Welcome to the inaugural edition of the Chattanooga Bodyworks BLOG: Anatomy of Healing. 

 

In this monthly post, I will share stories of healing from the clinic. Sometimes, we’ll delve into the intricacies of anatomy, while other times, I’ll explore the metaphysical “woo-woo” aspects of life. I’m often surprised by how many new clients begin their story with, “This sounds crazy; you probably won’t understand. No one else gets this…” I want you to know that our human bodies are complex, and your experience is valid. Remember, you are always the expert on yourself. My role is to help you uncover the missing details.

To kick off our blog, I’d like to share a bit of my journey from the past year.

I’m frequently asked what I do when I’m in pain. I like to joke that I go to my maker, referring to the intelligence within this body that built me from a single cell. In practice, I work on myself, doing the movements and exercises I recommend to clients. Additionally, I seek help from other professional when needed (I can’t reach everything!). I believe that health is a team sport.

In a typical year, I expect to be sidelined a few times with significant pain that prevents normal activities, usually lasting no more than a week. For me, this typically manifests as low back or neck pain. However, 2024 was a unique year for my body. It may come as a surprise, but from February to October, I could barely stand. Did I hide it well?

This story began with discomfort at the end of the day while sitting in bed, a burning sensation down my right leg, a typical ‘sciatica’ pain, which is a catch-all term describing pain from the buttock to the posterior leg. This can be caused by nerve compression or muscle tightness. I was uncomfortable but not incapacitated. Then, I staffed a four-day retreat that required me to be on my feet, reliable, and engaged with a group, all while sleeping on an uncomfortable bed, eating unusual food at odd hours, and managing high emotional intensity. I refused to ask to help and stubbornly pushed through. My leg gave out. I was in agony, and that pain lasted for months.

What to do? My body laughed at my usual tricks: movements, stretching, yoga, and breathing. I consulted a physical therapist and diligently followed her routine. I tried a chiropractor and a movement specialist. Despite their expertise, my pain pattern shifted but refused to dissipate. I experienced intense burning in my lower leg, one pain in the morning and another in the evening. I changed my diet and swapped my shoes. I crawled into bed at night, only to crawl out in the morning.

Over the months, I learned to cope with the discomfort. I adapted my movements, allowed myself more time to sit, and slowed everything down. I hibernated in August. Then, at a rock bottom of sorts, I took it back to my maker. I told myself it was not my job to solve the problem. It was not my role to find the magic spot to press upon. Instead of dreading tasks like cutting the grass, I focused on simple activities that would bring me maximum joy. I like jigsaw puzzles, and sitting and moving slowly with stability and support was good for my leg. I reframed my pain from ‘injured’ to ‘healing’. I told myself, “This discomfort is just something I have to go through,” like bad weather on a long hike. I took it one step at a time.

I asked for help more often. I let the grass grow long, held my cat, and discovered ways to stay active without pain. I caution my clients against touching the hot stove; instead, trust that it is still hot. Each test touch is a chance to be burned, extending the suffering. We are intelligent enough to know when the stove has cooled off. 

I don’t have a dramatic end to this story. One day, I realized the burning was gone. I reflected on the past week, no pain yesterday or the day before. I had good sleep and a positive mood. Activity that would have caused a flare-up was not an issue. Another week passed, and still no pain. Sometimes, it’s like that. Not all injuries start with a bang or resolve in a clear manner. In hindsight, I am thankful for the experience, my longest stint with serious injury. For now, I look forward to facing more passing trials (ask about my left knee sometime).

If you are struggling with chronic pain (defined as lasting more than six months), please remember: your story is important. Allow yourself to be a part of the healing process rather than defining yourself as injured, hurt, or broken. Words hold power, and the body listens. I listen too. Let’s uncover your story together.