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A Habit of Clenching
Jun. 26th, 2010 08:53 pmMany years ago, I slipped in a movie theater and went down, crashing my ribs against a wooden arm rest as I fell. Although I was able to stand up and walk out under my own power, I was in terrible pain that night and went to urgent care the next day. There the doctor explained to me that in a situation where the body receives a painful shock like that, the muscles will remain clenched, prolonging and intensifying the pain. Rather than medicating me, he gave me my first chiropractic adjustment, which released the muscles and gave me relief.
I tell the story as background to a realization I had (again) today about my own emotional-spiritual state: that I have been in so much pain the last three years that even now when I no longer am "grieving" both my psyche and my body are still clenched.
I started a book today called "Your Heart's Desire", which surfaced synchronously with a visit to a possible new spiritual director. When I finished reading the introduction, which seemed sincerely enthusiastic and heartfelt, I was confused by how resistant I felt. I put the book down and paid more attention to my internal state and realized that some part of me was shouting No! No! No! No!
Doing what this book suggested was hopefully going to open me to new energy, new possbility, increased joy and satisfaction in my life -- which terrified the part of me that's curled up and clenched and afraid of further pain. In fact, just the thought of un-clenching seemed like it would cause even more pain because everything has rusted into a defensive, almost semi-fetal state.
It was sobering, a bit scary. . . And it reinforced my growing sense that I need to spend more time being gently positive and self-nurturing with myself instead of focusing on challenges and projects and demand a lot of dynamic effort to accomplish. I do want to do those things, but I'm beginning to realize that I continue to need a certain amount of convalescence as I transition out of grieving.
Some days even the thought of pleasure brings back the grief, because I still connect pleasure and happiness so much with LM, want him with me to share it or have intense memories come up, or feel his absence more keenly -- or all of the above. It's a terrible paradox that even good things can hurt right now.
I sometimes feel like the Tin Woodman: rusted and stiff, my chest hollow. . . I wish I could afford weekly massages, which I'm sure would help on multiple levels. Some of it will just involve being mindful of what I ask and expect of myself, and a lot of it will involve being mindful of when I slip into self-numbing behavior instead of facing the chronic pain and addressing it directly with authentic nurture -- no matter how much some part of me fears what will happen if I un-clench. . .
I tell the story as background to a realization I had (again) today about my own emotional-spiritual state: that I have been in so much pain the last three years that even now when I no longer am "grieving" both my psyche and my body are still clenched.
I started a book today called "Your Heart's Desire", which surfaced synchronously with a visit to a possible new spiritual director. When I finished reading the introduction, which seemed sincerely enthusiastic and heartfelt, I was confused by how resistant I felt. I put the book down and paid more attention to my internal state and realized that some part of me was shouting No! No! No! No!
Doing what this book suggested was hopefully going to open me to new energy, new possbility, increased joy and satisfaction in my life -- which terrified the part of me that's curled up and clenched and afraid of further pain. In fact, just the thought of un-clenching seemed like it would cause even more pain because everything has rusted into a defensive, almost semi-fetal state.
It was sobering, a bit scary. . . And it reinforced my growing sense that I need to spend more time being gently positive and self-nurturing with myself instead of focusing on challenges and projects and demand a lot of dynamic effort to accomplish. I do want to do those things, but I'm beginning to realize that I continue to need a certain amount of convalescence as I transition out of grieving.
Some days even the thought of pleasure brings back the grief, because I still connect pleasure and happiness so much with LM, want him with me to share it or have intense memories come up, or feel his absence more keenly -- or all of the above. It's a terrible paradox that even good things can hurt right now.
I sometimes feel like the Tin Woodman: rusted and stiff, my chest hollow. . . I wish I could afford weekly massages, which I'm sure would help on multiple levels. Some of it will just involve being mindful of what I ask and expect of myself, and a lot of it will involve being mindful of when I slip into self-numbing behavior instead of facing the chronic pain and addressing it directly with authentic nurture -- no matter how much some part of me fears what will happen if I un-clench. . .
