Body Talk

Balance.

It’s a word bandied around quite a bit these days.

“Find a balance.”  “Inner balance.”  “Strive for balance”.

Sometimes if a word is overused in our media driven culture, we become immune to it. The concept begins to bleed around the edges and the essence is diluted.

When this occurs, something extreme might have to happen to jog our memories. To remind us why certain words are worth valuing.

This week, I encountered that extreme reminder. I lost my balance. Literally and figuratively. I suffer from episodes of positional vertigo, which translated means: I get dizzy.

Not just regular dizzy, but room spinning, drunk lurching, stomach churning kind of dizzy. I lose my equilibrium. Truly. Balance becomes a distant memory. One moment I am leaning down to put Lilly’s water bowl on the floor. The next moment I am on the floor.

It’s not fun.

But I think it might be my body’s way of tapping me on the shoulder and whispering in my ear, “Slow down”,  “Pay attention”, “Breathe”, “Do not take this all for granted”.

Our bodies talk to us in ways we don’t always realize, and sometimes we just need to pause and listen – even if that pause comes in between rushing to doctors on a mission to ‘fix’ it.

Like tuning into the sound waves behind the static, occasionally we need to be patient and wait for the message.

My message wasn’t a subtle one. I stayed in bed for a few hours. I drank water. I let my daughter drift essential oils under my nose while I lay back like a queen. And surprisingly, she actually enjoyed the role reversal. She was grateful for an opportunity to look after me for once.

I haven’t regained my inner ear balance entirely, but a different kind of balance has been restored. I’m not just giving out all the time.  I’m trying to notice ways this week in which I can receive as well. I’m more open to being nourished and appreciating that, rather than only nourishing others.

I’ve moved past the static, and the music is increasingly lucid and pleasingly clear.

What does your body need to tell you at the moment? Write from the POV of your body and see what she/he has to say. Keep your pen moving for ten minutes. Set a timer. Don’t edit as you write. Be open to receiving the message.

If you are feeling brave – share here. If you are subscribed via email – clink on the link to the website and scroll down to comment.

Thank you for joining me!

 

 

6 Responses to “Body Talk”

  1. Karen H.
    October 23, 2012 at 5:37 pm #

    Dear Karen,

    This has been quite the week for me, your body. I’ve endured prying eyes under florescent lights and needles and scalpels and more needles and then threads! They actually must have taken a needle, like we did when we made those cross-stitched pillows, and they sewed up two inches of my skin. I was very happy to be asleep during that part, but not too happy in the shower two days later when I took off the gauze for the first time and saw my left breast swollen and cut and stitched and taped shut. Why did they use see through tape? Why couldn’t they have covered the dark purple surgical wire with something my eyes couldn’t see through? Why did the sight of the stitches force us to tears after weeks of being so strong and hoping for the best? Maybe that’s exactly why they do that. I feel soar and bruised and cut. I am trying to get you through the motions of the day, as the two inch wound heals. It’s a little easier now that you know the tumor they removed was benign, but still. You’re hurting. I know, because I can feel your hurt. I heard the doctor tell you before you left the hospital; not to stay in bed all weekend. That active people heal faster than couch potatoes. I felt your disappointment that you weren’t being told to lie around and be waited on hand and foot by your children and husband, even though they did anyway. Especially when we had that unbearable headache. I felt your exhaustion when the doctor said you could nap, but not sleep the day away. Sleep is something we can both agree on. We need sleep. We haven’t really slept in twelve years. Aren’t I right? Ever since our surgeries to remove what was left of our two miscarriages, we haven’t slept well at all. And when there were finally babies in the house, we instinctively woke up almost before they did, and still do. It’s time for you and I to rest. To breathe. Maybe even cry some more. It’s time to let go of our fear about this because we did what we had to do, and we’re better off for it.

    Let’s take care,
    Your Grateful Body
    10-23-12

    • Rory Green
      October 23, 2012 at 10:34 pm #

      A beautiful and honest dialogue. Thank you for sharing all the things your body needed to say this week. You face your fears with such grace and dignity. xo

  2. Karen H.
    October 23, 2012 at 5:42 pm #

    Thank you, Rors, for this timely prompt. You always know what I need. xo

  3. Lou
    October 23, 2012 at 10:16 pm #

    Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo – it comes and it goes. I hate it – affects my hearing and it only happens on one side – ie the side I turn to face Ed in bed! That means I go for weeks without being able to look at him. You can opt for the Epley maneouvre, but it’s a bit ‘hands on’ and can make you vomit. My GP loves doing it – but I’m not keen on it cos it means I have to sleep sitting up for 2 nights on the trot. Meanwhile I share your dizziness.

    • Rory Green
      October 23, 2012 at 10:32 pm #

      Lou – you’re back! Lovely to see you here again. Sorry it was the vertigo that drew you in… but I think we all have more in common than we ever realise! Hope you return again soon 🙂

  4. Sophie James
    October 24, 2012 at 4:32 pm #

    So sorry to hear about your vertigo! I am also a fellow sufferer having had the dreaded labrynthitis and it is horrible. I really symphathise. It’s interesting how in some ways we are so ‘tuned in’ to our bodies (yoga etc) and yet still often not able to really hear the messages we are being sent. I remember a very enlightened doctor once asking me: “What is the pain a metaphor for?”

    Sometimes, the pain or illness has a story to tell, if we take the time to hear it.

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