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Embodied Pain, Embodied Growth

Writer's picture: Karen SchwartzKaren Schwartz

Recently I started a blog post about pain and growth in relationships that was built around the metaphor of outgrowing shoes that no longer fit. Beautiful on the outside, you try to keep wearing them as your toes bunch painfully but eventually you have to give them up and look for a better fit.

 

Blah, blah, blah.

 

Metaphors like these are simple and palatable -- bubble-gum versions of the truth. The problem is, they don't come close to communicating the depth of pain that comes from navigating a relationship that squeezes not just your toes, but the deepest parts of you.  

 

Recently, a relationship that I wasn't looking for found me, in a way that felt like destiny.  Somehow, it managed to bring every relational pattern I have to the surface. Attachment, emotional expression, communication, you name it. These patterns weren't new to me, but I was surprised by the intensity they wrought. The joy that destiny brought soon became a morass of conflict, pushing and pulling me in different directions, sometimes simultaneously.  The most confounding part was that I couldn't determine what patterns I could work with and which ones I was meant to break from.  I flip-flopped endlessly between perspectives, to the point where I didn't know what was real, or what choices to make.  More than once, I fell to my knees, pleading for guidance, clarity, a sign.  

 

My mind proved an unreliable arbiter, but when I finally listened, it was my body that didn't lie.  Refusing to process nourishment, robbing me of sleep as I tried to avoid the reality of what was being uncovered. When I finally began to face the truth -- that this relationship didn't really fit --  balance was slowly restored.

 

I often find myself in this kind of internal struggle.  If you're like me, your mind is very clever and takes refuge in explanation, rationalization, meaning-making.  But in those situations, there's almost always a corresponding physical symptom. In my case, it's usually lower back pain, which I may attribute to too much sitting on the couch (true), needing a new bed (also true), or not enough stretching (rarely true, but always believable).  What helps most in navigating this pain is to listen.  Getting on my mat (or the floor, if I can't be bothered), and listening carefully to the painful parts, breathing and doing movements that feel intuitive, not only releases the pain but reveals information. The stories, thoughts and insights that come to mind are signposts to the roots of issues needing attention.  With that attention, the flashing pain signal often slows down.

 

I wish I could say that once the messages come through, that's the end of it, but it's rarely so simple.  Embodied awareness requires patience, persistence and the willingness to trust yourself.  Lessons often need to be learned again and again. The mind and the body often feel at odds, even when you know they're one and the same.

 

My grandfather used to say that with two horses pulling together, the cart goes forward, but with two horses pulling apart, the cart goes nowhere. If you find yourself navigating your own pain, I advise you to stop and listen.  Listen to your mind and listen to your body, and let them work together, until the path clears and you can move forward once again.

 

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Karen Schwartz

LMSW, TCTSY-F, C-IAYT karen@mindfullivingnyc.com

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