The morning was soft and quiet. The gentle hum of the birds whirled near the window as the wind moved gently through the leaves. I stared out across the valley, watching the haze of the sky gently kiss the mountains. The cat swirled at my feet, gently nudging me. Perhaps gently reminding me that I was okay. That things are going to be okay.
With the weight of my bones sinking into the pain of my muscles, I was prompted to think of my relationship to my body. How I see myself, how I treat myself. From an early age I had the confidence and fearlessness of a child who grew up in a stable home. I was built up with high self-esteem in a family that loved me for who I am. After I got pneumonia when I was seventeen, my confidence and zeal began to have holes poked in it. Mostly from offhand comments of kids younger than me, wondering why I could not keep up with everyone else. Why I slept on the floor of the hallway as the janitor swept around me. My energy was no longer the same. My body seemed to have holes that leaked energy with every step.
As college came, I reacted the same to piles of homework as I was taught in high school. To practically kill yourself for a decent grade. To put homework before your health and your emotions. With emotional trauma already seeping into my existence I ignored the signs that my body was feeling sick. From nights spitting up in the bathroom to lonely walks in the dark, I tried to reconcile the emotional reaction to the physical, and the physical to the emotional. Every time the tears slipped down my cheeks, my muscles would clench a little tighter. Feeling emotionally unsupported in the environment I was living in, I subconsciously let my muscles clench tighter and tighter until all I felt every day was a dull ache of pain. It began in my wrists, but slowly moved up through my arms and down my back, and only recently reaching to the ends of my feet. The pain never truly ceasing.
Many articles and health magazines will explain the growing phenomenon of pain. How people are spending thousands of dollars on natural remedies and physical therapy just to achieve some form of relief. Is it our relationship to our bodies that create such a widespread issue of chronic pain? Is it the workaholic attitude that soon leads to the majority of one’s paycheck to go towards medical bills? Or is it truly unresolved emotional trauma that many are taught to bury away, never to be seen in the public eye or in the communities we revolve in. Some articles think it is in the processed food we eat or the lack of general exercise. Whatever it may be, people are throwing dollars at remedies and solutions to find relief.
For the past month I have been participating in a program called The Big Shift, hosted by Suzanne Heyn. This week was about one’s relationship to self-love and one’s physical being. Suzanne pointed out how we could go to fancy yoga retreats and get away from the routine of life that can cause low energy, but in reality it is the daily habits that instill a better life. I was gifted the chance to be in the program by her and am thankful for the reminder and opportunity that healing is in every day acts. Healing is in soft mornings and long walks. Healing is in nourishing oneself in love and patience. It could take years, or only a couple of months in the simplicity of slowing down and learning to trust your own body.
My distrust in my own bones only leads to my own frustration and pain. When I start walking and suddenly have to limp as the pain shudders through my muscles, I remind myself to forgive my body. To be patient in healing. It took five years of winding up my muscles from the emotional and physical pain that crept into my body, and perhaps it will take five more years to truly unwind it. I often have to be reminded that things will be okay, that I will be able to conquer that mountain someday. But for now, I have to listen to my body and learn to trust it again. We are all built with little imperfections that often can feel limiting and cause frustration. We make remarks about what we cannot do, while ignoring what we can do. I still have the mobility to write. To read. To walk for a little while. To listen. To breathe. To speak. Life is full of little every day blessings if we choose to see it. Even on the days I feel trapped in a body of pain, I listen. I listen to the gentle morning breeze and choose to be thankful for life. For love. For being.
In a world that is so desperately trying to help themselves, learn to trust yourself in knowing what you need. To trust your body to tell you what it needs. It took me five years to just begin listening and creating little habits to help me heal, and it may take a few more to find true relief. Whatever your relationship is to your own body, be gentle. Be forgiving. Bodies are the vessel to every day movement, so treat it with care. With love. With patience. And understand that there is more to life than our perceived limitations.
Be bold. Be authentic. Be you. And watch the world listen in with you to the sweet sound of the little hums of nature and the chatter of cities. When we slow down we allow ourselves to feel, to trust, to just be. Learn to just be and learn to trust your own bones.
Love and Light,
p.s. Click here to check out Suzanne Heyn’s work. She is a beautiful human being who has a heart for helping people reach their full potential.