Aging, Injuries, and Healing with Mindfulness

Getting older is a fine balance between the wisdom that can only come from experience and the frustration of not remembering what I was about to say or do a moment ago.

Going slowly and being fully in my body, moment by moment, have been among the greatest gifts of aging. I am still working on both of these practices, and I get distracted by busy-ness more than I would like. But the more I stop, and breathe, and feel, the easier it gets - mostly because it feels good.

Somatic Experiencing (SE) - which I mentioned a couple posts ago - has become an invaluable tool for settling in and noticing subtle energies and staying with them, just noticing and nothing more, as they transform just through the process of attending and watching.

Sadness becomes relief, then anger, then power, then excitement, then joy.

Fatigue becomes grounding, then settling, then calm, then alertness, then presence.

This may sound like meditation, but it's more than I've ever learned in meditation classes. There is no effort to stop thinking. Thoughts happen. There is no concentration on a meditative object. Sensation is the meditative object. And maybe that just works really well for me because I am at the super far end of the kinesthetic spectrum.

One of the main reasons I decided to learn SE was to see if it would help reduce physical pain, which I've long suspected my body holds as "emotional trauma in suspended form." In several of my SE experiences, I've noticed the feeling of my shoulders and back melting - as if old armor is gently falling away. It's a delicious feeling, and one that I hope will eventually become a new normal for me. What I didn't expect, is that SE would follow me out of the classroom, and out of my therapy office into my daily life. Specifically, it has shown up in my footsteps.

In March, I twisted my left knee, and it's felt twinge-y and wonky ever since - not painful, but not quite right. I don't think it's a coincidence that I also have bunion on my left big toe, and that my left foot has been growing progressively weaker over the last few years. So I did what we all seem to do these days; I scoured Google for everything ever written about knee injuries and bunions and muscle imbalances. Several articles recommended walking barefoot.

Then, in June, I ran into a friend who was wearing Vibram FiveFingers on her feet. I had a pair once. I got them right after reading Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. But I was much younger then (only 44). And I had only just begun learning about slow and gentle living. I didn't know that in my mid-forties, my body would begin to rebel against being pushed to hard. I didn't know the wear and tear that my earlier traumas, and the resulting tendency to dismiss and deny my body's pain and fatigue signals, was catching up to me. So I put on my new barefoot "shoes," and went for a run, giving myself a muscle spasm (in my left calf, of course) that lasted a month. I blamed the shoes, cursed the book, and went back to supportive, orthotically correct footwear. And I watched my bunion grow. And I felt my foot continue to weaken.

Fast forward to June. Now at the wise and sage age of 49 1/2, I listen to my friend describe the slow, gentle process of moving from shod feet to bare feet. She wore her FiveFingers an hour a day at first, only at home after work. Then on little trips, grocery shopping. Then, adding more time as her body grew accustomed, she eventually started wearing them all day, just walking, sitting, driving. Now, she says, she is "addicted to them."

There is no definitive information about whether barefoot living will fix my knee or my foot. Anecdotal evidence points both ways - it really helps or it really hurts. Though in scouring blogs and message boards, there is one theme that recurs over and over. If you transition to barefoot, go very, very slowly.

Yesterday my new (and surprisingly cute compared to the last pair) FiveFingers arrived. I wore them for two hours, mostly sitting. Today I wore them for three hours, sitting, sweeping the floor and taking a short trip to the store. When I took them off, the angle of my bunion-y toe was less pronounced. My knee is still wonky, but it also feels like the muscles of my foot, calf and thigh are more activated and more stabilizing.

What's really wonderful though is the mindfulness of each step. As I walk, I am keenly aware of the sensations in my feet and legs and knees and hips and back. I am feeling my gait from inside. I have no idea what this will lead to, if anything. And the blessing of SE and of getting older is that it's soooo okay with me not to know. I am happy watching, waiting, trusting my body's signals and discovering what the next step feels like, and then the next one, and the next.

And I am relishing the loving feelings that come with all of this self-care. The armor continues melting, and as it does, the love and joy that is my birthright (and yours too) grows full and bright, a little sun rising in my chest.

So, that was a year

It's more than a year since my last post. And honestly there is a tiny twinge of guilt from the Should committee in my head. But it's tiny, and it's being hugged and loved by the Breathe committee and the Everything's Okay committee.

And then, WOW! I have a Breathe and Everything's okay committee!!!! I didn't always. So it feels kind of miraculous that they are here, so very present and available when I need them. Ahhhh.

It's been quite a year. My mom, now 80-something, has had some form of dementia - memory problems, concentration problems, and her anxiety has finally caught up to her now that she can't escape it through busy-ness, self-distraction and overwork. My dad had a little cancer - really a little, thank goodness. But still enough for some surgery which is hard on any body, but especially one that is 85.

My sisters fortunately handled the bulk of the care-giving duties, but they got soooo burned out. In the easiest of families, aging is hard. In my very dysfunctional family, it's mayhem. Several trips to Los Angeles, many phone calls, lots of conversations with doctors and hand-holding at various appointments, and everything I've ever learned as a therapist and a therapy client was tested to the limits.

In late July, a water hose in my kitchen failed while I was at work, and the whole first floor of my house flooded. The contents of the first floor - furniture, dishes, appliances, rugs - basically everything - was relocated to the upstairs bedrooms and garage. Kitchen cabinets were removed. Portions of the walls cut out or studded with drill-holes so that giant dryers could dry the walls and insulation, avoiding future mold problems. The insurance representative was more like a stern school principal (certain that everyone is committing insurance fraud) than a helpful partner. The contractor (as I've learned is common) was painfully slow, expensive, and a bit of lying liar.

I had an immediate trauma response - shock, followed by intense anxiety and then a near-complete shut-down of my emotional-relational system.

Miraculously, I was able to work, compartmentalizing my personal trauma somehow. Work was a kind of life-line. I knew that if I could show up and be present for my clients, parts of me were still resilient enough to come back on-line when the time was right. I am still in the process of thawing out. My parents are mostly stable. My house is functional and in many ways, much nicer and newer than before. And the Breathe and Everything's Okay committees are here with lots of hugs, walks in the woods and mugs of hot cocoa and tea.

I would not wish this year on anyone. Yet, I have come out of it with precious, delicious and soul-feeding wisdom I may not have otherwise been open to receiving. In my next posts I will share more of this. Today I just wanted to say Hi again. It's been so long.