Torn in Two – Part 10

The Chronic Pain Series

One of the more pernicious things about chronic pain is that it can pit you against yourself. I felt a great deal of anger towards my body for causing me so much anguish. I loathed it for stopping me from skating. I hated it for putting me through this ordeal. And I was furious at it for not healing. Harbouring all this anger towards my body was not only irrational, it was also a dangerous way of thinking. It led me to adopt a dualistic sense of self, one where my mind and body were at odds. And it wasn’t until that new pain began radiating through my back that I realised how much of an impediment that dualistic sense of self had been. I’d been treating my pain as if it was solely a physical problem. I’d totally discounted the connection mind and body share. And in doing so, I had blinded myself to the possibility that a persistent problem in one area could be a sign of a problem across the whole system.

The psychic had made me aware of this idea when she suggested that maybe my pain was a physical manifestation of unresolved issues. And my therapist had reiterated the point when she said, “the issues are in the tissues”. But lord knows I am one stubborn son-of-a-bitch. And so, it wasn’t until the same radiating pain cropped up in yoga class, that I finally got the message.

I’d been going to Yin yoga twice a week for about a month when it happened. We were three quarters of the way through the class when the yoga teacher suggested a pose that I knew would aggravate my back. Whenever a pose like that was suggested, I’d remain in my current position, or I’d move into ‘child’s pose’. Moving into child’s pose I slowly crept into the stretch. The more I leaned into the stretch the more my back muscles opened. Already being nice and loose I leant in even further. Suddenly, a wave of emotion washed over me. Accompanying this surge of sadness was that new radiating pain.

The weight of the emotion and the intensity of the pain was astounding. At first, I didn’t know what to do. My body hadn’t moved or jolted in response to the pain, and I still felt safe in the position – so, I continued to lean into the stretch. Curious about what was going on I tried to allow myself to really feel the sadness, while also paying attention to the pain. Doing this increased the potency of both. Like a pinball lighting up different muscles, the pain shot around my back firing in different spots. And my sadness stirred with such force that I felt like it was about to erupt out of me. Pretty quickly the pain became overwhelming. My face began to contort. I was about to cry, right there in yoga class. Pulling back, I stifled my tears.

At the end of the class, I hung back to ask my yoga teacher about the experience. I wanted to know if she thought the yoga pose could’ve brought on the emotion, or if it was unrelated. She responded to what I said very seriously. With a look of genuine concern, she asked me if I was okay, before explaining that some people believe stress, trauma, and emotions can become trapped in parts of the body, and that sometimes certain yoga poses can open the body up in a way that brings these things to the surface. I must’ve had a quizzical look on my face because she quickly added, “I know it sounds strange, but believe me, you’re not the first person to ask me about this after a class”. She said she’d had both men and women burst into tears in her classes, and that many of them had expressed their surprise at how strong their emotions had been. Tilting her head slightly, she smiled before saying, “you know what they say, better out than in, right?”.

That night and for the next few days I couldn’t stop thinking about that experience. I felt like I’d been on the precipice of something. I also couldn’t shake this feeling of regret. I was disappointed I’d stopped myself from crying as I felt like it would’ve been a huge release. I decided that the next time I felt that radiating pain while journaling at home, I’d get into child’s pose and try open myself to the sadness and the pain. And I’d try to use the pose to let my emotions pour out of me. Rationally, it seemed like a weird idea – but this ordeal had pushed me well beyond the realm of rationality. 

Sure enough, the next time I was home journaling the radiating pain occurred. In some hyper-self-conscious way, I felt ridiculous getting on the floor and curling into child’s pose, but my self-consciousness was quickly washed away by my tears. That first crying session was a scene. I bawled my eyes out. I shook. I wailed. I screamed. I banged my fists against the floor. Snot bubbled out of my nose. I made distressed gurgling noises. It was as if 15 years’ worth of repressed emotions started surging out of me like a raging torrent. All the stuff I’d tried to drink and smoke and gamble and skate away – engulfed me. It was overwhelming. And ohh-my-god my back. It felt like it was on fire. Every wail that escaped my mouth was echoed by searing hot pulses that surged through my back muscles. There was no denying that the crying and the pain were connected. I was purging. And it was just as much an emotional purge as a physical one.

When that crying fit finally ended, I got up off the floor, stood in the middle of the room – and noticed a lightness. I felt it in my back and in my chest. It was subtle but it was there.

To be continued. . .

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