Adhesion

I had surgery on my wrist over twenty years ago. A ligament that was putting pressure on the median nerve was severed to allow the electrical signals to travel unimpeded to and from my hand. The surgery was ultimately a success, providing some pain relief and an increase in sensation and function. However, it was not without its side effects. As a result of the cut ligament, my median nerve was exposed and the slightest pressure on the inside of my wrist felt like the sharp ulnar pain of hitting the “funny bone.”

 

Superficial palmar nerves.
Superficial palmar nerves. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I learned to avoid that sensation. I grew protective of my wrist, afraid to flex it too far or expose it to the risk of injury. I babied it, wrapping it in a protective brace whenever it started to hurt or my hand started to numb. Those measures, appropriate in the months after the surgery, were probably too extreme as they continued through the years.

 

But I was conditioned by that point. I was so pain averse with my wrist that I would fall on my face rather than brace myself with my hands. (it’s okay to laugh as you picture the predicaments I ended up in!) The pain avoidance was an overreaction, like someone who suffered a burn from a stove top being afraid to cook, but it was an overreaction that I accepted.

After years of being afraid of pushing the limits of my wrist, the inevitable occurred – scar tissue began to form around the site of the surgery. The self-imposed limited range of motion became enforced by adhesion. This scar tissue replaced the fear of pain with real pain when I tried to move my wrist too far.

I am just now beginning to release that adhesion, to unstick the glues that bind my wrist and hold it tight. It wasn’t an intentional process, rather it snuck up on me (probably the only way it could ever have happened) while on the yoga mat. Through yoga, I have slowly been tearing through the ropey tissue that has hindered my movement. I find that I can flex it further and hold more weight without the pain becoming overwhelming. The release has been physical but also emotional, as I learn not to fear the pain radiating from my wrist. I have learned to trust that the discomfort is temporary and bearable. I don’t have to avoid it.

I used what I learned from my wrist in healing from my divorce. The initial pain of the separation was the sharp pierce of the surgeon’s blade through flesh, leaving tender nerves exposed. At first, I was afraid of the pain. I sought to avoid it by medication and distraction. Lack of flexion in the beginning allowed some adhesion to occur, wrapping me in its bindings and holding me in place. Luckily, I didn’t hold my heart as still as I had my wrist, or the sticking would have been worse, perhaps even permanent. I knew that I had to keep my emotional self moving and fluid so that I did not become stuck. I knew that the pain wasn’t fatal and that it would diminish with time. I could have braced my heart like I had braced my wrist, but then I would still be learning how to let it be free twenty years from now.

I am now more afraid of adhesion than I am of pain.

In Life as in Yoga

present

Taming the Monkey Mind: Plugging in the Monkey

So, I know the whole idea of meditation is to unplug. To turn off the phone and put away the computer. I get it. I’m just not very good at it. Instead of fighting technology, I’ve learned to use it to help tame my monkey mind, especially on those days when it is acting particularly unruly. The following are my favorite ways to plug in and unwind:

Yogaglo (website)

I love this site. It has thousands of hours (I’m guessing – I haven’t counted:) ) of high quality yoga instruction that can be selected by difficulty, time and emphasis. They are also growing a database of meditation videos. I find that I gravitate towards these when I’m looking for something longer and more interesting than my standard fare. The meditations are all guided and are quite interesting and varied. (free 2 week trial and $18/month for unlimited use for meditation and yoga)

Meditation (app)

This is my go-to. There are many different soundtracks to choose from – everything from chants to nature sounds. There is also a mixer so you can customize your own personal blend. I love the quick timer that I can easily set for a variety of times, even if I don’t play any music (this especially happens when I can listen to real rain outside the window!). There are no guided meditations. It’s just simple, easy to use and high quality. ($.99)

Calm.com (website and app)

I read about this website and app in Lifehacker (which I also love but it doesn’t technically tame my monkey mind!) the other day. This is meditation for dummies. It comes in preslugged durations, starting at 5 minutes. Each one is guided and follows a similar script. As with the app above, you can select your background sounds, although they are not as varied. I have found that this app is excellent for the days when I am struggling to get my monkey mind to sit still long enough to slip on the headphones. (free or $4.99 for the full version)

iMoodJournal (app)

