Creative Writing, Inspiration

Links to Inspire.

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When I was in San Francisco last fall, I did a ton of reading that I meant to share with you all.

Then, somehow, I got caught up in the ebb and flow of daily life back here in Boston and these links went on the back burner.

However, one of my goals for 2017 is to start taking more notice of pieces of writing that really catch my eye; that draw me back to revisit them them a day, or a week, or a month later.

I love when people are able to tell their stories– the things that are the most personal, or even the most painful.  There is just something amazing about telling your truth to the world– about getting the right words together, getting up the courage, and just putting it out there.

So here are a few of pieces of writing that really drew me in, and inspired me to get back to work on my own blog.  (Some of these are not super recent.  I mean what I say about amazing writing being able to draw me back months later!).

In no particular order:

Para Las Fridas: When healing our body is not an option, we can still heal from the inside

Anonymously Autistic: Washing away the alter ego and I’m not normal and that’s okay

Embracing Authenticity: Failure should not be feared because it is necessary to learn and grow and I will now strive for progress, not perfection

The Invisible Warrior: Dear Warrior: A letter to all my friends with CRPS

Life in Slow Motion Blog: 10 Ways to Flood the Pain Map to Reduce Chronic Pain and When pushing forward leads to falling backwards

Fire in Her Loins: One Girl’s Quest to Cure Her Chronic Pelvic Pain

I have more for you guys, but that’s all for now!  Enjoy!

Creative Writing, Favorites, Inspiration, Uncategorized

A Returning

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“I have been away.

I have often thought of how to begin this blog again after a long hiatus and then more time would pass and there it stood waiting for me to speak, write, and reach out.

The reason for my silence is the same reason for beginning this blog. Living with chronic illness permeates everything we do. It is the scaffolding of which we build each day. It determines our daily plans, what we take on, and what we leave unfinished. As I dedicated each day to doctor’s appointments, physical therapy, medication changes, and rebuilding my life after a health storm, this unfinished blog provided comfort knowing that it was a place for me to return.

As the months passed, I was forced into long stretches of bed rest, breaking from work, my passions, the world, and my voice. This is the cycle, after all, of the chronically ill. It is a sequence of retreat and victory, of silence and stories, and of mining the telos of one’s spirit.  What incites us to account our narrative to others relegates us to silence in other moments in a life lived with chronic illness.

I have to admit that at first my silence was “put upon” me. I was so engulfed in pain, fatigue, and just getting through one hour after another that I had no desire to communicate about the latest health trial. Yet, resignation turned towards choice, as I again reimagined and redesigned a future. It is a truth we face when dealing with an incurable disease that we must rewrite our future story after it is continually malformed by our bodies.

The poet Carmen Tafolla wrote: “I was the fourth ship. Behind Niña, Pinta, Santa María, Lost at sea while watching a seagull, Following the wind and sunset skies, While the others set their charts.” This post is dedicated to the future, to the reciting of a livable future, and to exploring the why in a life filled with medical chaos.

Illness is an invasion of identity. Since living through surgeries, a nine medication regimen, and too many medical procedures, I have searched for an explanation, a pathway, and a satisfactory answer to why. Why did this happen? Why me? I have done everything from pretending that the illness part of my life is nonexistent to studying the mechanisms and pathologies of the body; nonetheless, illness continues to lead its assault.

To live with a chronic degenerative disease one must constantly engage in meaning-making. Why? It is because illness is unremitting and untrustworthy. A medical crisis can topple all that you have worked towards in a mere blink.

Therefore, we are professionals at reconstruction and rebooting our future.  Often times, it is a future tinted by professional and personal sadness. Professional goals wane under the weight of the body often causing an individual to lose their job or relinquish ambitions. Illness demands a personal reimagining of what family looks like sometimes forcing an individual to move in with a family member who subsumes a caregiver role or surrendering the dream of having a family and experiencing parenthood.

Illness fractures identity and makes us feel less complete because completion is continuously interrupted.  I believe searching for the “why me” is not out of anger, jealousy, or pity but out of the attempt to take all these futures interrupted and find fulfillment in a life that no longer looks like the life originally intended.

Chronic illness mandates that the individual who lives with it coat themselves in an extra layer of depth because it is a permanent state and the human mind has forever raised questions about immutability.

I spent the last year in renovation.  It’s frightening; isn’t it?  There’s a trauma processing that must be completed in order to move forward in life.

When I was first diagnosed with endometriosis and a chronic pain condition due to a spinal injury, I had no idea nor was it explained to me that I was going to have to go through a continual cycle of insecurity. I was oblivious to the fact that I was going to have to live my life in a temperamental space.

