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Central Sensitization, Chronic Pain, Creative Writing, Pain Neurophysiology Education, Pain Science, physical therapy

There is reason to hope.

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I saw a comment on Twitter today which really broke my heart, so I wanted to write this and make it clear:

If you are experiencing pain hypersensitivity (through central sensitization), there is every reason to hope.

If your nervous system has changed one way, it is possible to change it back.

It won’t be easy, and the way forward won’t always be obvious.  But you can do it.

If you are experiencing central sensitization (as the result of an injury, a trauma, or other extreme physical or emotional experience) you have become more sensitive to pain than you used to be.  Your body is using pain as a way to protect you, but it is treating you like you are made of glass.  It is trying to protect you from everything.

Scientists are still researching the myriad of ways in which this happens.  So far, they have identified multiple different mechanisms within the nervous system which can cause this extreme response to pain.

However, the good news is that we don’t need to know everything, yet, about how this process occurs to start treating it.  (Although our treatments will only get better in the future, with more knowledge).

But you can start, right now, by learning what your body is capable of, and identifying the things your nervous system is warning you about that aren’t actually dangerous.

For me, it took a really smart and capable physical therapist who had studied with Neil Pearson.   I expect that you will need a guide as well– someone who you trust, who can walk you through and help identify the ways it is safe for you to try to push through the pain.

Your best bet will be a physical therapist who has advanced knowledge of recent pain science.  (A PT with this knowledge might not easy to find, at first, but luckily it’s becoming easier and easier.  If you email me at sunlightinwinter12@hotmail.com, I can help you get started).

What you need is someone you trust, who you will believe when they tell you your body is capable of more.

Someone who is able to think flexibly and come up with more than one way to do an exercise, if you tell them the first way they gave you doesn’t seem to work.

Someone who will understand that it’s not only about what they learned about the body in school…  it’s also about you, your nervous system, and your experience as a patient.  Your nervous system has to be convinced that your body is safe, before it’s going to stop making things hurt.

Changing your beliefs about pain can have a direct impact on the pain you ultimately experience.  When you truly learn and understand that your body is giving you pain in order to protect you, it stops being so threatening.  This is known as changing your pain from the top down— from the brain to the body.

But then, of course– it’s equally important to keep working on your pain from the bottom up– from your body to the brain.   

If you have chronic pain, or have suffered from some type of injury, your muscles are probably tightened into protective spasms.  This, in turn, will make them weak, if it goes on for long enough.

If you are weak, you are going to have pain and be at risk for additional injuries.  (This is why I went on to develop so many additional problems after I first suffered from compartment syndrome as a teenager, because I had ended up so out of shape).

So you have to work on the pain from both angles.  You need to calm your nervous system down, and help it understand that not everything is dangerous.  But you also need to give your body what it needs, and do everything that you can to help it function optimally.

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Doing both of these things is a balancing act.  Getting back in to shape is not about pushing through the pain.  It is not a “no pain, no gain” mentality.

Instead, it is about being mindful.  Being careful.  (And again, ideally, having a trusted coach by your side).

To respect your nervous system, and to accept your body where it is currently at.  Not trying to do too much, too soon, but instead starting where you can.  If you can only walk for 5 minutes, walk for 5 minutes.  If you need to ice your injured knee before you work out, ice your injured knee.

It’s about bringing all of these different things together, and figuring out what works for you.

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I touched upon this once in an earlier post, and I have to say, I think I phrased it really nicely:

“There is a middle way, where you learn to respect your body’s pain without automatically assuming you are injured.  This means you respect the pain and don’t try to push through it, but you also know not to freak out because you recognize that your nervous system sometimes gives you false alarms.  It’s about being okay with the possibility that maybe you strained something and need to take it easy, while knowing that you probably didn’t.”

This is the balance you eventually need to find, and having a trusted coach by your side who can help you understand what’s going on in your body can make all the difference.

This is the physical therapist I hope someday to be.  The person who understands and can walk you through, even when the path ahead seems scary.  I have been there myself and I know what it’s like.

I also know what it’s like to regain trust in your body.  To go from feeling as though you are made of glass, to knowing what you are capable of– while also knowing your body has limits, and learning to honor them.

This is the balance you need to find.  It won’t be easy, but it is possible.

