Going from undoing to doing (without doing too much)
In the continuous spiral of recovery from injury, there is a constant balance between not pushing beyond current strength, yet still increasing demands so that strength can be improved. How do we go from dynamic non-interference (a very active state of quieting, refusing to narrow or shorten, not checking on results, allowing the activity to do itself) to demanding actvities that require specific muscle activation?
The emotional urgency of recovery makes this subtle sequence even more demanding, as the temptation of end-gaining (relinquishing process for results) becomes larger, noisier, and more compelling.
As I experience the necessities for strengthening my atrophied leg via Physical Therapy and Gyrotonic exercises, I face the challenge of allowing a timeless pause between intention for activity and doing the activity. Waiting with thinking will only go so far for actually strengthening muscle groups that require activation. With Alexander principles in mind, I go forward with activation, back off to re-direct my entire self, go forward again, in a continuing sequence of activation and waiting, requesting and pausing, refusing to hurry yet allowing the intention for activity to be accomplished. Beliefs in what I should do have to give way constantly to what I can do with a good condition of self. Refusing to diminish an overall elastic response, even while I attend to specific strengthening, is both challenging and productive. If I attend to the whole self, I can accomplish my assigned exercises with a larger picture awareness. If I focus on a part, my whole self becomes contracted, and the results are less than ideal. Even my emotional dismay must be seen as an entire response; I can pull down and into pain, urgency, impatience, or I can ask for a wider response of the global condition of self. The second choice requires a larger intention and an active refusal to interfere for the sake of specific results, and always brings less pain. Attending to the integrated whole self is challenging but more successful. Focussing on the part is easy and familiar and drearily less productive.
And, even with these skills in mind, I continue to experience pain, mobility limitations, dismay and frustration. The learning presented by a major injury continues. It is a spiral of lessons in a continuum of intention.
There’s always more
The continuing challenge of recovering to full function after a serious injury presents numerous opportunities to shift old habits of response. As a former student of mine told me, after enduring many illnesses, injuries and tragedies, “it’s not what happens, it’s what you do with it”.
Injury typically exacerbates imbalances in elastic tone with all the accommodations and compensations required in moving with partial mobility toward full function. In addition, the signals for pain usually become overactive, so that necessary strengthening is short circuited by anxiety. Fear of further pain interferes with recovery modes.
My condition of self was far from ideal previous to injury. From birth, an internal rotation of one hip made my leg/torso relationship distinctly asymmetrical. Clumsy medical attempts to change my condition by force (braces, casts, orthopedic shoes) and in a direct manner only increased overall distortions. Only by approaching change through the indirect means of the Alexander Technique, addressing the whole rather than fixing the parts, was I able to learn to function well with a compromised condition of self. Still, injury and resulting accommodations brought all the original imbalance back into dramatic play.
The injury has continuously offered me the opportunity to address old patterns of response in a new manner of more conscious choice. Yesterday, my Gyrotonic instructor, Lindsey, and Gyrotonic instructor and Physical Therapist Janette guided me through very refined exercises to strengthen the balance of leg/torso relationship. It was a huge brain challenge for me to shift how I was connecting to the ground and thus initiating movement. My current strength is in a very twisted form that prevents my knee from becoming stable, and results in pain, thus signaling fear and a reduction in confidence for moving through daily activities. Lindsey and Janette helped me to think about support differently, in a very Alexander-consistent whole person fashion. I was able to challenge knee and leg strength with safety, and to experience means of strengthening that were difficult but not scary or painful. This required me to think with my whole self, to have a clear intention, and to refuse to force (interfere) and yet still activate very dynamically. Going from undoing to doing without doing too much is how I describe this in Alexander terms.
I found myself exhausted, thrilled, weepy, and happy after this refined workout. As signaling and response changes, the sense of self allowing rather than controlling shifts. Dynamic non-interference is key. The work becomes more about relinquishing effort in a familiar sense and allowing new solutions in a wholly balanced experience. Refining response to what seems like dangerous pain is an aspect of allowing more, pushing less, remaining active, and being open to a new experience.