It is of my opinion that chronic illness patients do not fit easily into the usual experience of loss because our loss is not consistent.  The future is unpredictable and so our stories are discontinued and resumed and this process repeats infinitely.

Thus we are forced to mourn each time and rebuild our futures anew holding our breath again that the house will not collapse with us inside. Our narratives remain disjointed and so without any desire for it we gain a level of complexity that is difficult to communicate and share with others even those we love the most.

I don’t know if there is a way to rid ourselves of this anarchy that illness brings. What I am still learning is that inside this chaos we must pledge to coming out of the other side of it. We must promise to find our voice again.

I have been away but now I am returning.  Each one of us can say that.

Although it may appear like a small triumph, I am proud of my return and I am proud of yours too.”

***

The above post was written by my friend C. over at her blog Para Las Fridas.  I have re-posted it here with her permission because it is quite honestly one of the most amazing accounts of life with chronic illness I have ever read.  From the moment I first read it, I was struck by the way C. managed to put into words aspects of my own experience that I had been afraid to face, much less articulate to myself.

Like the feeling of having lost time, of living according to a completely different calendar than everyone else.  Of knowing I’ve disappeared from the world, for months and years at a time, while life has marched on unrelentingly for everyone else.

The feeling of resurfacing, of returning, without knowing if it’s an illusion, or for how long I’ll be allowed to stay before disappearing again.

The feeling that I’ve become an expert at remaking my identity: after each disappearance and returning, constructing meaning again as best I can, assembling the pieces that make sense, filling in the gaps in a way I hope no one else notices.

C.’s words give me the courage to come on my blog and tell my own story, when I’m afraid it’s been too long, or no one will be able to relate.

I am not the only one who feels this way; I am not the only one who has disappeared and returned.

***

You can check out the rest of C.’s writing at Para Las Fridas!  It is simply incredible.

I also wrote this post outlining some of posts C.’s site that meant the most to me.

Lastly, you can also see what C.’s up to on Twitter.

Inspiration

Because the world needs you

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For the first time in, oh, slightly over ten years, my health issues are not seriously obscuring my ability to deal with life.

Mostly through learning about the body, and getting stronger, but also adjusting the way I do things, and my expectations… I’ve come so, so far from the places I once was.

I was telling a friend, a week before the election here, that I was beginning to feel my ability to pay attention to politics and the world at large return to me.

For so long, my health problems forced my gaze to become myopic.  Suddenly, it seemed like 95% of my energy and will to live, really, was going towards simply getting through one day to the next.  Putting one foot in front of the other– even walking from one room to another became a huge task.

My mind was clouded by thoughts of pain.  Forget about work, grad school– I couldn’t think straight.  Sometimes I was in so much pain it was all I could do not to scream.  The daily annoyances of trying to do even the most basic of tasks when my body couldn’t function piled up like a brick wall, blocking my attention from anything else.

So I stopped paying attention.  I checked out, and did what I needed to do to overcome the cards I’d been dealt within my own life.

About month ago, I finally felt something finally click into place again.  I guess it was pretty easy, right before the election and all of the emotions it stirred up for everyone, to begin to feel passionate again.  But I felt the old me come back– the me that couldn’t tune it out, didn’t want to tune it out.

And then I opened my eyes again, to find the whole world seems to be on fire.

This post isn’t supposed to be about me.  I want to tell you all of the things I’m thinking, now I’m tuned in again.  But quite frankly, I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with angry Internet commenters on here.

I’m not sure where to start, but I need to do something.

I guess I’ll begin by sharing a few thoughts:

First, I will remind myself about how we all can play a role in helping each other, in creating a better world.  That there are many ways to contribute.

And that there is simply, utterly, no time in judging ourselves for the problems that we do have.

I struggled for a long time with the fact that my health problems were not “that bad.”  That other people had it worse.  Even my former-favorite doctor said the same thing to me once: “I see other people with worse problems, you know.”

For so long, I felt guilty, selfish.  I had all the time in the world to devote to my health.  I had a roof over my head, a family that supported me.  Was it all in my head– was I  making a big deal out of nothing?

Years later, now that I stand on the other side of the abyss, having finally found answers I needed, I can tell you unequivocally that way of thinking is stupid.

Yes, other people have “worse” problems than I had.  But if there’s anything I’ve learned in all of my studies of the body, it’s that sometimes, even if one little thing goes wrong, it can have far-reaching effects.

The problem is there; pretending it isn’t takes away energy that could be going to actually solve it.

And if it is a “small” problem, isn’t that all the more reason we should be taking steps to solve it and get it out of the way?