This nifty little app sounds a gong at predetermined times to remind you to quickly graph your mood and tag it with key words. It is designed to help you identify your triggers both for positive and negative moods. I also use the chime as a reminder to be mindful and present. I have it set to go off at two of the craziest times of my day – in the middle of homeroom where 30 kids and a handful of adults are competing  for my attention and at 5:00 pm when I get home. ($1.99)

My monkey mind is tired and is ready to shut down the computer and plug in the headphones. I just hope I can teach him to stop chewing on the cord:)

 

Learning to Breathe

I’ve never been very good at breathing. 

My childhood was spent with perpetual croup, the seal-barking cough echoing through the house at all hours.  Eventually, I was diagnosed with asthma, my lungs plied with drugs that were supposed to encourage them to relax.  Regardless of the dosages and names of the medications, I always failed my lung function tests at the allergists.  I wasn’t used to failing tests, but I didn’t know how to study for that one.

I adapted to my lungs.  I knew when an attack was about to have me helpless in its clutches, I knew when pneumonia was setting in.  I let my lungs call the shots and we had an agreement that I would work within their constraints.

Then, one day soon after my 30th birthday, I grew tired of the bondage.  I turned the tables on my lungs and informed them I wanted to start running.  This was a laughable goal, as I had never even completed the mile running in school.  But I was determined.

I started at a local park with a .75 mile loop.  My first try was a humbling experience.  You see, I was in shape.  I lifted weights and could do cardio.  I just couldn’t run.  Within moments of beginning, my chest heaved, my breathing was rapid and gasping.  I was taking in air as though threatened, as though the next breath would never come.  I made it one full loop that first day, but I still didn’t know how to run.

Over the next few weeks, I kept at it, returning to the park 3-4 times a week.  I starting to trust my body.  Believe in my breath.  I worked to consciously slow my breathing, pulling air deep down into the unused basement of my lungs.  As I learned to breathe, I was able to increase my mileage to the point where I outgrew that park in the next two months.

My breath training extended to yoga.  I had been practicing since I was in high school, but I always focused on the positions and movements, not the airflow.  Running had brought the breath to consciousness; yoga taught me how to use the breath to calm and energize the body.

Then July came.  Disaster struck.  I lost contact with my breath, but I didn’t even realize it.  I just knew my chest felt constricted, wrapped in bindings carried in by the trauma.  I wasn’t able to run or to do yoga, getting even further out of touch with my lungs.  It finally took a third party to make the re-introduction; a therapist at a meditation and yoga retreat that autumn after my breath left me.

I lay on the floor of her office, cradled in a soft, fuzzy blanket.  She kneeled next to me, her voice soothing and calm.  She spoke to my breath, encouraging it to return, assuring it that I was ready to make its acquaintance once again.  She spoke to me, telling me to trust my breath, to allow it deep into my lungs.

My chest began to rise, the bindings loosening.  As the oxygen flowed in, I felt grounded.  Whole.  Reconnected.

My breath and I still have a complicated relationship.  I frequently don’t find it until a couple miles into a run or 10 minutes into a yoga practice.  I still have to encourage it, willing it back into my body, especially when I find myself gripped my stress.  It may at times be a tumultuous relationship, but I have no intention of loosing connection with my breath again.

I Can’t Right Now

There is a particular yoga sequence (crescent lunge into a bird of paradise) that used to vex me. I simply couldn’t get my body to twist and open to accomplish the pose. My first attempt was a bit of a disaster but it was also a learning experience.

Every time I enter the yoga studio, I encounter a pose or sequence that is beyond me. I used to tell myself, “I can’t do that” and, after a reasonable number of attempts, I would simply stop trying, thus proving myself right. What I have come to realize is that I need to tell myself, “I can’t do that right now.” That statement acknowledges the truth in the moment but also recognizes that it can change. “I can’t right now” leaves you free to try again and leaves your mind open to the possibilities.

Oh, and that sequence that used to stop me cold? I can now do it with ease. Of course, last Sunday, the instructor added a twisted bird of paradise. I can’t do that….yet.