THE VOLUME KNOB

A few days ago, I guess I threw my back out. I wish I had a cooler story. 🫠

I wasn’t carrying anyone out of a burning building or lifting a car off a child. I wasn't attempting any Herculean feat that would at least make for a good cautionary tale. I was demonstrating something in class.

I don't even remember which exercise or exactly when it happened. At the time, it didn't even really hurt.

But a few days later, I found myself unable to get out of bed - propped up on a throne of pillows, slowly and carefully rotating like a gas station hot dog every time I need to change positions because turning over normally caused a wave of intense muscle spasms. These back spasms were strangely familiar... they reminded me so much of being in labor.

When I was pregnant with my now almost six-year-old, it was peak Covid. I had nothing but time on my hands and spent an alarming amount of it learning about childbirth. I read books, listened to podcasts, watched videos, and fell down many a rabbit hole dedicated to the idea that pain and suffering are not necessarily the same thing.

One of the concepts that stayed with me was that labor pain isn't a sign that something is wrong. It's a sign that something is happening. The sensations are intense, but they're not inherently dangerous. The real challenge is not adding an extra layer of panic on top of them. Stress, anxiety, fear, lack of sleep can all turn up the volume on pain, like sitting next to a car at a red light with the bass pumping so loudly your own heartbeat thumps along with the beat.

It’s hard to turn that volume knob down while a tiny person is attempting to exit your body!

Still, I remember lying there during contractions and trying to separate the sensation from the story I was telling myself about the sensation. Instead of, "This is terrible, I can't do this, make it stop," I would try to think, "This is a contraction. This is pressure. This is a wave. This will pass."

I wasn't always successful. Sometimes I was very loud about it.

But every now and then, when I stopped fighting what was happening, something strange would occur. The pain wouldn't necessarily decrease, but my relationship to it would change.

An on-line course I'm taking right now has been covering pain science, which is fascinating (and also somewhat annoying when you're actively in pain). It talks about how gentle movement is often one of the most effective responses to pain. Walking, changing positions, breathing deeply. Reminding your nervous system that you're safe.

Maybe that's part of what we're doing when we practice movement. Not eliminating discomfort, just learning not to panic every time it shows up.

Figuring out when to push, when to rest, and when to simply take a slow walk around the living room because that's all your body is willing to negotiate today.

As for me, I’m back upright again and taking it as easy as I can 😎

See ya on the mat!

P.S. Happy Pride Month! This month, your Community Class donations will benefit Black Trans Femmes in the Arts, and organization creating spaces for the production + preservation of Black trans art and culture by building community with artists and providing them with the resources necessary to thrive 🏳️‍🌈