When I look back, I know that if I had managed to redirect half of the energy I spent judging myself towards doing my own research and getting second and third opinions, I probably would have gotten to the point I’m at now a lot sooner.  The point where I am able to pay attention to the world at large, and hopefully do something to make it a little bit better.

Instead of thinking of a problem as “small,” maybe we should be thinking of it as “more likely to be solvable.”

Life is too short, and too precious, and there is too much time going on, to judge yourself for an experience you didn’t ask for.  It is what it is– take time the time, do you what you need to do to find a solution, because you need to move on.

Because other people have problems worse than you.

Because the world needs you.

Favorites, Inspiration, mindfulness, My Story

San Francisco, Revisited

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It’s so interesting for me to go back to San Francisco.

As you may remember, I spent a few weeks in SF back in June, following a good friend’s wedding in Napa Valley.

I actually just wrapped up another trip out there. I spent most of September in SF, staying with a friend and trying to investigate whether I’d eventually want to move there for work and/or grad school.

***

The city of San Francisco is symbolic for me, for a number of reasons.

Back in 2005, one of my friends from high school (CA) and I had planned to travel to the Bay Area and visit our friend Karen, who was attending Stanford University at the time.

Our trip was actually planned for the same time of year– September.

However, I’d just had my surgery for compartment syndrome that spring, and at the last minute, I freaked out and canceled my plane ticket. After all I’d heard about San Francisco’s hills, I just didn’t think my legs were ready, and I didn’t want to take a chance. So CA flew out by herself, and I stayed behind to mend.

I was 19 at the time, and although I didn’t know it yet, I actually had somewhat of a long road ahead of me. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I didn’t travel at all in the first half of my 20’s, and it was only in the second half that I started to ease back into it with local trips, such as camping in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

As most of you probably know, I developed my problems with central sensitization (CS) around that same time, shortly after my leg surgery. I definitely don’t think the surgery caused the CS, but as something that the body perceives as a “trauma,” it may have been one of the precipitating events.

I’ll talk more about why I developed CS in the future, but for now, what I want you to know is that for the next five years, I didn’t travel at all. The second five years, I got back into it slowly, but only local trips, and not by myself.

So now, at 31, after everything I’ve been through: compartment syndrome surgery, discovering pain neurophysiology education, struggling to heal my sacroiliac joints…. it feels almost like I’m living in a dream world. To be able to travel to San Francisco and walk around to my heart’s content– it’s like I was transported to a parallel universe.

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Here was the moment when it really hit me, how far I’d come:

I was walking from my friend’s house to the gym, and I ended up walking up some really huge hills. Like, gigantic hills– the kind you think of, when you think San Francisco.

And I was just doing it. I wasn’t sightseeing– I hadn’t set out to “walk the hills.” I was just trying to get from one place to another, like anyone. Like a local.

And it was okay.

I mean, if anything, I got a little bit of a wake-up call about maybe needing to do more cardio. But after all the years I’ve spent only being able to work out in a pool, it was such an amazing feeling to be moving through the world, as fast as I wanted, feeling my heart pumping. I was free.

It was a feeling I’d forgotten– to truly push my cardiovascular system to its limits with each footstep, out in the wind, out in the sunshine. For the past few years, I only got to experience that feeling within the safe, weightless environment of the pool.  While I am so grateful for my pool workouts, my trek on this day brought back a form of muscle memory. With the thud of each footstep, I was awake. I was back.

The thing is, this isn’t really meant to be a post about physical accomplishment. Instead, it’s about my unexpectedly “Returning” to an aspect of life that I was prepared to live without.

I had made peace with not being able to move the way I wanted. Not being able to travel, and more or less being stuck in place, taught me to try to always notice the beautiful little things around me. I’m not saying I succeeded all the time, but it was a skill that I worked at, and I got better at it.

I had to learn to savor the little things– the colors of the leaves in fall, the glitter of sunlight filtering through the trees, the taste of really good coffee– because it was the only way to make up for the things I’d lost.

Over time, it started to come more naturally. Maybe I was just getting into a better place in my life, emotionally. Maybe I was just growing up. Or maybe it was all of these factors.

But the point is, it happened. I learned to live without running, without traveling, without feeling free in a geographical sense, because I realized there were more important ways to feel free.

Now that that kind of freedom has come back to me, it’s like an unexpected bonus. And I view it gratefully.

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Creative Writing, eating disorders, Favorites, Inspiration, My Story, Sacroiliac Joint

Inner Limits

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I’ve realized something about myself recently– something that has implications for my ability to heal. I’m sharing it with you all, in case it can help spark a similar realization for anyone else out there.