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My Story

A way of giving back (free photos!)

Some of the stuff I’ve been writing about on my blog has felt a little bit heavy recently, so I thought I’d just take a moment and share something I’ve been meaning to for a while:

When I first started blogging back in 2012, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, or if anyone would want to read anything I wrote.

One of the things that really helped me was to search through Flickr and find Creative Commons-licensed photos to use.  (If you aren’t familiar with Creative Commons, it is a way for people to make their artistic work available for others to use under certain permissions).

Somehow, when I was writing my first fledgling posts, it would give me a little dose of courage to find that someone had just happened to make the perfect photo available to go with what I was trying to say.

These days, I take more of my own photos.  I find that nature, especially, inspires me to write so I’ve gotten in the habit of snapping shots of wherever I am that makes me want to write.  But there are definitely still times where I don’t personally have any photos that would be useful for a specific post, so I still sometimes go on Flickr to find the perfect image.

So, as a way of paying it forward, I’ve put many of my own photos up on Flickr under a Creative Commons license as well.

I definitely can’t claim to be the world’s most amazing photographer, but I do have a lot of photos that I put thought into, and that mean something to me.

So, if you see anything on there that is helpful for you, or might go well with something you are working on, you are welcome to use it (as long as it’s one of the ones I’ve posted with permission!  There are a select few that are too personal, like of friends’ pets and such.  So please check).

I hope some of these photos might be useful to you (or, at the very least, I’ve now given you a new idea about how to look for photos on Flickr!).

Happy blogging!

 

 

 

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My Story

The road to physical therapy school

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It occurred to me recently that I really haven’t talked much about my progress towards becoming a physical therapist on this blog.

So, if you’re curious, here’s my deal:

I have a Bachelor’s degree in the humanities.  My concentration was social theory, with an emphasis on gender studies.

My goals, when I was in college, were focused in a pretty different direction than the path I’m on now: I wanted to study social policy, and travel abroad working for various non-profits and human rights agencies.  I also wanted to become a psychotherapist.

I started down that road immediately out of college, working at a mental health agency so that I could gain experience before grad school.

Before this, I’d already had a lot of struggles with chronic pain, and had to have surgery for compartment syndrome.  Yet after college, I’d managed to reach some kind of holding pattern where pain didn’t cause me to miss work.  That was, until the awful winter of 2010, when a few things happened in a brief span of time that caused my pain levels to flare way up.

That was my breaking point– when I tried, anew, to get answers.  Finally, after months of searching, I found my physical therapist Tim, who had studied pain neurophysiology education with Neil Pearson.

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Ultimately, I was so inspired by everything I learned from Tim that it led me to consider becoming a physical therapist.

I’d always found physical therapy to be a fascinating field.  As a high school runner, I’d had a few serious injuries where I really needed PT to get up and moving again.   I had formed some great relationships with my therapists, and hung on every word they said.  A part of me was always a little bit sad when they told me I was doing well enough that I didn’t need to come back.  I would have gladly come back back every day, just to hang out and learn.

When I was a freshman in high school, I partially tore my hip flexor during a cross-country race and was on crutches for months.  It was a physical therapist who helped me overcome my fear and eventually start running again.

Then, when I was 19 and had surgery for compartment syndrome, it was a physical therapist who got me back up and moving again.  While I’ll always be grateful to the surgeon who fixed my legs, my PT was the one who gave me the confidence to actually start using them again.

And now, when my life had ground to a complete halt at age 25 because of constant, debilitating pain, it was a physical therapist who gave me my life back again.

I’d always had so much appreciation for PT’s.  Now, the idea dawned on me: why don’t I try to become one?

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Growing up, I didn’t really consider myself that much of a science person.  Looking back, I think a lot of that has to do with the environment at my school, and how our science classes were taught.

Once I started looking into becoming a PT– taking classes, shadowing practicing PT’s– I realized I always had been interested in health science, and exercise physiology, and human anatomy.  It had just taken a different form.

I’d always wanted to do the best thing for my body.  I loved when my running coaches talked about strengthening, building endurance, the benefits of stretching.

And I’d always been interested in nutrition, and being healthy overall.