As a result of this work, my knee felt much more stable, stronger and far less painful this morning as I enjoyed my morning “faux run”. Learning continues, and the self finds a continuing new balance in response that is hopefully even better than previous to injury. There is always more!
A newly informed gratitude
Although I would not wish a devastating injury like mine upon anyone, I have come, at last, to a sense of deep gratitude for the learning and opportunity offered by this unexpected, unwelcome and often hellish life changing injury. Adversity is never welcome. Who wants to break their knee, for god’s sake? Not any sane person. And while my sanity has often been questionable, I don’t seek pain as a means of learning. But, pain arrived, life happened, and all I could do was learn. The Alexander Technique offers the possibility of using the Self consciously, whatever the conditions of the Self might be.
As I have frequently stated, this injury changed my life, and thus changed me. I have had to endure and survive the deep dismay of not being who I defined myself to be (a mobile and active person), and to embrace the not-knowing of how to be without previous definition. My edges have softened. In being forced to stillness and slowness, in enduring my own noise, in accepting, after much struggle, my limitations, I have found a freedom in less defined being that is a great surprise and a deep gift. Of course, I want to recover fully, but I have relinquished the urgency of ever being the same person as my pre-injury self. I would never give away all that I have learned for the predictability of being my pre-injury self. My comprehension of pain, immobility and long recovery, and my understanding of that process, could only be informed by experience. Conceptual recovery is an illusion and a set of assumptions. Applying Alexander principles to the many-layered sequence of injury recovery is a reality that I live and can convey to my students with hard won experience.
Without this experience, I would not have worked so deeply and attentively with professionals of other disciplines, and thus understood how Physical Therapy, Osteopathy, Gyrotonics can assist in effective whole person recovery. I have learned of the kindness and skill of professionals that is available once intention is clear and end-gaining is set aside. The struggle of continuing means-where-by in recovery has taken on entirely new meaning.
I have relinquished the tiller a bit, learned to allow the boat’s drift, become more open to currents, and let wisdom be other than mine.
The Faux Run Idea
As has been frequently expressed in these blog posts, I miss my morning runs with a passion. The stillness I found in movement, the morning sounds, scents, views, light, the rhythm of timelessness, and the ensuing balance of self in the world all provided many joys previous to immobilizing injury.
So, I can’t run yet, but I can walk. I decided to experience “running” from whatever condition of self is available to me. Perhaps my neural and muscular self would recognize new options from a partial re-enactment.
I donned my running gear and simply walked my running route of several miles through the neighborhood. The morning air, with breezes from Puget Sound, the Spring foliage, and the many songs of migrating birds, as well as seagull calls and crow chatter, drifted happily through me. Expanding my picture beyond what I can’t do brought the joys of what I can do to awareness. I can attend to my use without fear of pain or potential falls, and experience the possibility of running again. Quieting myself, hearing my own noise and not reacting to that incessant noise, refusing to narrow or shorten, and welcoming the wide world resulted in a very happy faux run.
The only detail missing was actually running, which may well occur in time, with faux runs as my new means-whereby. Attend to overall use and the thing will do itself is my constant theme. Progress toward full recovery proceeds incrementally, but it does proceed.
Quiet and Height
Although I can’t yet admit to being grateful in any way for the serious injury that has required so much attention, time, endurance and resilience, I am recognizing positive outcomes. Being forced to relative stillness has resulted in hearing my own internal noise, and thus to a new skill-set in requesting quiet in an Alexander fashion.
Before injury, I ran most mornings to hear my own noise and to disperse that chatter into motion. I also ran to hear the morning birdsongs, to view trees and foliage through the seasons, and to allow a creative approach to my teaching day. Running balanced my emotional levels and resulted in a calm sense of well-being. Movement provided stillness.
It has been a deeply challenging adjustment to remain emotionally balanced during a year of high pain levels and dramatically reduced mobility. All of my previous coping skills were removed, and I was left with my own noise, as well as with extreme pain and frustrating mobility limitations.
