Are You Going to Hold on to That? (Blog #1071)

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After go, go, going for the last two days, this morning I woke up with a(nother) sinus infection. I can’t tell you how frustrated I get whenever this happens. (Although I know I do on a regular basis.) In addition to all the mucus, it just feels like I’m try, try, trying and getting nowhere.

No damn where.

This being said, after I got up and got myself together, I had an appointment with my myofascial release wizard (MFRW), and it was amazing. Which means I cried a lot. Seriously, there were so many tears, in addition to shaking, moaning, fist pounding, and foot stomping, all of which my MFRW says are normal reactions or responses to trauma that get can stuck in our body, in our fascia. Today as she was working on my right side, which has felt cinched up and scrunched down for over a decade, I absolutely fell apart, at the same time recalling a very specific and ancient stressful event from my childhood. And whereas it was momentarily uncomfortable, the release felt good.

Feeling like good things were happening, I asked my MFRW if she had any tricks for sinus issues. Thankfully, she said she did, and she began to slowly apply pressure across my face, stretching the fascia underneath my skin. Again, I got emotional. Then, when she held eucalyptus oil under my nose, I once again fell apart. (Later she said she didn’t think it was the scent that caused my reaction, but I’m open to the idea that, under the right circumstances, subtle energies can move mountains.) This release went on for a while and brought up memories of how hard I’ve tried over the years to, well, do just about everything–heal, be successful, stay in the closet. Once when my breathing changed and I started to stifle my body’s tears, my MFRW said, “Are you going to hold on to that, or are you ready to let it go?”

I’ve been thinking about this a lot today. This afternoon I spoke to my therapist, whom I’ve been having a lot of life-coaching type sessions with lately. This means we’ve been discussing career-oriented things and money, which is historically not my favorite topic. Well, today when the topic came up I realized that a lot of other topics came up with it. Sort of like how you mean to pick up one paperclip from a cup and end up picking up a number of them because they’ve gotten stuck together. Specifically, today’s conversation about my future career brought up my beliefs that 1) I work really hard and get nowhere, 2) life works for everyone else but not for me, and 3) I’m not worthy of success.

Now, from a logical standpoint, I know that none of these statements are true. And yet deep down I still have a reaction to them. This is is why I believe it’s one thing to get something in your head and another thing to get something in your body. For three years I’ve talked the internet’s ear off about my life’s dramas and traumas, and yet my body still had more to say about them today. Likewise with my issues around money and worthiness. More and more I believe this is the case for all of us. That our bodies have the final word.

Whether we like it or not.

I say whether we like it or not because I don’t LOVE falling apart in the arms of a total stranger. Nor do I like the fact that I have all these triggers around money. I’d much rather take a Tylenol for my aches and pains, act like everything is fine, and move on with my life. Alas, my body has clearly been crying out for help for decades and is no longer satisfied with the Tylenol or the “I’m fine” approach. If it ever was. Not that I didn’t take a Tylenol this evening to help with my headache (which I have in addition to my current sinus problems). You do what you’ve got to do. But more and more I’m convinced that because I’ve been shoving emotions down and been putting Bandaids on for years–albeit doing the best I knew how–it’s simply time to learn another way.

This is going to take some time, of course. And whereas I’m trying to be patient, it’s difficult. I want to feel better NOW. I want to let go of old beliefs NOW. At the same time, I’m terrified to move forward. Because my old beliefs, emotions, and even aches and pains are, well, familiar. Not that I like them, but I’ve grown accustomed to them. In a very real sense, they are ME. I’m willing to change, but I think, WHO am I going to be on the other side of all this? And, Am I ready?

Am I ready to let go of my old life?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s okay to ask for help.

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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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It’s never too late to be your own friend.