It’s just that when I was younger, I didn’t have the healthiest mindset, and took some of these interests too far.  But my eating disorder was not all of me– it was a snapshot of a specific place I was in, at a certain point in time, at a certain age.  Although I had some distorted beliefs, that does not mean I wasn’t also genuinely interested in health and fitness at the same time.

The difference is that now, I am able to come at it in a much healthier, stable, and more grounded manner, and know that I will be able to help others with similar struggles.

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Five years later, I can say that I ended up loving all of my prerequisite classes, and I’m so glad I made the decision to take them.

It’s been an incredibly long road.  You see, some of the classes I needed to take had prerequisites of their own.  At the same time, due to my SI joint issues, there were periods of time where I found it incredibly difficult to walk, drive, or even stand up for more than a few minutes.

Despite of all of this, I’m finally at the point now where I’ve basically taken all of the classes I need in order to apply to PT school.  (I might need to take one or two more, depending on specific programs I might try to get into, but most of my bases are covered).

And honestly, I’m so glad I made this decision.  I realized that, while the humanities will always be my first love, I am also a science person, and have been all along.   I couldn’t see it at the time, but I know it now.

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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.

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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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My Story

The ‘Tyranny’ of Positive Thinking

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A friend posted this article about the pitfalls of positive psychology on Facebook this morning, and gosh– it resonated.

I’ve honestly been annoyed by the concept of positive thinking for a long time. It seems like most of the time, when someone tells urges you to be more “positive,” what they really mean is that they’re tired of listening to you.

The whole idea of trying to “block out” negative thoughts never made sense to me. If you have a problem, shouldn’t you try to solve it? Pretending the problem doesn’t exist isn’t going to make it go away. You have these feelings for a reason. It’s gut instinct trying to tell you that something is wrong and needs to change.

As someone who’s spent a lot of time battling health issues that appeared to many people to be “in her head,” I’ve probably been accused of dwelling on the negative more than the average person. (But probably not more than most of my fellow health bloggers– I know you guys will know what I mean!).

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I had never really considered how that mindset might be unique to where I live (the Northeastern US) until I spoke with my friend M., who is from Costa Rica. She told me that, since moving to the US several years ago, she feels a definite pressure to sweep problems under the rug and always appear cheerful– a pressure that was not there back home.

In Costa Rica, M. says, people have more of an understanding that problems are part of life, and that we all need to find someone else to listen once in a while. When you’re experiencing a crisis, it’s not so much a reflection on you as a person, like it is in the US. It’s more that it’s your turn to go through an aspect of life that everyone experiences occasionally.

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Well, this Newsweek article totally backs M. and me up.

The author, Morgan Mitchell, cites several studies that have demonstrated that there are drawbacks, and even potential dangers, of positive psychology (and its less-nuanced cousin, positive thinking).

For example, Mitchell cites a recent study by Karen Coifman et al., which found that “when people acknowledge and address negative emotions toward their relationships or chronic illnesses, it helps them adjust their behavior and have more appropriate responses. Those negative emotions, in turn, benefit their overall psychological health. ”

That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. You need to fully experience the negative emotions you have, so that you can process them and then get to a better place emotionally.

Mitchell also references a study by Elizabeth Kneeland and colleagues, which “concluded that people who think emotions are easily influenced and changeable are more likely to blame themselves for the negative emotions they feel than people who think emotions are fixed and out of their control.”

In other words, people who view their own negative response to a given situation as a reflection of their own shortcomings are most likely to feel badly about themselves. To me this seems like a complete waste of energy– instead of judging yourself for your emotional response to something, wouldn’t it be better to focus on doing whatever it takes to create a better situation?

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As much as I know “positive thinking” annoys me on principle, this is still something I’m struggling with. To let myself experience a difficult situation and, instead of judging myself for the way I react, to recognize that there is actually some wisdom in that reaction. My truest and deepest self is letting me know that this situation is not okay for me, and I need to take steps to change it.

It’s okay if things don’t always work out. It’s okay if something you thought was going to be great turns out not to be.

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One of my favorite bloggers, Beauty Beyond Bones, wrote a post about a similar situation the other day. She found herself in a professional situation where she did not feel respected, and was not being compensated adequately. After some time, she made the difficult decision to stand up for herself, despite the potential consequences it could have for her career. She wrote,

“Our actions, whether consciously or unconsciously, communicate messages to ourselves. What do we think we’re worth? Do I allow someone to walk all over me? Am I completely upending my life to meet the needs of someone who doesn’t even respect my time when I’m there?

