Conference in Canada

As many of you know, I recently travelled to Canada for a week. It was a work trip to Vancouver, to speak at the Society for the Exploration of Psychotherapy Exploration (SEPI) conference with Dr Jennifer Franklin. A psychologist, Jennifer is part of our professional clinical TMS/PPD list, and we have been involved in several writing projects together, and speak regularly. Even so, I was surprised one day to get a call from her out of the blue. Take a look at the theme of this SEPI conference, she said, I think we would be perfect for this.

Our skills neatly complement each other, but Jennifer is from Los Angeles, so we had not met in person before. This seemed like a wonderful opportunity to combine making that connection with speaking at the conference. I made the trip over to North America, and Jennifer headed up to Vancouver, ready to speak first thing in the morning on the third day of the conference.

Our workshop was focussed on the importance of feeling safe when working with patients experiencing psychophysiologic disorders. We believe the effective approach is through healing, and to begin the healing process the patient needs to feel safe. It is then possible to address the root causes, rather than be restricted to managing symptoms.

Jennifer began with some thoughtful and thought-provoking exercises about external safety, how to acknowledge the fears we all have when meeting someone new and being in a new environment. I led the section on internal safety, using an experiential approach focusing on four movement and body awareness exercises. We covered posture, ribcage breathing, creating an internal Victorian corset of muscle engagement, and segmental movement of the spine. This linked to another portion about the pedagogy of PPD, focussing on health practitioners working with patients, and the therapeutic relationship between them. 

The session was well-attended, and we had some excellent feedback. It seemed people enjoyed being given practical movement exercises they could take with them, as well as some thought-provoking ideas about our approach to teaching how to resolve chronic pain. It was also wonderful to speak to a group of people on the other side of the world who were nevertheless fascinated by the same issues that I speak about regularly with all of you.

Cut yourself some slack

A few weeks ago, I was packing for a work trip. Without thinking, I threw a few face masks into my bag, as I had done for every previous journey over the past three years. And then I paused – it had been just the previous day that the World Health Organisation declared the Covid-19 global health emergency over.

The announcement was widely reported, but it wasn’t billed as major news – many people had been thinking of the pandemic as “over” for months, returning completely to a “normal” life. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but then a day later, looking at the extensive collection of face masks I had built up over the years, it really hit me.

Humans are really fascinating, and it’s amazing what we can get used to. Almost every aspect of our lives was completely upended in March 2020, and we entered a situation that many of us could never have imagined. If you had taken someone, in the spring of 2019, and showed them images of the deserted streets of Dublin, closed schools, empty offices, and people wearing masks and not approaching each other, I think they would have been more likely to believe it was a science fiction film than the reality of just a year later.

Now that those restrictions are behind us, it might be possible to forget that they happened at all – indeed, many of us may prefer that. But they did happen. Our lives were disrupted, in a completely unexpected and very unsettling way. It’s right for us to move on, and put the pandemic behind us. But it’s also important to recognise the impact it might have had. I was recently speaking to a mother who explained that her son, who graduated from university last year, seemed completely lost. Apart from the fact that many people feel lost at that age, she believes he is still struggling to come to terms with the huge unexpected changes brought by the pandemic. She told me she had been trying to help her son realise that it was ok to recognise how difficult the past three years had been.

I was reminded of hearing others speak about delayed plans, qualifications which they expected to have by now, or job moves they wish they had already made. It isn’t fair to judge our progress in the past three years in any area of life on a “normal” scale. We have experienced something devastating, and while it’s good to move on from that, we need to recognise it in evaluating how far we have come – and how well we are doing just to have come through it.

Good habits

A few weeks ago, there were roadworks on my morning commute. “What commute?” I hear you ask - I know many of you are aware that I don’t work in a corporate office. This was relatively common before the pandemic, but has of course multiplied hugely since then, with many people choosing to continue working from home as it suits them better.

During the pandemic, like many people I used to spend a lot of time outside. There wasn’t much else to do, so one benefit amid all the terrible events was to be able to get out into the fresh air, either in gentle movement or wrapped up well.

