove back to the city on Sunday afternoon, I noticed how different my body felt. Yes, I was tired and sore from the physical activity and the lack of sleep. I was also calmer. I could feel myself moving at a slower pace. I could feel a sense of relaxation in my nervous system.

While I was in the woods, I felt like my body belonged there. It wanted to feel the ground beneath me. It wanted to lay on the rock and listen to the sound of the water cascading downhill. In the morning, the bird song felt like a hymn. In the afternoon, the sun warmed me, body and soul. At night, I felt the cool breeze, I saw the moon make its way across the sky and I felt like I was home. There is something about the rhythm of a day that resonates deeply in my body. I was working while I was there and still I left feeling more relaxed than when I arrived.

When we are in a place that feels nurturing and comforting, it can be easy to fret that it won't last or to believe we can't really have it. We can take ourselves right out of the experience. We can move away from the very thing that we may be seeking. I noticed myself doing that this weekend. My mind would wander and I would think about coming back to the city. I would drift into fears about money and the future. I would worry my food might run out by the end of the trip and I'd be hungry.

One of my practices is to let myself deeply absorb things that feel good. Rick Hanson calls this "Taking in the Good" in his book "Buddha's Brain: the practical neuroscience of happiness, love & wisdom." He describes savoring our positive experiences, staying with them for seconds at a time, maybe even half a minute or more, and imagining them entering into our mind and body. Because we are hard-wired to focus on the negative, we need practice focusing on the positive. Hanson calls this the negativity bias of the brain. In terms of survival of our species, it was more essential for us to take note of danger and things that didn't feel good, than it was to highlight the good stuff.

Most of the time this weekend, I forgot to practice taking in the beauty and peace of the nature around me. As I prepared to leave, though, I set an intention to bring part of my experience with me. I wrote myself a note to take with me the things I had felt connected to, such as the moon, the wind and the bird song. Now that I am home, I can recall my time in the woods and continue to savor the experience.

This is something each of us can do. The next time you notice feeling a moment of joy, love or something else that feels good, see if you can pause for a moment. Let yourself savor it. Imagine it becoming a part of you. Let it take up space in your body and in your awareness. Notice how long you can stay with it before your mind wanders. Know that you are planting seeds of goodness and well-being. 

For me, I will also bookmark the way I felt while I was camping as a reminder of how much I enjoy being outside and how good that feels in my body. It is important not only to pause and savor our positive experiences, but also to note under which circumstances they occur. Knowing what we like provides direction and leads to satisfaction.

May you be well.