I am worth respect. I am worth honesty. I am worth dignity.”

This is what I believe. Sometimes, when you really just feel awful about a certain situation, and the feelings don’t go away– those feelings are there for a reason. Instead of wasting time judging ourselves, or fearing others will judge us for our response, we need to trust that inner voice that tells us where we need to be.

Trust Your Nervous System photo courtesy of Cliph

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My Story

Newfound possibility

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I’ve been away from my blog for the past month, and I have so much to tell you all. I took what was supposed to be a five-day trip to a wedding in California, and turned it into an amazing, impromptu two and a half week stay.

To be honest, I was really scared to take this trip. Since I first developed health issues at age 19, I have really not traveled very much at all. It’s only been in the past four years or so that I’ve started to open myself back up to small weekend trips around New England.

But California? I had to go… one of my oldest friends was getting married.

So I went. But I really didn’t want to.

I hadn’t traveled in so long that everything felt rusty. I’d clung to the same routine for so long, hoping my pain and SI joint issues wouldn’t get worse… and now, everything was about to change.

Now that I look back, I can’t believe I was so scared of a five-day trip. It’s not like I was traveling to the middle of nowhere. I was going to Napa Valley and San Francisco… two places that are hardly without amenities. I had just gotten so used to the idea that travel was not for me, that I felt as though I was traveling to a foreign country.

So I went.. and everything turned out fine. Better than fine. The wedding was in Napa, and then after that I spent two nights at my friend Karen’s apartment in San Francisco. We were having such an amazing time catching up, Karen finally getting to show me the sights and sounds of the city she’d been telling me about for ten years. After one day, we decided I should switch my plan ticket and stay. It’s something that felt so out of character for me… but I did it.

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It ended up being a great adventure, and in some ways… I feel as though I re-joined the modern world. (It feels weird to tell you all this, but it’s the truth). My health issues had forced me to stay still in one place for so long, that it seemed so much had passed me by.

Now, it was time for bootcamp. I had to remember how to book a plane ticket; how to check a bag and get through security. How to handle a rental car. I got an AirBnb account; I got Uber; I got Lyft. I had to navigate us all throughout Napa Valley for the various wedding events, and then back down to San Francisco.

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I had to put so many of my fears aside, because there simply wasn’t time for them. And I realized that (apart from the extreme amounts of money I spent on the trip) most of my fears turned out to be unfounded.

To be fair, I had some amazing friends to help me. My friend Karen is amazing, and so is my friend Amanda, who flew with me from Boston to be my plus one at the wedding. Part of the reason I asked Amanda to come – other than, of course, wanting her company– is that I was afraid I would need a lot of help physically, dealing with my suitcase and stuff like that.

But it was all okay, and if anything, I realized I really didn’t need Amanda’s help as much as I thought. Now, I actually think I could have made the trip alone (although I obviously still would have wanted to have Amanda come for the company!).

The lesson I’m taking away from this is that sometimes, change can be good. A new experience, particularly one that we fear, can be a great way for us to open ourselves to new possibilities, and to learn things we didn’t even know we didn’t know.

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Now, I’m not suggesting that things are always going to be easy, or that all those of us with health problems have to do is wave our magic wand, think positive, and hop on a plane, guaranteed a great trip.

There’s a lot that has gone into getting me to this point. Learning the right exercises to strengthen my body, and learning the right techniques to help calm my nervous system. My life is opening back up again, but it’s only been because of the time I’ve spent being mindful of how I live, and carry myself, and remembering to work with my body instead of against it.

This is why I feel so powerfully about some of the things I share on my blog– when you have chronic pain or fibromyalgia, it is possible for things to change.

I’m so glad I took this trip, and am so excited to see where my newfound sense of possibility takes me. I hope you will all stay tuned!

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Creative Writing, Inspiration

Reading List: Vulnerability

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This is the question that has consumed me recently: how do people take their most precious and guarded memories, and spin them into stories, unfurling them to the world?

It seems so easy when other people do it– when you read a famous, heart-wrenching novel for class, and analyze its themes. “I could do that,” you say. “Someday maybe I will.”

