Escape Valves

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I couldn’t help it. Giggles burst from my lips like foam spilling out of an over-filled latte.

I had been taking my Yin yoga class seriously up until the point where the instructor, usually calm and serious, mentioned the human nature of moving away from the stretch. I inwardly groaned at the first escape from the discomfort she mentioned – leaning the body over to the right to release some of the tension on the psoas – as I shifted my own weight back to the left to fully face the stretch. But then I had to laugh as she continued to mention two other common ways that practitioners lessen the intensity.

And I was doing both of them.

She described this human tendency to avoid discomfort as seeking an escape valve. A way to reduce the pressure and lower the harshness of an experience.

And it really is universal, isn’t it. We try to avoid pain or even unease on the yoga mat. In relationships.

And even in our own minds.

It makes sense. At a basic level, we are programmed to avoid pain in order to protect the body and stay away from dangerous objects and situations. Pain is an important sensation. It tells us to remove our hand from the hot stove or to stay off a broken ankle so as not to cause further damage. Relational pain sometimes informs us that we are in an unhealthy or even dangerous environment and provides the encouragement to leave. Internal pain flares when we neglect our own innate sense of right and wrong and serves as a wake-up call.

Those pains are intense. And the message they send is a critical one – stop what you’re doing now or you will only make it worse.

But often we confuse pain with discomfort. It makes sense to seek to avoid pain.

Yet it frequently it makes sense to embrace discomfort.

On my yoga mat this morning, my breath hitched as I leaned into the stress, shutting off the escape valves. If asked, I would have replied in that moment that I was in pain.

But I really wasn’t. In fact, as I breathed into the psoas and relaxed the surrounding muscles, the position lost its intensity and I was even interested in exploring the pose further. By facing the discomfort, I was able to reduce the discomfort.

Without the instructor’s prompting, I would never have faced the initial discomfort. Unconsciously avoiding even the merest suggestion of pain. And as a result, I would have unwittingly nurtured that area of tightness, allowing it to grow unrestrained.

It doesn’t feel good to feel uncomfortable. But that’s often exactly where we need to be.

———————-

I see the use of escape valves all the time in people facing the end of a relationship –

They decide that they should be over it by now and push it out of their conscious mind. Yet no matter how much you push it down, it always resurfaces until the lessons are released.

They try not to think about their ex or the end because doing so creates pain. Yet trying to avoid the thoughts only makes the thoughts grow more powerful. If they are addressed as they arise, they fail to grow.

They look to distractions to escape the inevitable pain of the end of a relationship. Yet the distractions only work for a time and the pain is patient.

They downplay the impact of the end on their well-being, pretending that it really doesn’t bother them. Only their acting out in other ways belies their assertion.

——————–

The pain at the end of a relationship is more the discomfort from the yoga mat than the agony of a hand on a hot stove. If you face it and work with it, it will begin to release.

Opening an escape valve feels good in the moment. And sometimes, when the pressure is too great to bear, it may be needed. But if you find that you constantly need escape valves, maybe it makes more sense to repair the basic system.

(Note: There is a very important distinction between ruminating and processing. Ruminating would be like taking the yoga pose just to the edge of the pain and then tensing up, holding the breath and staying in pain. Not fun and also not going to get you anywhere. Processing is more like moving through the pain: understanding, exploring, softening, opening and finally releasing.)

Facing Avoidance

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I remember this strange limbo after my ex pulled his Copperfield – I was afraid of facing the totality of my new reality and yet I was also afraid of the repercussions of avoiding the truth. In the early days, the decision was made for me; I was barely able to function, much less process. Flaming bits of reality passed by me like meteors falling to earth, moving too fast to see yet leaving behind an uncomfortable heat. But as time shuffled on, I could no longer use the excuse of not being able to face the pain. I had to either confront the truth or accept the fact that I was actively avoiding it.

I applied a logical strategy amidst the illogical domain that I then occupied. I gave myself permission to avoid the pain until a scheduled yoga and meditation retreat. It was the griever’s equivalent of a decade-long smoker going cold turkey. I went into the retreat armed with a journal, my comforting blanket and plenty of tissues. Not present? My phone and any books. There were no distractions. No excuses. This was the time to face the pain.

After registering, exploring the property and meeting the facilitator, I wrapped myself in warm clothing, gathered the journaling supplies and folded myself into a solitary rocking chair overlooking the mountains. I took a deep breath, and gave the pain that I had been studiously avoiding, permission to enter.

It wasn’t what I expected. I held some image of the pain entering my body like a demon possessing some innocent in a horror movie. But my body didn’t jerk back from the shock nor did the chair begin to rock of its own power.

Instead, I felt a dull sort of pain that began to ebb and flow seemingly at random. The tears cycled from monsoon to dry season and back again with whiplash speed. The words inscribed on my pages danced from past to future and nightmare to dream.

I hurt, but much to my surprise, my most dominant feeling was one of relief.

I was relieved to give permission to the tears with no sense of what I “ought” to be doing.

I was relieved to finally face what I had delayed and, in doing so, quiet some of the fear.

I was relieved that the harsh reality didn’t capsize me and that it seemed that I could handle the truth.

I was relieved that the pain felt more like the bombardment of solitary bricks than running into a solid brick wall.

I was relieved that I was finally facing what I had avoided and I held hopes that by facing it, I could diminish it.

We avoid because we are afraid of the truth. Yet fear only builds in the darkness of the unknown.

We avoid because we do not want to suffer. Yet suffering then becomes the background noise of our lives.

We avoid because we want to pretend that reality isn’t real. Yet the truth will always find a way out.

We avoid because we believe we don’t have the energy to face. Yet that’s only because that energy is being expended on running away.

We avoid because we feel that it is someone else’s responsibility to heal us. Yet you cannot outsource healing. You have to do it yourself.

We avoid because we fall victim to the siren song of busyness. Yet that is just another excuse kicked up by a panicking brain.

We avoid because we tell ourselves that we can get to it later. Yet limbo is no way to live.

We avoid because facing it validates it. Yet it was already real even if we refused acceptance.

You cannot accept something until you face it.

You cannot release something until you hold it.

You cannot change something until you see it.

It’s time to face your avoidance.

To trust that you are strong and capable enough to handle whatever hides beneath the bed. Life under the covers is no way to live.