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As many of you know, when I was in high school I had an eating disorder. I was very rigid; every day I ate a specific number of calories, and every day I burned a specific number of calories. If I wanted to eat more than my designated limit, I had to exercise even more.

Through obsessive calorie counting, and running an average of 5 miles a day throughout most of high school, I managed to keep my weight a good 10-20 pounds below my body’s natural set-point.

Sometimes, now, I forget what a big deal that really was. After all, it was something that was ultimately within my control, unlike the years of inexplicable chronic pain that came afterwards.

However, it recently dawned on me that my eating disorder past was affecting me more than I’d realized, in unconscious ways.

Right now I’m dealing with the very complicated and frustrating process of trying to stabilize my hypermobile SI joints.

I was finishing my exercises the other day, and after a good 2.5 hours of going to the gym, using the pool and then coming home and doing even more exercises– and then stretching– I was feeling exasperated. Why, after all of this time, am I not better?

Fuck it, I thought. Why don’t I just keep going? Sure, I just spent two and a half hours exercising, but there’s more I could do. I could do more exercises. I could do more stretches. I could get on my computer, and research more.

Then it hit me. A tiny voice, from 16-year-old Christy, telling me I was afraid to do more. I didn’t want to invest too much; didn’t want to give myself over completely to anything that involved fixing or changing my body. Because that’s what I did with my eating disorder. It was an around-the-clock process to keep my weight that low, and I ended up losing all other perspective.

Now I had regained perspective, but unconsciously, I was terrified of losing it again. In fact, I was keeping my fist tightly clenched around it, restricting the time I spent trying to fix my physical problems in a way that wasn’t all that different from the way I had once restricted my calories. In both cases, I was using an artificial number to place external limits on something that scared me.

Of course, as soon as I realized this, I was automatically able to write it off as a fear that wasn’t worth holding on to. 31-year-old Christy knows that just because she spends more time trying to fix her SI joints, it doesn’t mean she is going to go back to a rigid way of thinking and denying her body what it needs. If anything, it means the opposite.

So I’m going to listen to myself. I’m not going to force myself to do anything, one way or another. If I want to only do my exercises for one day, and then stop, that’s what I’ll do. Another day, if I feel like exercising, and then doing some research, and then going to the chiropractor, that’s what I’ll do.

It’s not about the numbers; it’s about the process. It’s not about imposing limits; it’s about flow.

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Favorites, Inspiration, Interesting Articles, mindfulness

Amy Cuddy on Personal Power, Posture, & Body Language

Here is an amazing talk, given by social psychologist Amy Cuddy, on how the way we feel about ourselves can affect our physical experience of our bodies.   I first stumbled upon it a few years ago, and every time I watch it, I find it’s still relevant to my own life.

Dr. Cuddy’s main argument is that our sense of self directly influences both our body language and our internal biochemistry.   When we feel powerful, we tend to carry our bodies in a way that signals to others that we are in-control and confident.  We stand up tall; we make eye contact.

Conversely, when we don’t feel powerful– when instead, we are experiencing self-doubt– we try to shrink.  We hunch forward, cross our arms, and look down at the floor.

Dr. Cuddy explains that these non-verbal cues send powerful messages to others about how we are feeling, and can directly influence the judgements they make about us.

While that probably won’t come as much of a surprise to most of my readers, what’s really surprising is that, as Dr. Cuddy explains, our own body language can also have a direct affect on how we see ourselves.

Basically, when we hunch over, trying to make ourselves small, our brains recognizes that we are feeling powerless, and our internal chemical state then matches that feeling.  (To get into the nitty-gritty, this means that our brains release more of the stress hormone cortisol).

Conversely, when we take on what Dr. Cuddy refers to as a “power pose,” our brains (male and female) release more testosterone– the “power” hormone.

So, Dr. Cuddy explains, we can actually directly affect our brain chemistry with our own body language.   If we are feeling scared and powerless, we can give ourselves a confidence boost by taking on a power pose.  By assuming the body language of someone who is confident and strong, we send the signal to our brain that it should create an internal chemical state to match that body language.

Of course, it isn’t a magic bullet– nothing ever is– but I’ve tried this out myself, many times, and I do find that “power posing” can have an effect.

***

While Dr. Cuddy’s talk is aimed at a general audience, I find an additional layer of relevance within it to my own experience with chronic pain.

Many of the same physical cues we exhibit when we are feeling fearful are also a response to pain and illness.  When I am in pain, or feeling nauseous due to my digestive issues, what do I do?  I hunch over; I round my shoulders forward.  Every classic marker of bad posture becomes exaggerated when I don’t feel well.