But it’s so different when you begin to try– shockingly different. In real life, I haven’t begun– I’ve only hinted at my most personal stories. I’ve only begun to write them and tell them in my head.

In the morning I wake up too early, in a panic, short of breath. “What have I done?” I gasp. Then I relax. I haven’t actually written anything yet; haven’t hit publish.

I have so much respect for those who have. I’ve always loved and looked up to writers, but now I do so with a respect that is so much more real now that I’ve begun to consider the task myself.

So here, my readers, are a few things I’ve read recently that have inspired me:

Rian Kerfoot, Truth and Cake:

Mary Gelpi, Fibromy-Awesome: Getting Clean Real talk from a girl with fibromyalgia who talks about how, somedays, bathing is just not on the agenda. I’ve been there.

Bianca Sparacino: “You Are Not for Everyone.”

Beauty Beyond Bones: I love her whole blog, but I’ve recently discovered her early posts, which send chills through me. I so want to tell my story like this. (I was never hospitalized for my eating disorder, but her words resonate on so many levels).

Sade Andria Zabala: I discovered her a few months ago when I was heart-broken, and her words ripped me apart more and then healed me at the same time.

All of these pieces of writing are breathtaking — check them out!

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My Story

Sense of Place

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Ironically, I have a feeling this is going to be somewhat of a meandering post… because I have a lot of thoughts I want to share on the topic of staying in place.

I moved somewhat recently (last spring) after living with family for several years. I didn’t move far (still in the suburbs of Boston, only closer to the city now).

However, it’s been a time of big change for me, because I’ve been trying to figure out how to do a lot more things for myself rather than relying on my family. This is true of things that everyone has to learn to deal with at some point (for example, putting my own furniture together; installing my own curtain rod). Just those boring, annoying adult things.

For me, there is an added layer of difficulty, because of my sacroiliac joint issues. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I am doing better than I was a few years ago, but I know from past experience that times of change are when I’m more likely to inadvertently push myself too far, and have a setback. It takes time to adapt to a new place, to a new routine; to figure out what works for me, and what I should avoid.

It’s been my grand experiment. It hasn’t always been pretty.

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One of the questions I’ve asked myself is, what is family? For so long, I relied on my family members for help, assuming they were the only ones who would be willing to help me with the kinds of favors most people don’t have to ask for.

My friends knew about my struggles, but I mostly tried to avoid asking for help, except for the times when it couldn’t be avoided.

However, I am not a scared and confused 20-year-old anymore. I am 30. (And no, 30 is not old. I feel amazing, and so excited about the future!). But it’s time to start branching out– to find new ways to do things, and new ways to relate to the people in my life.

Can friends be family? Or, in other words, can I redefine my relationships with my friends, and come to count on them the way I have counted on my family?

I definitely have not done it perfectly. It’s been a learning experience.

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Something I’ve learned is how far people will go out of their way to avoid hurting your feelings. They’ll do things that ultimately hurt you more– they’ll talk behind your back, they’ll plan a trip that involves a lot of walking, and won’t invite you– anything other than tell you to your face.

I’ve had to get better at reading between the lines. I’ve found it to be helpful if I can just take a guess at what might be wrong and offer an apology, even if the person insists everything is fine. I’ve had to get better at clearing the air; at addressing the problem as promptly as I can rather than letting it fester.

Things get awkward sometimes, because I can’t always repay a favor the way people would normally expect. For example, if one of my friends comes over and helps me carry my new mattress inside, I can’t go over the next week and help her move her couch. I have to find another way to contribute to the relationship.

Obviously, people do things out of the goodness of their hearts. It’s not as though, the very first time someone does me a favor, they expect something in return.

But over time, it’s important to show that you are also willing to help, and how much you care. There have been times where I thought I was doing a good job of this, only to realize that in some cases, my efforts weren’t really noticed.

It’s been frustrating for me, because the truth is that I put a lot of time and dedication into my friendships– to be there for people, to listen to them. I’ve come to find out the hard way that this effort isn’t always recognized.

I think it’s partly because listening comes so naturally to me. I actually love sitting down with people and sorting out their problems (it’s why, when I was in college, I wanted to be a psychotherapist). Because I enjoy it so much, and (let’s face it) I’m good at it, people don’t always realize that it can be excruciatingly hard work at the same time.