Now I am seeing how this experience has presented an incredible opportunity to respond to my internal chatter with a newly urgent and continuous request for quiet. This has not only augmented my teaching skills, but also made me far more patient and tolerant of students who struggle with doing too much, chattering internally, and coping with the challenges that pain and injury bring to daily life. I know the struggle experientially now, and have a hard won compassion.
I went for my annual physical exam this week. I was thrilled and surprised that my height had increased by half an inch! My PT, Heidi, says that this height increase is due to an expansion and lengthening in my back. So, with all the good work I am doing to recover, old habits existent previous to injury have relinquished their grip. Recovery work has resulted in an overall improvement in springing up from the ground, allowing lengthening and widening.
I have been forced into quieting and learned new coping skills. Recovery from injury has resulted in old structural patterns shifting to a more elastic mode. With the help of many people, and the skills of the Alexander Technique, I have made the best of a deeply difficult year. I can’t run (yet) , but I can walk, and I have new tools to quiet for further possibilities.
One Year Later
A year ago today, I was recovering from surgery to repair my fractured left patella, injured in a sidewalk fall. Two metal pins and a figure 8 wire were installed on my broken patella. I was sent home the same day with a full length splint, crutches, and heavy-duty pain medication. My surgeon told me that it would be “at least a year” before my knee wasn’t a constant problem, and that I shouldn’t expect to walk without a limp, let alone run, ever again.
I have come a very long way in a year, through much travail, dismay and difficulty. I can walk without a limp on a good day, and I fully intend to be able to run sometime in the future. I learned to live life with, initially, a fully extended leg, then with incremental increases in knee flexion. I managed to teach private lessons and to run a teacher training course with a full leg brace for 12 very long weeks just two weeks after surgery. Daily life was challenging in ways that were previously unimaginable. The experience of serious injury changes entire perspective about possibilities.
The lessons of injury have been life-changing, terrifying, informative and deep. My very definition of self, and of my self in the world, have been shaken, questioned and renewed into a form that is still unrecognizable to me. But I survived, which at some points was questionable this past year.
My stubborn determination was not sufficient for recovery, however, nor was my impatience helpful. Assistance was required. The Alexander Technique gave me a means for framing my recovery with dynamic non-interference, direction and inhibition, and the skills of allowing a bigger picture than the distressing sensations of huge pain and limited mobility. The skills of other professionals were essential to proceed toward full recovery.
What has helped me most, thus far in the journey, in renewing mobility independence are the following, all equal in importance: Alexander lessons with John Nicholls for an overall reorganization of self with respiratory support as a key note; Osteopathy to nudge me gently toward a structural balance; Physical Therapy with very attuned and big-picture PT’s, Heidi and Janette to provide intelligently active means of recovery; Gyrotonic exercise guidance with Lindsey for strength in a deep sense; acupuncture to reduce inflammation from Yoshiro; and just teaching Alexander lessons daily, which required me to use myself well, despite physical limitations.
Friends and family have been patient and kind, as well as tolerant of my occasional meltdowns. My cat Carmella, dog friends Ella, Georgie, Oliver, Ruffles have all insisted that I am fine however I am, and can we play now? These critters have also conveyed affection and acceptance that was vital on days when I was deeply discouraged. Paddy the horse and equestrian teacher Eileen gave me hope for intention in recovery. And my dear, dedicated, patient students, who have had the confidence in me to continue learning in tandem with my recovery, have made many levels of recovery possible.
There are many gratitudes implied in the lists above. My recovery to this point is due in huge part to the skills, guidance, kindness, patience, acceptance and confidence of many people and animals.
There is still a long road ahead. Although pain is not such a constant presence, it is still a daily possibility. My mobility is not anywhere near where I hope it will be. The many athletic pursuits that I enjoyed previous to injury, the ease of daily life activities, are currently either impossible or only partially available to me. I still struggle with accepting limitations in movement, still mourn what I can’t do with ease or at all. But, a year has brought progress, much learning and the news of more to also not know.