Although for me the cycle of “powerless” body language starts as a response to not feeling well. I have to wonder if it becomes part of a self-perpetuating cycle.  I don’t feel well, so I hunch over, which in turn sends the signal to my brain that I’m not feeling great about myself or my abilities.  In general, I tend to feel pretty good about myself, and confident in my ability to accomplish things, but when I am in a lot of pain, that all (temporarily) goes out the window.

***

Since first discovering Dr. Cuddy’s talk, I pay way more attention to my posture.  Am I standing up straight, or am I hunching over?  And, if my posture isn’t great– am I in pain?  Or is something in this situation making me uncomfortable?

It’s kind of like the chicken and the egg– there are a lot of factors that can influence our experience of pain, and our posture; how we carry our bodies, what our alignment is like.

But paying attention to our own feelings of power vs. powerlessness can be one piece of the puzzle.   Even if our hunched-over, low-power poses are caused by physical factors such as muscle weakness/spending too much time slumped over our desks/being out of shape/being in pain, there’s no reason why paying attention to our own sense of power can’t contribute to our healing.

Now, when I’m in the locker room at the gym, I stop and check out my posture in the mirror before heading out to exercise.  Am I standing up tall, or and am I slumped?

And I just take a minute to check in with myself, and my goals.  Why am I here right now?  What are my goals; what is motivating me?

I find that just remembering to pause and re-center myself can make a big difference.  I might have a lot of issues going on with my back that I haven’t quite sorted out yet, but not having a sense of confidence doesn’t have to be one of them.

***

P.S. For my other absolute favorite TED talk– Kelly McGonigal on Stress and Chasing Meaning, click here!

Creative Writing, Inspiration

One foot in the real world…

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And one foot pointing toward my dreams…

I haven’t been able to write as much as I’d like recently, because I’ve been busy focusing on my real-world exploits: specifically, earning money for grad school.

It’s hard to find the right balance. Follow your dreams and the money will come, they say. But when your dreams involve $70,000 in student loans, and three years with no income… blazing ahead with no thought of the financial risk is a little easier said than done.

For now, I just have to remind myself to slow down, and check in with the part of myself that knows exactly what my dreams are. The part that, despite whatever else is going on in my life, never truly loses sight of what I want to do.

After all, a lesson I’m learning is that it’s not just what you do as you go about your daily life– it’s also how you go about it.

***

A mistake I’ve made in the past is to cut myself off completely from my dreams, focusing only on the pragmatics of what I need to get done. At times, it’s seemed easier. Safer.

But I’m realizing that was not a sustainable way to live. When you try to numb yourself to pain and doubt, and rush through life distracted trying not to feel anything… you also miss out on the good.

There is a certain pain that comes from trying to suppress your dreams. If you block it out for long enough, it will grow until you can’t ignore it anymore.

My goal right now is to remain focused on what I need to do in order to achieve my goal, without letting myself get so mired in the details that I lose sight of my original purpose.

***

I’ve written a lot about helping people through chronic pain, and that’s a huge part of what I want to do as a PT. But ultimately, it’s about something bigger.

Really, it’s about providing a space for people to begin, wherever they are. To create a space where there is no judgment; where I believe my patients when they tell me how bad it really is, without giving them any reason to feel ashamed, or to censor themselves.

And then, using that as our starting place, we’ll work together to find answers. I know how hopeless things can seem at times, because I’ve been there myself.

Sometimes it can take years to find the right answer– or answers. Sometimes you don’t discover everything you need at once– you discover what you need in stages.

***

I want to create a space for people to be in touch with their bodies, in whatever way works for them. To show my patients that you don’t have to wait until you are completely “better,” by some objective measure, to begin to create a sense of peace in your body.

You can actually begin the process right away– before you do anything else, before you’ve spent weeks in PT exercising.  It can actually be the very first thing you begin to work on. Sometimes, you just need to have the right person to show you the way.

I know, because I’ve been lucky enough to find those right people in my own life. And I hope, someday, to give back what I’ve learned, and be that person for others.

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I’ve come so far since the days when I was a terrified teenager with compartment syndrome and an eating disorder.  I may not have gone back to running 40 miles a week, but on the inside, I am millions of miles away from where I was.

There is so much that has gone into changing my perspective, and I hope to share it all with you.  I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

Creative Writing, Inspiration, mindfulness, My Story

Little things

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These days,  I’m all about the little things.

Last Sunday, I went with my friend Romina to her father’s house in Rhode Island.  I would say that we were going to visit, but we were actually short on time, and Romina just needed to drop some things off.

