Like a Turtle
Monday morning, I woke up with a stiff neck for the first time in many months. The knots under my shoulder blades and across the top of my shoulders were tighter than usual, and it hurt to move in certain directions.
My immediate thought was, “What did I do?” I half-heartedly said something about sleeping wrong, but I knew that wasn’t it. I thought about what I had done the day before, but nothing jumped out at me.
For some context, pain in this area has plagued me off and on for decades. I remember having tight shoulders when I was twelve. I’ve done a lot to try to fix it, largely involving releasing trigger points, trying new pillows, applying heat, getting chiropractic adjustments, and strengthening the surrounding muscles. They sometimes seem to work - until they don’t. Achilles had his heel, I have this.
Even though I’ve been learning this isn’t the way, I immediately set about trying to fix it using all the old methods. I thought it was working, until Thursday morning when it suddenly ratcheted the pain up to a new level as I was out walking. It hurt when I swallowed - and I discovered I swallow a lot, all day long.
Struggling through the pain on Thursday, I thought about everything I’ve been learning. I realized that once again I had gone at my body with force, trying to release the knots with a massage ball, rather than listening to my body and letting it show me what was needed. The message from my body was clear: this is not the way! The knots under the shoulder blades aren’t the problem; they are the result of the problem.
I tried to allow the pain and soften, as every program I’ve gone through says to do. I remembered what my friend Susi said two weeks ago, that enduring is different than allowing. I steadied my breath. I thought, “I can allow this to be here.” I applied heat and rested when I could, and I went to the chiropractor because assistance and relief are sometimes just required.
I said out loud on repeat, “My body is not my torturer; she is my teacher.” Reluctantly, I whispered to my body, “Thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for continuing to speak to me even when you haven’t been heard for so long. Help me learn a new way.”
I summoned my curiosity. (I am so grateful that my curiosity muscle is very strong.) I began to play “movement detective”, as I’ve been learning from Susi Hatley in my Functional Synergy class. And I made like a turtle and slowed down.
On Friday morning, I went for a very slow walk in my neighborhood. I paid attention to the tension in my breath, in my ribs, and in my shoulders. Every time I felt my breath shallow, I stopped and reset myself. I was stopping every 2-3 steps.
I’ve been working on noticing how my hips move in their socket, and I’ve become aware that my left leg doesn’t move fluidly in the socket. I compensate with my ribs and upper body. I began to consciously soften those compensations. It took me an hour to walk a mile. At the end, I felt fatigue in and around that left hip from muscles that weren’t used to firing so much. And I celebrated!
I began to notice other things. I noticed that I hold my breath while emptying the dishwasher. I noticed that I hold my breath when I do almost anything. I noticed that applying gentle pressure below my ears eased the pain when swallowing.
Most surprisingly, I noticed that it hurt when I was talking. Every time I spoke, the muscles in my upper back and shoulders tightened substantially. Then an unexpected moment happened. I was sitting at dinner with my family when someone asked me a question about birds. As I began to talk about birds, there was no pain. I didn’t notice it at first, but after a few minutes of talking about birds, I realized it didn’t hurt when I swallowed. Just as intriguing, people were listening and interested!
I continued exploring my voice and its impact on my neck and shoulders. When I could soften, slow down, and speak from my belly, it didn’t hurt. When I got excited or sped up (my default mode), the air would come from my upper chest, and it would hurt. That night at dinner, out of sheer necessity, I was speaking slower and from a deeper place.
I thought about the things that happened just in the weeks before my neck flared up. I spent spring migration walking faster and longer than usual for weeks. Recently, I have been walking with a friend who walks faster than I do and we talk as we go rather than my usual silence. I have been singing and vocalizing far more than usual as a form of stress release.
I wasn’t surprised that I held my breath, but I was surprised by how much walking and talking were contributing to my compensation patterns that result in pain. So what do I do now? I continue to operate like a detective and move at a turtle's pace whenever possible. I continue to let my body inform me and adapt.
It’s both surprising and unsurprising that the things I am trying to do to release the tension in my body can inadvertently increase it. Slowing down has always been challenging for me, and slowing down is the only way to really notice what is happening - to really listen.
It’s hard to get over the programming that says I need to walk faster to be healthy. I need “cardio.” I need “strength.” It’s also hard to slow down when everyone around me is moving fast.
The best thing I discovered this week is that my capacity to slow down and hear my body has increased, even if it’s not my first, second, or third instinct! My anxiety has come down, which gives me more ability to be patient and listen. This capacity gives me new options.
This experience had me thinking about all the times I wasn’t heard. I’ve learned two things so far: 1) It’s hard for anxious people to hear what’s being said, so I can bring much more compassion to people in my past - or future - who couldn’t hear me. 2) When I speak slowly from deeper in my body, it is easier on my body, and I am more able to be heard.
I dont know that the things I’m noticing “caused” the acute flare up in my shoulder. I do believe they are contributing to the underlying tension that sets the stage for the acute issues. I’m working through a program now to build safety in my nervous system and soon I will start learning new techniques to release the underlying tension.
Meanwhile, I am hoping the pain in my shoulder will diminish quickly. I’m asking my body to help me see the whispers that happen before it has to scream at me, because this pain was weeks - or years - in the making. I’m committing to slowing down and listening. I have tools and programs in place to help me keep this commitment. And, I will mess it up again because that old pattern is deeply entrenched. It will be hard to slow down sometimes. However, this time I know I have new options.
This morning was warm and humid, but there was a nice breeze. A said I was thankful for the breeze to a neighbor and she said, “It feels like God kissing you.” May you all find your “God kisses” this weekend.
Awareness and anxiety: two actions that I live with every day. I have been in shoulder therapy for 15 months with a massage therapist who understands what anxiety does to my posture, muscles, and connective tissue. So part of my physical therapy includes time to first talk, check in, sometimes rant, and sometimes cry. She has made me aware of how I carry anxiety, and how decades of "shouldering" that nervous burden have misaligned my body's structural frame. Thanks for writing so honestly. I loved the image and observation that birds sing with their whole body.
Karen how powerful these words were to read "that enduring is different than allowing". I am thinking of you. With gratitude for all the beautiful pictures and words!