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The Deepest Waters (Blog #292)

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Today my body has, once again, felt like seven-day-old leftovers–questionable. Like, this could go either way. On the outside, I look fine. (Damn fine, bitch.) But seriously. My face is a little red with histamine (or something), but it’s only noticeable if you stand close and know what you’re looking for. My nose is a bit snotty, but I’m breathing fine–that’s not a problem. But my energy is shit. I keep thinking, I know my body can feel better than this. I just know it. Come on, body, let’s do this. My body’s response to this pep talk?

Crickets.

Proudly, I’ve stayed off the internet. I have, however, been playing around with my vitamin regimen, laying off everything for a few days to see if that makes a difference, adding things back in. And whereas one day’s a little better, one day’s a little worse, outside factors like vitamins and diet don’t seem to make a difference. This is why you have a smart doctor, I keep telling myself. This is her mystery to solve now. Honestly, I’m eager for her to figure things out. I’m not-so-patiently waiting for my blood work to come back and for that referral to the immunologist, who hopefully won’t be booked solid. My doctor said I should hear something soon, but two-thousand years ago Christ said he’d be returning “soon,” so that word obviously means different things to different people.

Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly.

In addition to feeling wiped out, I’ve also felt weepy today. Everything has brought on tears–YouTube videos, “that one song,” poems by Maya Angelou. Maya Angelou can almost always make me cry. (May she rest in peace.) I don’t know, maybe feeling like the bug on a front of a windshield provides the ideal environment for tears. Like a left-on light at a Motel 6 says to a weary traveler, perhaps a weary body tells grief and sadness, “You’re welcome here.” This is something I’ve been thinking about today, the “benefits” to being sick, the “gift” of getting knocked on your ass and being unable to stand up no matter how hard you try.

I recently read that all inner and spiritual growth begins with the cry, “Help.” This makes a lot of sense to me. When you feel well and everything is going your way, it’s easy to feel invincible, to think you can do everything by yourself. But when the wheels of your life fall off, when you can’t find the brakes, and when all you can do is hold on for dear life, you suddenly find yourself in the land of vulnerability, this scary, tender place with shaky, uneven ground where there’s nothing to hold on to. First you fall, then you fall some more. You can’t see where you’re going. You think, I’m in the dark here.

You think, Help.

My Reiki teacher says there are two types of people in the world. Those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t. (Just kidding. That’s what the movie What About Bob? says.) My Reiki teacher says the two types of people are grief people and anger people, meaning that if you’re holding on to something inside, it’s either “a deep sadness” or “a deep rage.” As I understand this theory, healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of. In my case, I’m a grief person. When I think about the injustices in my life and in the world, the waters run long before the fires burn. Not that I never feel anger. I certainly do. But anger, for me, is a shallow well. The Grief Well, however–that’s the one with the deepest waters.

Lately I’ve been wondering just how deep the sadness within me goes. Considering what I’ve lived through, I think, Pretty deep. Considering what my family has lived through, I think, Pretty fucking deep. With this is mind, I’m really trying to be patient with the healing process. Of course, some days, when I cry at the drop of a hat, I think, This again? Haven’t we dealt with this already? I mean, I’ve been in therapy for almost four years. I’ve read more self-help books in the last six months than most people read in a lifetime. I know what my “issues” are. But I’m finding that healing for the mind is very different from healing for the body. The body remembers–it holds on to everything. And whether it’s a deep sadness or a deep rage, your body won’t let go of it until it’s ready, until it’s safe to.

If you think only girls cry, fuck you.

This, I think, is the sweet spot of having done plenty of personal work. A lot of people think crying is something to be ashamed of. As a society, it’s something we hide and apologize for. Granted, it’s not “pretty” like smiling or laughing. And yet we were designed to express all our emotions, not just the socially acceptable ones. We weren’t meant to hold on to any of them. But having done enough of what my friend Elisabeth calls The Hard Work, I can easily say I don’t care what society says. If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever. (Maybe I’m a tad bit of an anger person.) This is the sweet spot I’m talking about, being strong enough to finally let yourself feel weak and vulnerable, being able to stand on shaky ground and watch your world fall apart having full confidence that it will eventually be put back together in a better way, knowing that the deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

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