But we ended up having a great time.  I had never gotten to know Rhode Island that well, and didn’t realize how beautiful it was, with all of its waterways and estuaries.  We drove through Providence and the surrounding towns, and I soaked in the beauty of all we passed.

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As I mentioned in my last post, travel wasn’t really a huge part of my life for the past 10+ years.  Since I developed compartment syndrome at 17, there always seemed to be one reason or another why I couldn’t be on my feet for long periods of time.  And what’s the point of travel, if you can’t walk around?  Better to wait and save my money until I could really enjoy it (or so I thought).

However, as I entered my late 20’s, my thinking started to change.  I realized that the perfect day when I’d be able to walk as much as I wanted might never come.  Why was I missing out on things, waiting for everything to be perfect, instead of enjoying what was possible right now?

I know this is going to sound like such a cliche, but it’s cliche for a good reason: I started to focus less on what I couldn’t do, and more on what I could do.

I can’t go on a six-hour walking tour through the rolling hills of San Francisco right now.  But I can tag along with Romina, on what would otherwise be a routine errand for her, and turn it into a really fun afternoon.

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I read an article a few years ago which really had an effect on me.  It was actually an article on how to be good to the environment and minimize your carbon footprint.  It pointed out something that of course is going to sound so obvious now:

If you have one errand to run, try to think of other things you can do on that same route.  Don’t make separate trips and go back and forth, when, with a little bit of planning, you can just make the first trip slightly longer and get more done. 

I know, this sounds so obvious– you probably didn’t need me to tell you.

But for me, as someone who really cares about the environment, it really got me thinking about what else is around me as I go about my daily life.  I started to study Google maps before every trip, wondering what cool scenic thing I might be driving by.   If I have the time– even a few extra minutes– why not try to see something cool?

I started out doing this for environmental reasons (not to mention to save money on gas) but over time, I came to realize that my whole perspective had changed.  Somehow, by getting in the habit of trying to make the most out of every trip, I had started to become more conscious of the unexpected little things around me.

Downtown Providence from Point Street bridge

I mean, this is how we are when we’re on on vacation, right?  We try to see everything; to soak it in.  Everything is new.

But what I have learned, in my study of maps, is that we can have more of a vacation-mindset in our every day life.  It’s a matter of perspective.

You have to take the time to look, consciously.  No one is going to take you by the hand and force you to see the beauty in the world.  You have to remind yourself to keep your eyes open.

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I don’t mean to sound as though I am against travel– not at all.

I just know that before my health problems, I used to think about travel the way I think most people probably do: what is my preferred destination?  What do I want to see more than anything else, and how can I maximize my enjoyment of that destination?

But that way of thinking– let’s call it the “enjoyment-maximization mindset”– is what made it so devastating to me when I couldn’t walk, and made me not want to travel until things could be perfect.

Now, I am in more of what I would call an “appreciation mindset,” where I consciously remind myself to look up and see what is around me.  This is another cliche, but it’s honestly not about the end destination: it’s about the journey.

Just because I’m driving to a doctor’s office down an unsightly highway full of strip malls does not mean that, two miles off the main road, there won’t be a gorgeous scenic overlook or historical park.

***

Even if you can’t travel far, or see things on foot, you can still discover new things all the time.  But it does take a conscious effort to break out of old ways of thinking, and decide what matters to you, even if your adventures are not in the same form other people’s would take.

Now, I say yes to so many invitations I would have turned down in the past.  These days, when my friends go camping, I actually go too.  (Car-camping, of course–backpacking would still be too much of a stretch).

In the past, I never would have said yes to camping.  What would be the point?  I would have thought.  I can’t actually go hiking with them during the daytime, so why would I want to go and be by myself all day?

But that was my old way of viewing things: of waiting until I could experience things the same way everyone else does.

Now I go, and I do as much with the group as I can.  We generally go to the White Mountains in New Hampshire, and what I never realized until I got there is that even the car ride can be fun, because it’s so beautiful.  There are things to stop and see all up and down the major roads.

Now, when my friends leave in the morning to go hiking at whatever mountain they’ve chosen that day,  I drop them off, and then go sightseeing for a few hours until it’s time to pick them up again.

***

Of course, this plan wouldn’t work without the right people.  I’m really loading this post up with cliches, but hey– it’s not just what you do; it’s who you’re with.  Anything can be fun with the right person.

I am grateful to the people I’ve found in my own life, who are able to appreciate the little things with me.  To friends who give me their car for the day so I’m not stuck at the campground.  To a friend like Romina, who can make a tour of her hometown so much fun.  (And of course, to her father and his wife, who sent us home with about 30 pounds of food Sunday night).