Now that “normal life” has resumed, I realised I wasn’t spending nearly as much time outside. I was enjoying a return to various other things, and especially in winter, there was no need to venture out into the cold. However, the negative consequence of this was feeling cooped up, and not getting the benefit of fresh air which I find always lifts my mood.

During lockdowns, some people created an artificial “commute” for themselves – walking the same route each day, before returning to work from home. I didn’t get into this habit during the pandemic, but found I needed it afterwards. Throughout the winter this year, I made sure to take a short walk most mornings – just 10 minutes. I was spurred on by encouragement from my wider family, through a challenge we set up to support each other to get outside and get active in the first 100 days of the year, which I wrote about in a previous blog.

A few weeks ago, my walking route was blocked by some work being done. It was only for a few days, but I made the mistake of skipping the walk rather than redirecting my route. I didn’t feel any immediate impact, but by the end of the week I could tell I wasn’t feeling my best self, a bit less upbeat than usual.

It’s funny how with good habits sometimes you don’t notice how beneficial they are until you stop them for some reason. The experience made me resolve to make sure I keep going on my commute every morning, and just getting outside for a few minutes every day.

Getting out

First I heard about my sister-in-law playing netball in the snow. Then my nephew did an eight-hour intensive ballroom dance class. My children have been kayaking, playing chess and doing yoga, and my husband has been swimming in the sea.

In January, we decided to set up a challenge in our family for the first 100 days of the new year. The focus would be on movement and getting outside, but everyone was able to choose their own goals without it being pressured – as I wrote about in a previous blog post. It seemed like a fun way to give everyone a bit of a lift through the winter months, and a way of us keeping connected.

The 100 days are now up, and I can’t say we’ve all rigidly stuck to our goals… but that wasn’t really the point anyway. Instead, every day I received messages and pictures of the things my family members were getting up to – which turned out to be a lot more bizarre than I had anticipated.

“Does a mini golf pub crawl count as exercise?” we were asked. “Is knitting in the garden still your daily dose of fresh air?” Outdoor fitness classes, umpiring sports matches, coaching teenagers, and playing board games were all counted as eligible activities. If it was a new activity you might not have otherwise tried, then all the better.

The challenge inspired several of us to get outside and spend a more time being active. But more than that, it was a wonderful reason for us all to be in touch a bit more often, including partners and spouses who might otherwise still be a bit shy. It helped to brighten up the first few months of the year, and give us all a bit of a distraction until Spring.

Looking up

I love this time of year. It’s not hard to, with the weather finally (almost) starting to brighten up. Last week I went for a walk in Ticknock woods in Dublin, and by the time my companions and I reached our viewpoint stop we were in tshirts - jumpers and coats discarded. Of course we were glad of them when it inevitably started to rain on the way down!

 It’s a time of year when it becomes easier to get outside and enjoy some fresh air and movement – however much or little we might feel able to do. It’s very premature, I know, but I can’t help feeling as though it’s almost the beginning of summer.

I was reminded that it is, in fact, spring, and not summer, when a few days ago I was speaking to a friend on the phone while sitting on a bench in a park. I found myself stopping mid-conversation to tell her about all the ducklings learning to swim in the park’s pond. Initially she laughed at me, but then I asked if she wanted me to send her a picture of the ducklings – do you think she said no?

Of course, we’re all used to four seasons in a day, but let’s hope there are plenty more sunny spells on the horizon. We all need something to be cheerful about, and the promise of brighter days to come has given me a boost. I hope it might give you one too.

Samantha's story

As you know, I sometimes share case studies of some of the people I work with, in their own words and always with their permission. It celebrates what each of those people has gone through, and also hopefully gives some hope to others reading the story that they might be able to do the same.

The story below is a little different, it arrived unbidden in my inbox a little while ago, and I think it’s a beautiful description. The author has given me permission to share it here, though Samantha is not her real name.

Before she came to me, Samantha wrote, she was an “eroded version of herself”, who desperately sought other people’s approval and adoration.

“I thought I needed it, I thought it would make me whole,” she wrote.

“I would take other people’s feelings and emotions and embroider them into my being. I thought their feelings were not only more important than mine but I sincerely felt that they actually were the fibres that made up my own thoughts and opinions. I craved their understanding, I needed their validation and love because without it I was a shell. I tried to make myself digestible, someone who would be easy to love.”