Thank you to all who have so generously contributed to my recovery this year!! The story continues…
Continuing Recovery: Tai Ji
Nearly year has passed since the injury that changed my life by slowing me to a snail’s pace. Pain has been a frequent and relentless teacher, requiring me to acknowledge fear and limitation (as well as fear of limitation) in a new manner. Differentiating between pain as a signal to stop and pain as a necessary transition toward strength has become a continuously evolving skill. Pace and timing take on different complexities and subtleties for a constitutionally speedy person like myself who must embrace the requirements of long-term recovery. Linear progress is an illusion of end-gaining; only the spiraling nature of learning and unlearning, of allowing a balance of determination and acceptance, activity and rest, has yielded demonstrable progress.
This morning, I walked a half mile down very steep hills with constant inhibition of narrowing and shortening myself, as well as refusal to become impatient and irritated by my glacial pace, to a Tai Ji class. Although I studied Tai Ji many years ago, I entered the studio as a mere beginner, with a quiet unknowing, and an eagerness to allow the form to do itself. Our teacher, Derryl Willis, created a welcoming and serene environment, as well as offering clear direction, skilled teaching, and a deeply compassionate attitude.
Tai Ji has myriad possibilities for application of Alexander principles, of course. Dynamic non-interference, elastic response to gravity, invisibility of effort, and moving from intention and attention are some components of this ancient and ageless learning.
At my current condition of self, Tai Ji is an ideal exploration. I was deeply pleased that I could physically manage a 75 minute class with relative ease. The form did itself, and I willingly followed. When my knee signaled for a rest, I rested. A sense of the ground as support increased and deepened as fear of pain quieted. My breath moved my limbs and stillness informed motion. The challenge of allowing was continuous but not defeating, with the skilled guidance of our teacher.
Metaphors for healing abound, and the story continues!
Adventures on the Garden Island
Marty and I travelled to our beloved Kauai for much needed tropical restoration. Star gazing, papaya breakfasts, birdsong listening, naps on the lanai, and ocean access inform our time there quite delightfully. Needless to say, I was curious as to my mobility, use and function in a warm and slow-paced environment, as well as to a new experience of Kauai given my current condition of self.
The long flight to Kauai did my knee no favors. A pressurized cabin combined with long hours of sitting added up to inflammation and rather acute knee pain. I could feel all the hardware in my knee with nauseating clarity. Nonetheless, I hobbled off the plane happily into the warm floral air of Kauai.
Previous to my injury, my typical Kauai morning delight was to walk several miles before dawn on the hard and wet sand of our Waimea beach. The stars are so astonishingly visible in Kauai that they are reflected in the black volcanic sand. Then, I would turn around and sprint barefoot through the surf with stars reflected under my feet. As dawn arrived, the sea would turn blue, and the ocean froth became rose-tinged. I would splash through stars and the dawn’s pink hues until the day glowed. This was all kinds of fun, and an experience I have every intention of enjoying again.
Obviously, I couldn’t run during this visit, but I could walk. I got quite overenthusiastic on my first morning beach walk, and did a weird sort of prance-run through the surf, foolishly attending to my prance rather than to the huge and powerful ocean. A wave knocked me down suddenly and thoroughly. This made me laugh with joy! I have been so very afraid of falling ever since The Fall a year ago. Being knocked by a wave onto sand was safe and awakening (pay attention to the ocean). My fear of falling was washed away. I was unhurt, chastened, wet and very happy.
Despite my conscientious PT’s kindly warning that soft sand might not be the friendliest footing for my knee, I threw caution to the trade winds and walked on soft sand into the water on another beach. After diving into the warm, delicious sea, I found I couldn’t swim with any ease, as the injured knee protested any kicking. No problem, I was happy to float, with blue skies above, tropical fish below, palm trees rimming my view. Bliss! After much floating happiness, I decided to emerge from the water. I stood, knee deep, and found that the soft footing gave less than no support for my wobbly knee. I was stuck, unable to move, it seemed. Hopping, crawling or walking out of the water were not available possibilities. A rescue request from the lifeguard seemed hugely absurd. With every ounce of attention to my use I could muster (refusing to narrow, allowing a new coordination, remaining amused rather than panic-stricken), I finally succeeded in walking the 3 feet to shore. Henceforth, I not only chose water access with firmer sand, but took a driftwood walking stick with me for assistance.