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Peruvian-American fusion.

It’s all about figuring out what matters to you, and makes you happy.   And remembering to seek it out, even if it’s in a different form than what you once would have expected.

***

Photos of Providence:

Creative Writing, Inspiration, mindfulness, My Story, Sacroiliac Joint

Lessons from an amazing weekend

I had a crazy, fun-filled weekend. The kind of weekend I haven’t had in at least five years. 4634683686_d575b661b5_o

Five years ago, my friends and I went to a “tango night” at a local restaurant.  It was an amazing evening.  The teachers were professional dancers, and a lot of the other students were from other countries.  There was such a fun, friendly, open vibe to the night.

The evening started out with a free tango lesson, and then afterwards, the dance floor opened up to anyone who wanted to come and dance.  Some truly amazing dancers showed up.  I was in my element, starting to picture myself traveling through Argentina.

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But as the night went, on my knees started to hurt. At first, I tried to ignore the pain, but it got worse and worse until eventually, I had to sit down and watch everyone else for the last two hours.

“We’ll go back,” my friends and I all said at the end of the night. I thought I’d fix my knee problems, and organize another group outing in a few months.

***

Of course, it never ended up happening.  People got busy; the friend who organized it the first time moved away.

And I ended up spending the next five years having trouble walking.  My knee problems got a lot worse before they got better, and the months I spent limping and carrying my weight unevenly led me to develop the SI joint issues I still have today.  Basically, it’s been five years since I could stand, or walk, or dance without so much as a thought.

***

Yet somehow, this weekend, everything clicked. I didn’t plan it– I just got caught up in the flow of things, and went where my friends went.

I guess all my strengthening exercises are starting to really pay off, because somehow, I went out dancing Friday and Saturday night. Friday night, I was in one of those loud, crowded bars I normally hate, but the band was actually amazing, and I found myself out on the dance floor with the group.

And then Saturday? Well, it wasn’t tango, but some friends went to a salsa night. I didn’t make it in time for the lesson, but I did make it out onto the dance floor afterwards. I wouldn’t say I wowed anyone with my salsa skills, but I also didn’t need to sit down once the entire night.

But here’s what really shocked me: I was back to where, physically, I had left off five years ago. But nothing about it felt monumental or life-changing.

What was life-changing? Everything it took for me to be okay, in the past five years, when I couldn’t have a weekend like this. All of the restraint it took; all of the patience I was forced to cultivate.

Don’t get me wrong– I haven’t stayed at home for five years, I’ve gone out– but it was never without compromise, never without having to constantly be aware of the nearest chair.

I’ve had to make peace with the fact that I’d be sitting by myself when an amazing song came on and everyone else wanted to be on the dance floor. I’ve had to perfect the art of looking calm, confident, and busy doing things on my cell phone.

***

I’ve been through so much pain, frustration, and effort with my SI joint, I can’t even tell you. As much time as I’ve spent actually exercising, I’ve spent about three times as much time trying to learn about the problem. Researching the joint, consulting different doctors, chiropractors, and PT’s. Learning what movements not to do, which has been just as important as finding the right exercises.

That’s the thing– and I think anyone with chronic pain and health issues knows this– mind over matter doesn’t work. And actually, it’s counterproductive to push yourself into doing something that isn’t good for you.

You have to listen to your body: fine-tune your balancing act of when to push and when to rest. You have to become still.

***

Something that’s helped me immeasurably is learning how to meditate. I actually don’t meditate every day, but learning how to be in the moment in that way has really spilled over into my daily life.

For me, meditation is like an experiment. You take everything that’s bothering you– whether it’s physical pain, or emotional, or stress and anxiety– and you just tell yourself, “Yes, this is all happening… but what if I was okay, anyway?” The problems are all still there, but just for a few minutes, you stop trying to fight them. They exist, but you see that underneath it all, you actually are okay.

Even after I’d only had this experience a few times, I felt as though it began to change the way I saw the world. I just felt calmer; more at peace. Somehow, it started to feel easier for me to notice the good in the world.

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There are different ways to grow as a person. You can go on a journey through the world– you can travel, meet people, and see fascinating things.

But you can also journey inside of yourself, and that can transform your perspective just as much.

I have had to learn how to find peace in the moment. I haven’t had the option of going out and losing myself in the way people describe when they talk about travel. I’ve never backpacked through Europe… I’ve never even backpacked through the White Mountains, like just about everyone else I know.

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But I have been transformed, no doubt.

