healing

Embody

December 16, 2023 By Allison

Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu was on this morning’s agenda, but a strained wrist is keeping me cozy at home. I am bummed to miss class and wonder which techniques I’d have practiced—takedowns, choke holds, hooks? But my tender wrist is telling me exactly what I need to do today: rest.

In the last few years, rigorous exercise has taken me out of my mind and placed me squarely in my body. While the language of ideas has always come naturally to me, the language of sports has not. I am a timid athlete. In elementary school, I was too polite to fight for the basketball. As a young tennis player, I had fun learning forehand and backhand but felt overwhelmed by the prospect of lobbing the ball. I grew into a scholar and participated primarily in gentle activities such as hiking, yoga, and brisk walks. Even now, I am competitive with myself but never with others.

I am not drawn to team sports, but strenuous exercise has done wonders for me. Thanks to regular weight training, I’m calmer and steadier in my movements. I am coordinated, strong, and light on my feet. I have learned to listen closely to my body’s messages, and it inevitably tells me what I need to know. Sleep a little more. Blow off steam at the gym. Walk away from this person.

This embodied existence is new to me. Intense exercise has taught me how to balance body and spirit. I have not abandoned a life of the mind, but I am now less likely to get locked in ideas and lost in intellectual questions. I am comfortable in the weight room and seek to be part of an inclusive athletic culture at my gym and on my campus.

Though my confidence has grown in the last two years, I remain intimidated by Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. As I knot my white belt and get ready to step on the mat, I acknowledge a nervous tummy. I feel out of my element. Drills are invigorating and practicing new techniques is stimulating, but putting the pieces together and grappling with classmates overwhelms me. When it becomes too much, I back away and learn through watching rather than doing. I am still dabbling, curious though not quite ready to let myself go in the calculated movements of the martial art. I want to embody the grace of Jiu-Jitsu. When the time is right, my anxiety will melt away, uniting body and spirit.

Inspirations

Feeling Safe in My Body

Luxurious Boredom

Tender Season

November 20, 2022 By Allison

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival […]
Welcome and entertain them all!
–Rumi

As we move into the holiday season, I find myself approaching each gesture with reverence. Zipping up my long, puffy jacket to meet the icy morning becomes an act of self-protection. Carving out 20 minutes to light a candle and practice yoga is a sort of prayer for a good night’s sleep.

These chilly, emotionally charged months call for tenderness. First and foremost, we must be tender with ourselves. I’ve spent the year learning to welcome all the emotions that arise. Exhilaration and sorrow both visited and stayed on for a while. Anger made its way through my guest house, but so did joy. When I tried to oust my uninvited guests, they hunkered down. In The Guest House, Rumi encourages us to

Be grateful for whatever comes,
Because each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.

At some point in this mind-boggling year, I stopped resisting the emotions I’d rather not feel. Sadness, grief, and outrage took up space in my house. I finally befriended them. I engaged with them. I ultimately tamed them. And then they left me. Allowing these guests to hang out for a while created an internal ease because I wasn’t focused on resisting them. My life went on, more or less uninterrupted. I traveled, I rested, and come fall, I threw myself into my work. All the while, I tended to my guests, moving through successive ups and downs.

I learned to be tender with the effects of betrayal and the deep hurt that ensues. I was patient with my healing process, extending grace to myself when I seemed to backslide. Thankfully, my house is now less crowded and far less confusing. Rumi teaches that unruly guests may be clearing you out for some new delight. I hope this is true. In the meantime, I’m content to move about my spacious, bright, relatively empty self.

Inspirations

Rumi’s The Guest House, Translated by Coleman Barks

The Rumi Prescription, by Melody Moezzi

Purple COVID Thumb

August 14, 2022 By Allison

“The body is a document. It keeps a memory of its own. We are made of loops and loops of time.” –Ingrid Rojas Contreras

COVID hit me like a summer cold, but long COVID has been no walk in the park. I was spared excessive fatigue and loss of taste, but the virus nonetheless did a number on my nervous system. I’ve always been emotionally expressive, but in the weeks following COVID, I was exceptionally fragile. Happily, my emotions are slowly stabilizing and the steady progress feels sustainable.