Another of my Kauai joys is taking riding lessons with Eileen Donahue, a superbly gifted and deeply experienced equestrian who trains horses and teaches riders. Despite my status as a mere beginner, Eileen is patient, encouraging, compassionate, wise and very observant, as well as an incredible guide to horse-human interactions. She teaches from a perspective of dynamic non-interference, and has an innate sense of the quiet timing and allowance that can best inform horse-human communication.
Well, I may be able to mount a horse (with help) just now, but I can’t think I would be able to dismount with any ease. (Perhaps I need a construction crane available for beach and equestrian rescue possibilities.) So, Eileen taught me the nuances of grooming, leading, and directing a horse without mounting, as well as very intriguing ground work techniques. Her instruction included being attentive to my own presence, eye contact with the horse, my gestures, internal quiet, timing, and primarily, my intention. My knee pain distracted me, and Paddy the horse always noticed when my attention narrowed. During the few moments when my fear of failure quieted, and my intention and attention widened and clarified, Paddy was interested and very cooperative. Use of the self clearly determines quality of horse-human interaction.
So, I couldn’t swim, but I could float. I couldn’t run, but I could walk. And, I couldn’t ride, but I could learn to communicate otherwise, and most likely with better use and clarity. And, by the time I came home, my knee was pain-quiet, my walking had increased in speed and ease, and my sense of further recovery had deepened in confidence.
Thus, a hugely instructive and deeply restorative adventure in Kauai!
Asking for more and for less
The quietly dynamic non-interference that is required for long term recovery from injury includes layers of frustration, encouraging evidence, and shifting modes of intention and attention. The work of the Alexander Technique is indirect and deceptively simple, but it is not easy. Being awake for every activity and welcoming means as opposed to results requires both seriousness and humor. Living with pain and limitation challenges all preconceived notions of who we are in the world. Time takes on a different quality once the unpredictable sequence of recovery is accepted and embraced.
An opportunity is presented in long term recovery, which is not in any way fun or easy. Old habits of response can be examined and addressed as one learns anew basic movements such as walking and descending stairs. Pain becomes a new and relentless cue to misuse. And the habit of checking for pain becomes another opportunity for quieting sensation as any sort of reliable inquiry. Progress in recovery involves attention that includes pain as a clue, but is also wider, bigger and attentive to the whole.
I can walk today with ease and speed, but I may hobble and limp tomorrow. Predictable outcomes are not the deal anymore, at least for now. My knee will never be the same as it was previous to fracture. I can ask for more mobility with less interference, more ease with less contraction, more interior volume with less noticeable effort. I can allow the breath to do itself as a reflection of my entire coordination. so that there is less of me doing, more of not-me doing itself. This is not easy, but it is all I can do: asking for more and doing less. Laughing at myself while I ask for both more and less!
Many leveled reorganization
I have this notion, based on no information other than my own experience, that recovery sequences sometimes require a seeming setback for reorganizational purposes. As use, function, and even structure shift to more fully operational levels, the tissues, nerves, brain and emotional signals all need a pause on further forward movement, so that new information can be conjugated and digested without any further push.
After several days of dramatic setback, I am now functioning better than previous to the setback. Pain and immobility necessitated rest and ease in activity as priorities, and new choices in use. The tissues, nerves, emotional self and perceptions were allowed time to know a new response.
After 11 months of recovery, I no longer dive into dismay and depression when a setback occurs, as I know now that change is constant and unpredictable. Often, there are no answers, only the continuing question of how to use myself best with the conditions of Self that are current. The choice of continuing with good use, of quieting and refusing to narrow or shorten, even with mounting pain and frustration, has thus far served me well. Directing and inhibiting has saved me from the self-pity trap.
This morning, my canine friend, Oliver, ran to greet me with his big tail wildly wagging. He thinks I am fine, even on days when I limp and lurch. I will take a cue from Oliver, and join him in the idea that I am fine as I am now, with hopes of spiraling improvement included.