“I was shattered pieces of feelings and you helped me make them into a mosaic,” she wrote.

“I didn't know what to do with all of the things I felt so I threw them at people hoping someone would catch them and care for me. You helped me name the feelings and by doing so I no longer felt like I was a victim to my own emotions but instead that they were something I should cherish.”

Samantha began to “break apart” her desire to be understood and guided, and started to trust herself, saying that “trusting yourself is not something that weak people do”.

“I understood that people are flawed, that I am flawed but that does not make us any less worthy of love,” she said.

Samantha learned what she values in life, and used that knowledge as a “compass” to make decisions and be satisfied with them.

“It felt like I was trapped under rubble after an earthquake and you removed all the rocks so that I could emerge,” she said.

“I used to live my life in constant fight or flight mode, adrenaline constantly coursing through me and now I feel like my body can rest, that it's ok. My thoughts used to be unable to move without bumping into some piece of the past. I paid tribute to my past experiences and they no longer control who I am today.

“I finally feel like I can wrap myself in the tapestry of myself, I don't need other people's contributions. My values are sacred to me and where I used to ricochet between certainties and doubts, now I know every piece of myself and I know exactly what to do.”

Samantha described the “magnitude” of improvement she has felt since beginning the Resolving Chronic Pain process.

She concluded: “Thank you for the world you opened up inside of me, I like it here.”

Talking to yourself

A short while ago I went to the funeral of the father of one of my close friends.

 As is often the case in such situations, the service in Dun Laoghaire combined deep sadness with joy and celebration of the wonderful life Graeme Guthrie lived into his eighties. He was a man of great character and a wry sense of humour, and regularly had letters published in the Irish Times. He was also well known for his extraordinarily beautiful garden, complete with a pond.

 In his eulogy, his son spoke of Graeme’s older brother, who he had played with often but who had died while Graeme was still a child. While he loved and was loved by his other siblings, and later the family he had of his own, Graeme had carried the sadness of losing his brother through his life, until he was 70 years old. Then one day by his beautiful garden pond, he imagined sitting his younger self on his knee, and explaining to him the circumstances around his older brother’s death. After that, he felt less sadness about it, as though a cloud had lifted.  

Sometimes imagining a conversation with our younger selves can allow us to process something that we never fully understood as children. I think everyone at the funeral felt glad that Graeme found a way to ease the sadness that he had felt for so long. And it was one more lesson learned from a wise and kind man.

His letters to the Irish Times were very popular, and the paper paid tribute to his “funny, beautiful, inquisitive and charming” observations after his death. One of my favourites of his letters was published in May 2022. Like many of the others, it is a very simple note, but strongly evocative and makes me smile.

“The sun is shining, the swifts and swallows are nesting, the cuckoo is calling and the mayflower is in full glorious bloom. The only problem is the grass needs cutting so I will have to get up off the garden chair and switch on the robot mower. So stressful.”

Passing it on

Like many women of her generation, my mother used to knit. Growing up we were all dressed in knitted jumpers, hats and scarves, and a lot more. If she could make it herself, my mother would, and as children our concern for our style choices wasn’t a factor in the equation.

She continued knitting clothes when I had children of my own, but as they grew up the world changed. With clothes becoming much cheaper and easier to get hold of, it was hard to convince them into their grandmother’s homemade clothes – and of course, they wouldn’t appreciate the treasure of having something made for them by a loved one until much later.

Undeterred, my mother knitted clothes for those who did appreciate them, sending countless tiny jumpers, baby grows and little hats through various schemes to people who couldn’t afford their own clothes – I never knew exactly where they went, but it was a common venture for women of my mother’s age and I like to think they were useful somewhere.

She would sit on her reclining chair, needles click clicking away - knitting while talking, while watching television, listening to the radio, sometimes in reflective silence as the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows. She didn’t seem to need to pay much attention to it, but never dropped a stitch, turning out beautiful garments finished off from her treasure-trove of a button box. It seemed like an awful lot of work, but she said it relaxed her, that she liked doing it.