My purple thumb is a wild, disconcerting reminder that my body is still out of whack. The bruises first appeared on day 6 of COVID. They come and go. My thumb feels tight and slightly constricted, and my arm aches when it flares up. After a few days, it fades and then unexpectedly reappears.

My doctor suspects that my condition was brought on by the disturbance the coronavirus caused in my sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. He told me that this elegant, well-designed system regulates the autonomous processes of the body, including the fight or flight response during a threat or perceived danger. If the body is under attack from a virus, physical trauma, or emotional upheaval, that regulatory part of the brain is affected.

My doctor is perplexed but not worried. I have no definitive diagnosis, but we believe that the trauma of COVID likely sent my fight or flight response into overdrive. Long COVID is uncharted territory, and symptoms vary from patient to patient. A few weeks ago, I opted to receive a nerve block to pause my fight or flight response. The simple procedure was soothing and settling. I consider the injection a useful tool but not a cure. My nervous system will come back into balance over time, and I must give myself the time and space needed to heal.

I feel validated by the medical community and remain open to more injections and/or talk therapy as I recover. As always, my friends and family hold me up. And I’ve chosen to treat the purple thumb adventure as an opportunity to deepen my knowledge of healing. When my purple-hued thumb sends me looping through my mind and has me pacing my house, I am reminded that healing rarely proceeds in a straight line. I try to pause and practice deep breathing as a way to soothe my nervous system. More than ever, I pay attention to emotional triggers and my reactions to them. How can I step back and recalibrate? What helps me keep my emotions in check? Moving forward, how will our society deal with long COVID? Given that health is a personal, private subject, how can we facilitate healing for others?

I hemmed and hawed before writing about my COVID thumb because the condition frightened me. I keep it bandaged so that I don’t catch glimpses of the bluish-purple splotch. As much as possible, I set it aside and focus on the more pleasant aspects of my life. So why did I choose to post this story? Writing has the power to restore wholeness. Sharing does too.

Safe in My Body

July 25, 2022 By Allison

When you have a silly putty spine, gentle movement is usually a safe bet. For 20 years, yoga and walks were my go-to forms of exercise. Inexpensive and accessible, both have helped tone my core and soothe my nerves. Even in the midst of flare-ups, I could usually do a few sun salutations or take a stroll in the neighborhood. Though I was active, my back and neck remained precarious.

A year ago, I unknowingly made a life-changing leap. My back doctor and physical therapist felt I was ready to “graduate” from physical therapy and begin medically supervised exercise. I had undergone about two dozen injections—prolotherapy and PRP (platelet-rich-plasma)—which had strengthened my ligaments. My spine was no longer mushy, and my body no longer felt jangly. I was ready to leverage the healing and build strength.

So, I joined James’ class for patients with a history of back injury. Having already done physical therapy with him, I felt comfortable in the group setting. I was the youngest in the class by a few decades, but I struggled to keep up with my classmates for the first few weeks. I thought James was crazy to expect that I could do a deadlift with a 35-pound kettlebell. When he placed a 45-pound dumbbell on my pelvis for a weighted bridge, I was sure it would shatter me. He challenged me in ways I could never challenge myself, and he could always gauge my capabilities without crushing my spirit (or my pelvis!). Each week, I left group exercise a shaky mess, but I was gaining strength and perfecting my form little by little.

I now work one-on-one with James. I lift 50-pound kettlebells. My weighted bridges sometimes accommodate 80 pounds. James is prepping me to lift barbells. I am stronger, leaner, and more steady in my movement. I still leave every session a shaky mess—a sure sign that I’ve had a fabulous workout!

Along the way, James has been a mentor, a teacher, and a friend. He is demanding yet compassionate, and he is unfailingly kind to me. He has taught me that lifting heavy weights helps us to feel safe in our bodies. It allows us to move through life with elegance and grace. But it’s not easy because we must keep challenging ourselves!

