A lesson in acceptance-- it's not keep calm and carry on!

Sometimes, some days, feel like I am making this whole thing up. That I am perfectly fine, and that perhaps (with too many years of good NYC therapy under my belt)- that I have a good psychological reason to stay "unwell".  And then wham! Days and weeks like this week occur. Today- should have been a pretty ordinary day in the office, but instead, after the first 2 hours I could barely look at my screen. I felt like great giant parts of my brain were literally trying to poke through my forehead, or maybe the other way around- that giant sticks were being forced through my skull and into my brain, that a series of drums were being played on the back of my head. I had forgotten that feeling. Walking through the streets of New York on my way home, weaving my way through holiday shoppers and wrapped up against the freezing temperatures, I felt nervous that I might retch into the NY gutters any minute, something I haven't done since I was pregnant. ( Pregnant with my first child, I used to throw up on my way to work in the mornings as I commuted from the far west side to 5th avenue, a 7 minute walk. Of course New Yorkers don't even notice)

As I reflect on today, I realize that it is really due to a lack of self care, a lack of reading the signs. The days I feel OK are days that I stay close to home (and by close to home, I mean inside my house). Or they are days when I pace myself to do just a few hours in the city or in the office and then come home and never 2 days in a row. Or they are the crazy a days when I do the impossible leading long workshops, or presenting to a crowd, by finding a way to to pump the wonderdrugs of adrenaline and endorphins into my body.

In recent weeks, I have been giving myself all this self talk that I have finally accepted this situation. Yet, apparently, my way of accepting it is to ignore that it exists. After a ropey start to the week (Monday started with me asking myself why am I in so much pain today?") I just continued the rest of the week according to the schedule. It's the end of the year so we are trying to fit in kids' doctor and dentist appointments while the deductible situation is in our favor.   I  neatly squeezed my own dentist appointment  between the kids, making the queasiness rise in my throat. Even my hat over my head and my eyes tightly closed I was not able to block out the god-awful whistling of the teeth cleaner thing that reverberated around my poor bruised brain.  And then there is the new business pitch that came in our direction, and the client that just got back from a round-the-world trip and of course Christmas Cards and shopping. Old Kate would have considered this a light and very easy week-- so I didn't really think about it.  With no rest days, each day activities have felt more difficult than the previous day. But becuase I am telling myself that I have  "accepted" my plight of constant pain and nausea, I have also sent myself a message that "this too will pass" and carried on.

So now , with daggers pointing into my forehead, an electrical zapping at the cranio-cervical junction and the feeling that I have swallowed a walnut, I am off to lead an 8pm webinar with 30 participants across 5 continents. Hopefully tomorrow won't be one of those kinds of recovery days when I have to lie perfectly still, my head completely flat without a pillow and without moving my eyes...........

I guess I need another try at this acceptance thing

Here I am- facing the other way!

A Progressive Relaxation Exercise for Moms!

I am currently in a clinical trial that asks me to undertake a 20 minute relaxation exercise every day.  This is supposed to help with pain relief .  I have to log into an app, undertake the guided exercise and then rate how I am feeling that day. I’m wondering if the following really counts!

Begin exercise: Creep into my bedroom while everyone is watching TV. Lie deliciously on my bed.  Log into relaxation app to begin exercise.

10 seconds in:  Prompt says- “make sure you are comfortable”. I realize that sometimes I fall asleep at the end of the exercise, so decide I should clean my teeth and take nighttime medication before I begin. Press pause, clean teeth. Come back press play

30 seconds in: Realize I didn’t take the medication when I stopped to clean my teeth. Press pause. Take medication. Press play. Begin relaxation concentrating on breathing and the voice of the prompt.

2 minutes in: I am just scanning my body for signs of tension. Husband walks in- rummages around in a box and leaves again.

4 minutes in: I am just squeezing my eyes tight and releasing. Husband walks in, rummages around in box again.  Asks me a question, I answer. I think it’s a yes or no question.

 6 minutes in: Husband sits on side of bed and begins doing something. I open one eye to see what it is he is doing. He’s putting new batteries in a kids toy. He finishes and leaves. I clench my neck and release.  I “enjoy the new feeling of relaxation that seeps through my muscles.”

9 minutes in: My husband and middle son both enter the room. They begin a conversation in their normal voices.  At this point I think that perhaps they need to me to point out that I am in fact trying to do a relaxation exercise. Obviously the sight of me prone on the bed, listening to a lady with a very soothing voice telling me to clench and release my muscles is not doing the trick.  “ Oh”- they say—and leave the room. They continue their conversation outside the door.

Minutes 10- 13: I am left alone to blissfully focus on my breath and the sound of the lady’s voice.

Minute 14: My youngest son comes in.

 “Can you put me to bed mummy?”  

“After I am done here.”  I keep my eyes closed and try to focus. He stands there for a bit looking at me

“Did you get to the leg bit yet?” 

He clambers over the top of me so that he can lie on the left side of me and join in. (Why he needs to go over the top and not around is mysterious).  We progress to leg clenches and releases. Sebastian breathes in and out as instructed—doing his best impression of a windstorm as he breathes out.  His interpretation of the leg part is to lift his legs up perpendicular to his body and to grit his teeth and grunt.  As he releases his right leg he flops it on top of my body.

Minute 17: We work on clenching and releasing the muscles in our feet and continue to focus on our breath.  We breathe in and out. Me quietly. Sebastian with big puffs.

Minute 19: We do a final scan of our body for any remaining tension. How could there be any tension left in my body after such a relaxing and quiet 20 minutes?

Minute 20:  We are instructed that “when we are ready we can open our eyes with a soft gaze” Immediately Sebastian uses his fingers to pry open my eyes.

“Can you read me a story NOW mummy?”

Who can resist this guy?

I want to say my family is usually very supportive of the 100 types of therapy that I am currently undertaking- and let me take endless naps to take care of my messed up brain. I thought this would strike a chord for many moms who are less able to find a quiet moment.