For my birthday last year, my now grown-up son got me a blanket. Except, rather than just a normal present of a blanket, he got me a bag of thick, deep red wool, and two enormous knitting needles. It was a ridiculous present, and we all laughed about how the blanket would be bigger than me by the time I had finished it. It took me a few months to finally get around to starting it – I hadn’t done any knitting in what felt like decades.

But when I did, I began to settle into a rhythm. Sitting on the sofa watching television in the evenings, the blanket helpfully keeping me warm even as I was still constructing it. It was impossible not to think of my mother and the thousands of hours she spent clicking away, contentedly absorbed in her task.

Last week’s blog was inspired by Michelle Obama’s new hobby of knitting. She describes in her book the feeling of returning to an activity that her relatives had done before her, and the sense of tethering and connection it brought her. For most of us, huge changes in society mean our lives are almost unrecognisable from those of our parents. But there are still some elements of connection to be found, and sometimes they can bring comfort along with them.

Euan's story

Before Euan began learning about PPD, whenever he had pain he would fall into a “deep depressive state”.

“I was fooled into thinking I was defective,” he says.

He found himself being grumpy, not able to go to the gym, which was a really important part of his life, and not able to play with his daughters.

“I thought I would not be able to play with my girls properly again, I thought I would never do weights again properly, I thought my active life was over,” he says.

But then, he listened to a podcast and began learning about PPD, through which he contacted me and we began working together.

Now, he says, with the knowledge he has gained, he knows he “will fix this”.

He has discovered that he is a highly sensitive person - as he puts it, an amazing realisation that this is where his “super powers” come from.

Now when he feels pain he doesn’t dwell on it, catastrophise or end up in a pit of despair, he says.

“I now know that the pain is a signal telling me that there is something I need to address, or something I need to change. I now see the pain as a tool, an annoying tool, but it is helping me figure out what I need to do to fix it,” he says.

In a letter to his former self before he started learning about PPD, he writes: “Your time is coming. Do not fear this any more. You are stronger than you know and you can do anything you want to. It is time to get excited. Excited that the end is in sight. Excited that this is not the way your life is going to be forever.

“You will be able to play with the girls again. You won't be as grumpy and you will get back to training in the gym. Everything will fall into place. Just give it time and trust your thoughts.”

You can learn more about Euan’s story, which he has kindly agreed to be shared, through this video and letter to his former self on the website.   

Going small

I’ve recently been enjoying Michelle Obama’s new book, The Light We Carry. I wasn’t sure about it at first as it is a little sentimental, but there are also a lot of interesting insights and a nice tone of hope – made even better by listening to the audiobook, I find. One aspect early on in the book struck me, as it’s something I’ve spoken and written about before.  

Michelle describes struggling with the pressures of the pandemic while still coming to terms with not being in the White House anymore. Undoubtedly Michelle Obama faced none of the fears about income, job security and access to healthcare that millions of people around the world had to cope with during that time, but it’s interesting to hear that some things, like loneliness, isolation and uncertainty, affected even those at the top.

Like many of us, Michelle turned to a new hobby during this time. Hers was knitting, which she had never done before. She describes the benefit of doing something productive, which used her hands as well as her mind, and which was on a small scale, to distract from all the big problems worrying her at that time.  

“I've come to understand that sometimes the big stuff becomes easier to handle when you deliberately put something small alongside it,” she writes in the book.

“When everything starts to feel big and therefore scary and insurmountable, when I hit a point of feeling or thinking or seeing too much, I've learned to make the choice to go towards the small.

“On days when my brain apprehends nothing but monolithic catastrophe and doom, when I feel paralysed by not-enoughness, and my agitation begins to stir, I picked up the knitting needles, and give my hands a chance to take over. To quietly click us out of that hard place.”

I find this really rings true. I’ve written before about the benefits of taking control of small things, and how that can spread a sense of calm through the rest of your life. It could be tidying a small area of your home, drawing a picture, or baking a batch of bread. I think there’s a reason why these hobbies surged in popularity during the pandemic, and it isn’t just that we all found ourselves stuck inside the house and needing distraction.

Focussing on one small thing, which is easy to complete and shows tangible progress, can be a wonderful way of reigning in overwhelming worries and never-ending to-do lists. I find activities like this also take me away from my phone and computer screens for a while, giving me a few minutes of respite from constant updates.