So, I’ve had to learn how to communicate better. To let people know how and when I am putting in effort, because they don’t always see it on their own. It’s all about being open, honest, and direct, while maintaining a non-confrontational stance.

What I’ve learned is that you can redefine your relationships with people. You can become closer to people, and ask more of them. But you have to be willing to put in more effort yourself– and to be prepared for people not to notice it, especially if it’s not in a form they’d expect. When that happens, you’ll need to find a graceful way to point it out.

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Although this post is about people more than it is than geographic location, “Sense of Place” is the only title that makes sense to me. After all, it’s other people that form so much of our sense of place– the feeling that we belong, the knowledge that we will be okay.

But I do love the area I moved to– I am somehow still surrounded by conservation land, trails, and parks, am yet much closer to the city than I used to be. I love it– the hustle and bustle of life around me, yet against a backdrop of so much natural beauty.

As I’ve mentioned previously, over the course of the past few years that I haven’t been able to run, I’ve learned to find peace in standing still. So, over the past few months, when I’ve felt overwhelmed, I’ve turned to the natural beauty around me, and drunk it in.

When things haven’t gone my way, when I’ve felt that my “sense of place” in the personal sense was still under construction, I’ve always had my internal connection to the natural world, and that has been my anchor.

It took a while– to learn the area, to feel at home, to re-evaluate my connections with the other people in my life. It’s a work in progress, but it’s working out.

 

 

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Creative Writing, My Story

Fear of authenticity

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I’ve noticed something about myself, since I started this blog. I love, love, love sharing my writing with others, and forming connections. Every time I have a meaningful moment on here– let’s say I publish a particularly personal post, and people really respond to it– I’m exhilarated. I get totally fired up. I start planning my next post immediately, and come up with a long list of topics for future posts…

…and then somehow, I don’t end up publishing anything for like a month.

Something in me always pulls away. I get stage fright about telling my story publicly; I procrastinate. I decide I don’t want to publish something until it’s perfect, and the next post is never perfect.

For a while I just thought this had to do with my fear of putting myself out there and being judged by strangers; of writing something really personal and then wishing I could take it back.

But I’m realizing now that there might be a deeper level to my hesitations.

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I think it has more to do with the fact that sometimes it can be painful to get in touch with that deepest part of yourself. The part of you that’s really you, that knows exactly what you want most out of life. Sometimes it’s easier, safer, to pretend that that space within you doesn’t exist. To focus on the tangible, the everyday.

I seem to go through months- or even year-long phases where I focus most of my attention on the more surface aspects of life. I am practical; pragmatic; planning my future. What graduate program do I want to attend? (Been stuck on that one for a while). Where do I want to live? What do I need on my next trip to the grocery store?

I want to be put together; organized. I don’t want the future to catch me off-guard.

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Something I’ve learned about myself is that I’m happier when I’m busy; when I’m surrounded by other people, and by ideas. I get really focused on things– my classes when I was in college. Different internships. And then, after college, the various jobs that I’ve had.

And with each one, for a little while, I’ll think that I’ve made it; that I’ve finally figured it all out. But after a while, when I’ve been focusing exclusively on other people’s ideas and never on my own, I start to feel a creeping sense of emptiness.

I try to ignore it at first. I mean, it’s an unpleasant sensation—obviously, my first response is going to be to try to block it out.

But it grows, and grows, until there will be a night when I feel distraught and cannot sleep. I will no longer have the option to try to hide; it is time to return to my own center. To get in touch with what I want, not what I think I have to do.

And for some reason, it always hurts at first, to come back in touch with this place within myself.

Does that make sense to anyone else?

It’s not that my hopes and dreams and desires are painful– it’s that it was painful for me to suppress them. I was so busy being distracted that I didn’t notice the pain building up, and now there’s a scab.

It’s not as though there has always been one thing, one way of living, one career path that my inner voice has always told me to do. First, I wanted to be a psychotherapist. Then, I wanted to work in social justice, with more of an advocacy role. Then, a few years ago, when my own physical issues had opened my eyes, I decided I wanted to become a physical therapist.  It’s not like there was one thing my true self has been telling me to do, and I’ve ignored it.