It’s tempting for me to try to compare myself to other people, to suggest that maybe I have actually learned more by being forced to stay still, compared to people who have been able to leave their problems behind by going out and doing things. But that would be wrong– I don’t know what journeys people are on, or what they are learning.

But I can compare myself to my past self, and say that the things it takes to make me happy now are very different than the things I used to think I needed to be happy.

That night that I was forced to sit down at Tango Night, I thought I was losing a piece of myself that I wouldn’t get back until I could come back and dance again.

Now I see that I didn’t lose anything at all.  In fact, I gained something.

And that is a lesson I’m grateful to have learned.

***

Credits for the photos in this post:

 

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Favorites, Inspiration, Interesting Articles, Pain Science

Neil Pearson on Building Hope and Recovery

I know I may have mentioned this once or twice before on my blog (or in like every post), but in case you missed it: Neil Pearson‘s work changed my life.

It all started when I met a physical therapist who had studied with Neil. This physical therapist opened my eyes to a relatively new approach to chronic pain treatment, called pain neurophysiology education. Ultimately, I was so inspired by what I learned that I began to consider physical therapy as a career.

I have written a lot on these experiences, and I always urge people to watch the three online lectures, given by Neil himself, that my physical therapist insisted I watch when I first began treatment with him.

For me, these lectures have always been a springboard– I come away wanting to know more.

Well, I was poking around on the Internet last night, and stumbled across this amazing webinar, Building Hope: The way through pain to self-management and recovery.  In this Neil Pearson discusses some new ideas and approaches to treatment that I hadn’t heard before.

The webinar itself is hosted by the Canadian Institute for the Relief of Pain and Disability, a really cool organization that’s worth checking out in its own right. They have a lot of great resources, and I love their compassionate, actively pro-patient stance. (Obviously, every organization tries to be “pro-patient,” but CIRPD really seems to get it right).

Here are some of the key points I’m taking away from this webinar:

1) Neuroplasticity means the nervous system can be changed, and if it can be changed one way (as in the case of chronic pain/central sensitization), it’s also possible to change it back.

2) Even just visualizing movement can help the nervous system inhibit its own pain signals. Research has established that exercise is a great way to stimulate your body’s own internal pain controls, but when the movement itself creates more pain, it can be counterproductive.

That is the beauty of just visualizing movement. As far as your brain is concerned, visualizing a movement is very, very similar to actually performing it.

As Neil explains at the 17:10 mark, visualization can actually help to stimulate the nervous system to inhibit pain. Over time, after you let your nervous system “practice” moving through visualization, you may find you have less pain when you actually go to move.

I think this is seriously SO cool. I can’t even find the words. It’s things like this that really inspire me to become a PT, and help people living with pain. (My takeaway: I want more information on this right now!!!).

3) You can help the nervous system block out pain signals by distracting it and giving it other information to process. You can use touch, or movement– even if it’s very very small movement.

4) Repetitive, rhythmic movements in particular can help to calm the nervous system by giving it something else to focus on other than pain. Rhythmic movements such as walking, breathing or even rhythmic gum chewing (what?!) have been shown to release more serotonin and help control pain.

***

I just honestly can’t even tell you how inspiring I find all this stuff.

I am fortunate that, right now, I am mostly able to move without significant pain. (Due to my SI joint concerns, I do have to be cautious).

But it’s nothing like the place I used to be in. I can remember a time in my own life when even thinking about moving was terrifying. I just felt truly stuck– like my body was a jail.

I can also think of people I’ve met– through blogging, reading stories, as well as the patients I’ve met while shadowing physical therapists– who are in equally as much pain, and seem to be trapped within their bodies.

These are people who, through no fault of their own, are in too much pain to move. It’s not that they’re lazy; it’s not that they’re depressed. It’s not that they don’t want to get better.

It’s just the way the deck was stacked; the way the cookie crumbled.

They are in too much pain; their injuries are too great; their nervous systems too sensitized. Perhaps they are obese; perhaps there are multiple health conditions going on.

Whatever the reason– it is so amazing to know that there is a way to begin to help them, without requiring them to move before they are ready.

I want to help those people. I want to be that physical therapist that comes in and helps the hard cases, the ones other medical professionals may have secretly labeled impossible. I want to sit with those people, and look them in the eye, and tell them that there is a way out of this.

***

I hope that you enjoy the video, and that you will also check out more from CIRPD and Neil Pearson. The webinar was also co-sponsored by the Canadian Pain Coalition and Pain BC— two additional groups with a lot to offer (why does Canada have all the cool organizations?). I could say more about how cool they are… but that will have to wait for another post.

I hope you are as inspired as I am! As always, don’t hesitate to let me know what you think!