Honoring Your Body's Wisdom

I taught a workshop in Irish Dance this past weekend. I challenged myself to present and successfully teach eight different steps. Rather than bore you with the details, let's jump to the punch line. I taught and danced for nearly twelve hours over the two day workshop (we were together for over fifteen hours). This excludes the time spent stretching, walking around to stay warm while teaching, bouncing around in excitement at random moments, and eating/drinking. It was a LONG two days.

Monday, I was crippled. My feet were swollen and bruised, my quadriceps muscles torn and in need of rebuilding, and I was utterly exhausted. By two am Tuesday, I was able to lift my right leg without additional support, and by that morning, I was up and around again. That afternoon, I took an extended nap, and took it easy on Wednesday. Today is Thursday, and I'm back to normal.

There are many questions that can be posed at this moment. What possessed me to keep up with and seek to exceed twenty-something year old dancers? Why didn't I just stop? Why didn't I take more breaks? Was I afraid that I may have caused permanent damage to my feet or legs? Was I afraid that I would never dance again?

This brings me to this week's topic. During the workshop, I felt a sense of ownership and felt I not only had to keep up with the students, but to demonstrate that even at my advanced age (39ish, for some multiple time), this was possible and the fluidity and energy could still be evident. So, yes, I did push myself quite a bit more than perhaps would be considered sane. But there was never any doubt in my mind that I could do this.

As for stopping, yes, I did take breaks. I evaluated the dancers and provided corrections. I would demonstrate a single element within a group and have them dance the entire piece for me. The class, after all, was for them to learn, not for me. However, when I felt pain, I did not dance. When I felt an improper twinge, I did not dance. When I needed an additional deep breath of air, I did not dance.

Part of what I was teaching was also the responsibility a teacher has to themselves. If, as teachers, we can not demonstrate when to not dance, or when to stop, we can not expect our students to honor themselves, or the signals their bodies give them.

How many times do we force ourselves to continue past the point of exhaustion when our lives are not in danger? How many times do we push ourselves to accomplish something physical and pay dearly for the effort? Why do we do those things? Are we afraid that others will no longer value us? Are we afraid of getting old? Are we afraid that others will no longer respect us? I often hear people insulting others around them for pushing themselves past reasonable physical limits, mocking the efforts of the other while indulging in the effort themselves. What are we afraid of losing by not playing the game? Why do we allow ourselves to ignore our bodies' wisdom because of fear?

What, exactly, is getting old? I had no doubts whatsoever that my feet and legs would not only recover, they would come out of this experience stronger. I knew that when I felt pain, I honored that signal from my body and took a break. I felt no worry that these young ladies would think less of me if I stopped. I felt no fear that I would never recover nor that they would no longer respect me.

So, the thought occurred to me to look at my life closely. In the money articles, I spoke regularly of evaluating choices in terms of option vs. obligation. I saw that options become obligations in my life when I analyze the situation from fear. Fear that my children's love may grow less if I don't make a purchase or if I create a situation that causes them sorrow. Fear that my husband's opinion of me will drop if I don't do things his way. Fear that my sisters might view me as making inadequate choices in my life and that they will have a lower opinion of me. How many times have I made choices out of fear, thinking that the choice I made was in response to a true obligation?

Take a look at your life. The questions you'll be asking are the usual ones. But, as you ask yourself each question, see how and where your body reacts. Does the thought of answering the phone call from your cousin turn your stomach? Then don't. Let them leave a voice mail. Your body is truly an extension of your mind, and is absolutely necessary for your continuance on this earthly plane. My sister in law, the physician, often tells her patients “If it hurts, don't do it.” On the surface, that's a very wise piece of advice, and it's certainly one I followed this past weekend. But if we start to apply this to our decision making processes, and to our day to day analyses of our lives and choices, we find that it also helps us there. What choices make your heart sing? What options make you physically ill? What ideas fill you with dread? What situations make you feel weightless with joy?

Honor the information your body gives you. It has its own best interests and highest needs at heart, and those just happen to be yours, too. Your built in transport system comes with its own guidance system. Allow it to be fully engaged in your life and your actions.

Allow yourself to be patient and to be true to yourself. Remember to take at least five minutes every day to simply be by yourself and breathe. Allow yourself to indulge in a moment of thought, reflection, and planning when the mood strikes. It's your money, your choice. Allow yourself to simply succeed on your own terms, to live in peace, abundance, and joy. One day, one decision at a time, remaining aware of your choices and your feelings. You CAN get there.

And, as always, if you need help, I'm available. It's what I do, and it's what I love to do.

Sharon.

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