Instead, I think it has more to do with a way of being, of remembering to be in touch with that space within yourself on a more regular basis.

Why do I block out that voice? I don’t know. I think it’s because I’m not completely sure there is a place for that part of me in the world. If I was to truly listen to myself, to rely on intuition, to push ahead nonstop, guns blazing… what would happen? I’m afraid everything would turn out wrong.

So I temper that voice. I focus on external ways of making sure I’m making the right choices. (What are my PT-prerequisites? What’s the best way to build my resume until then?).

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Working on this blog, however, requires me to get in touch with that space within myself.

It’s a totally different experience than writing when someone else is telling you to. I can write academic papers or reports in my sleep; I can edit your paper, and you’ll be shocked at how much better I make it (haha, really!).

But writing in a truly personal way– especially when others are going to see it, when it’s a representation of yourself that you’re putting out into the world– requires a certain clarity; a sense of purpose. It requires being in touch with that truest, deepest part of yourself.

And it’s honestly hard to do that, at least on a regular basis. It’s hard for me, and I have the feeling that it’s probably hard for a lot of people.

But I also have the feeling that it’s not an issue for everyone; that there are people who have found a way to live out of that most authentic part of themselves on a regular basis, and that for them, it isn’t painful.

How do people do that? I want to know.

I have started to look for answers. I recently watched the movie “Wild,” based on the book by Cheryl Strayed, and it blew my mind. I’ve also recently started to check out Brene Brown‘s work on vulnerability, after seeing some friends whose opinions I really respect rave about her.

I’ll let you know what I find out.

In the meantime, I am happy to at least have some insight into the problem, because I think that was probably half of the battle.

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Please, please, please, let me know what you guys think!  Does this dilemma sound familiar to anyone else?  I want to know your thoughts!

Photo credit: Magnus Karlsson

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Chronic Pain, Creative Writing, eating disorders, Favorites, Inspiration, My Story

I only understood myself…

A few days ago, I went for a walk around this beautiful historical estate that’s practically next to where I live now.

I’ve been making some big changes in my life recently, and some of them have been pretty difficult.  This park feels like home to me, so I went there to clear my head.

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I walked around for a little while, and then stopped to lie down on the grass.  It was so peaceful, in the warm sun.  I just wanted to take in the moment.

And then I looked up, and saw this view:

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Suddenly, it hit me.

I thought back to the days in high school, before I got compartment syndrome, when I would have been here running.

Rushing, rushing, hurrying, going as fast as I could.  A high-intensity day. Three miles, in as little time as I could.

Or maybe it would have been an endurance day, and I’d be purposely holding myself back for the first few miles, so that I could stretch my run out to six or seven.

I loved running.  I loved pushing myself, the freedom.

But you know what I wouldn’t have been doing?  Looking around me.

Looking up, specifically.

You can’t really look up when you’re running, at least not when you’re outside.  You have to look at the ground almost constantly, to make sure an awkwardly-placed tree root doesn’t leave you on crutches for the next two months.

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I loved running.  Everything about it– the thrill of pushing myself, the endorphin rush, the adventure of being outside.

But it was always a blur.   Even when I ran through my favorite places– and I knew some beautiful trails– I was never able to stop and enjoy it.   In my head, it was keep going, keep going.  You have to burn calories.  You’re going to get fat.

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I could never pause, never rest.  Even on Sundays, when my coaches made all of us promise not to run… I tried to go for walks, but I just wanted to be running.

I’d be in the middle of the most beautiful nature scenes, and all I’d be able to think about was how hungry I was.  And how fat I was going to get from not running that day, from the meager calories I’d decided to allow myself.

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Things are so different now.

I can’t do the same things with my body that I used to, but I can look up.

I can go to a beautiful place, without having to spend almost the entire time staring at the ground.  I can stop if I want to; I can pause.

Don’t get me wrong; I will always love running, and exercise in general.  I love a good endorphin buzz even more than I love coffee in the morning.

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But I exercise now because I want to; not because I’m afraid of what will happen if I take a day off.

It’s such a crazy feeling, and I don’t know if anyone who hasn’t been through it themselves can know what I mean.

I know what it’s like to have the ability to pause, because at one point I lost it.

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(Check her out, she’s an amazing writer!  http://sadeandriazabala.com/)