I am gratified by James’ correlation between strength and safety. When women say they want to be “strong,” it is often coded language for wanting to be thin. This mindset troubles me because I sometimes find myself slipping into this unhealthy rhetoric. My young nieces look up to me, and so do my students. As they find their way, it is my responsibility to model confidence, self-assurance, and grace of movement. I can do this by demonstrating that I am finally safe in my body.

Inspirations

Self-Soothing

The Nourishing Power of Gentleness

Resting Bench

February 6, 2021 By Allison

“I am that living and fiery essence of the divine substance that glows in the beauty of the fields. I shine in the water, I burn in the sun and the moon and the stars.” –Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)

The bancs-reposoirs (“resting benches”) of Alsace are sandstone memories of 19^th-century peasant life. Spaced about 2 kilometers apart on well-traveled ways, the benches provided a place of rest for farmers headed into town on market day. Women, who carried their goods in baskets on their heads, placed them on the lintel topping the structure. The resting benches were often shaded by linden trees.

Throughout Alsace, about 170 bancs-reposoirs remain, built in 1811 and 1854. Found along a windy road in Hilsenheim, France, this bench offered a moment of respite to people carrying a heavy load. Visiting it in the 21^st century, I try to imagine the trek to the next town and the weight of the wheat and bran the women carried on their heads. What emotional burdens weighed on them? What were their passions? Did they enjoy aspects of this work?

It goes without saying that there is a disparity in experience between 19^th-century Alsatian peasants and a 21^st-century college professor from across the ocean. Though as I trace my finger on the lichen covering the stone, I remember that time is fluid and that in this spot, the centuries touch. I sit on the same resting bench. The landscape I take in resembles the backdrop of their lives—neat fields, spring greens, unruly grasses in the ditch. They may have felt a similar May breeze on their skin. Stone, place, and air connect us.

This moment also reminds me that rest is essential. The world is currently burdened by a pandemic. After almost a year of living in crisis mode, we need to sit on our own figurative resting benches. Let us stop and catch our breath. Let us remember our fiery essences. Let us also be still and smile, seeing how we glow in the fields, shine in the water, and burn in the heavens.

Luxurious Boredom

February 4, 2018 By Allison

Tea and citrus got me through my week with influenza. When I got sick, I immediately cut myself off from the world and settled in for a week of quiet recuperation. I didn’t have much of an appetite during my bout with the flu, but fluids perked me up. Warm lemon water with honey soothed my throat, sparkling water quenched my thirst, and hot tea gave me warmth and comfort.

Being sick and alone is boring. I hadn’t experienced boredom in years, and so it was odd to get reacquainted with this sensation that I knew so well as a child. I binge-watched The Crown—a welcome distraction. But my mind was too cloudy to read, my voice too shaky to call friends. I spent most of the week wrapped in blankets and scarves, sipping tea.

I’ve long understood that silence is productive, and I now see that boredom is too. Expansive, quiet minutes slid into hours and days. I stumbled upon empty corners of my mind that didn’t house thought. My internal chatter slowed, my anxious mind relaxed, and for a time, I stopped thinking. Spacious boredom replaced my drive to achieve.

The flu drained me, yet my week of isolation revived me. Tea and water were life-giving and clearing, and so too was boredom’s hollow loneliness.

Our Imperative

October 6, 2017 By Allison

During my last visit to Paris, I spied a few of these messages of love, all sprayed by the same hand. They delighted me. Moving about Paris can be stressful, especially given the security measures of recent years—more soldiers, more police vehicles, more security checks. In short, more fear.

The unexpected love signs were an antidote to the tensions. They brought a pause, a smile, and a reminder of loving kindness. This week, in the wake of mind-numbing violence in my own country, people are grasping for words. I have not pieced together my own thoughts, and I don’t know that I will. Yet the Paris love graffiti wells up in me. Its clear, direct message resonates. Love is an imperative. Love is our duty, our privilege, and our pleasure. And this week, it is our balm.