Letting it go

One day when I was a teenager, we had a lesson at school about worries. I don’t remember what context this came in, but I do remember the lesson as it was very unusual at the time. It started with a discussion, and then the teacher handed out sheets of paper and asked us each to write down things we were worried about. We were so absorbed by this we almost didn’t notice when she brought out strange pump… but our attention was definitely caught when she started blowing up balloons! We had never seen anything like it and were beside ourselves with excitement.

We were instructed to tie our “worry sheets” to the balloons (as I recall we shared, I don’t think the budget stretched to one balloon each), then we took them outside. There was much excitement as we ceremoniously released our balloons, and our worries, into the sky. The idea of “letting go” of worries by destroying them has become very popular since then, and it’s something I teach myself in relation to other thoughts as well. Some of you may have written a letter you will never send and then destroyed it as part of your work with me.

I spoke about this recently to a friend who had felt frustrated by delays to a promotion at work. He had put a lot of effort into preparing for an exam which would give him the promotion, and booked a place on a test. However, at the last minute the exam was cancelled, and as the next sittings were full he had to wait nine months until he could finally take it. In the meantime, colleagues with less experience were promoted above him, and his chosen career stream after the promotion became full, so he had to move department.

The setback made him feel frustrated and disillusioned. He began to mention the issue more and more frequently, and it coloured his entire view of his work. When he finally got the promotion, all he felt was bitterness. Eventually, he asked me for advice. I mentioned the balloon story, and gently suggested that there was absolutely nothing he could do to change what had happened, and he was allowing his feelings of frustration and anger to make him miserable. He never even celebrated the promotion he had worked so hard for. I told him to write down his frustration, scrunch the piece of paper into a ball, and destroy it in whatever way he saw fit. Then, I said, he could stop thinking about it and move on.

He burned the paper (be very careful if trying this at home!), and told me the physical destruction helped him to release some of his frustration. He made a point of avoiding focussing on the issue in conversations, and realised just how much time he had spent complaining. He can never get back those nine months lost to delay, but he can prevent himself losing any more time and energy to negative thoughts about something he can’t change.

Easily convinced

I discovered I had something unexpected in common with a friend last week. We had both somehow signed ourselves up for separate 10km running races in the coming months, persuaded into it by enthusiastic family members. 

"I didn't mean to!" she complained on the phone. "I haven't run for years, what was I thinking?" I couldn't help laughing – it was what I had thought earlier that day. I received a very cheerful email from the organisers reminding me just how many days there were until the race, accompanied by a message from my family member saying how excited they were. I am an occasional runner, but recently my focus has been on hill walking and I had no intention of that distance until I signed up for the event. How did I get myself into this? 

The evening after I spoke to my friend, I discovered that my husband has been convinced into a 100km cycle ride in less than two months’ time. Once upon a time he used to take part in the Wicklow 200 every year, a 200km cycle in the Wicklow mountains, but dare I say that was some years ago... This ride will be a challenge, I thought, as I watched him pore over his calendar devising a training schedule.  

 So why do we all seem to be so easily convinced into these wild ideas? I often support people in learning to say “no” to things, which can be difficult but vital. However, in these cases, no one felt any genuine pressure to take part, and the only reason to say no was not believing we could do it. And so long as we take care to prepare, there’s no reason any of us can’t.

Who knows if I can keep up with my family and run 10km? There’s no rule against taking breaks or walking, and we’ll see how far I manage to get before stopping. Regardless, I know it will be hilarious fun. Spring is (finally) in the air, and I’ll do my best to get outside for a few gentle jogs beforehand. After all, once upon a time I was convinced into signing up for a marathon with less than three months’ notice, and I have always been glad I said yes to that.  

Hannah's story

Hannah got meningitis in October 2020. It started with an ear infection, which turned into viral, and then bacterial, meningitis, and she spent two weeks in hospital, during which time she had a lumbar puncture, or spinal tap. Doctors told her she would be ok, but she was left with persistent, debilitating headaches. She could barely walk or even stand, and she spent several months “lying in a dark room, all day, all night, on a lot of morphine”. She wondered why, if her “medical” problem of meningitis had been solved, she was still in chronic pain.  

“I thought, okay, so I have had meningitis, there is no dispute about that,” she said. “But why did my body respond so aggressively to an ear infection? Normally you get an ear infection and you'll be fine with some antibiotics. What else was going on at the time? The more I read, and the more I learned, I realised that there was a huge element that needed to be addressed.” 

There was, Hannah realised, “a lot going on” at the time she contracted the ear infection. She was living through the Covid pandemic, an unprecedented and enormously stressful event. She had been locked down separately to her partner, and had also had to postpone her wedding, which had been due to take place the previous month. Her work had also become “unbelievably stressful”. At the time, she didn’t fully realise how much pressure she was under, as she “just kept going” in fight or flight mode.  

It was only later, when she began to do her own reading and research about stress illness, that she reconsidered what she had been through. By then, she had been living with chronic pain for almost a year. She had been prescribed antidepressants and painkillers, and told that many people live with pain, and she should just get on with it.  

“I sort of became a shell of myself,” she said. “It was very much a lonely period of time. I didn’t know anyone else who was living with chronic pain.” 

Then, alongside other treatments, Hannah started working with me. We talked about who she is as a person, and what her values and beliefs are. Consequently, she says, she has developed some urgently needed boundaries and it has given her the confidence and skills to put herself first. Understand herself and other people more, adding that this is work that will “protect her for the rest of her life”.  

She now feels like her usual self, “give or take”. She is starting to return to the sports she used to love, including running, and is hoping to return to playing hockey in future. She is “in a very odd way”, grateful to her experience of chronic pain, as it has taught her a lot about herself including how to develop boundaries and protect herself. “It’s changed who I am completely,” she said. “But I do see that as a positive. It's been a very tough, steep learning curve.”  

Happy New Year!

At 7am, my alarm goes off. Its loud, shrill beeping fills the bedroom, and yet I make no move to silence it. I lie there, looking at my chest of drawers across the room, visualising the steps necessary to turn off the alarm, and yet I don’t. The problem is, silencing my alarm means getting out from under the duvet and making the journey across the room to my chest of drawers. And much, much worse, it means accepting that it’s time to brave the cold again.

It’s the middle of January, in one of the coldest weeks I can remember for a long time, and our boiler has broken. It’s freezing. Beyond freezing. There are icicles dripping from the bathroom tap and the mist of our breath hangs in the air.

All right, it’s not quite that cold, but it certainly feels like it. The boiler has been temperamental for a few weeks, and finally groans to a halt one afternoon, stubbornly resisting all attempts at DIY to fix it. We try and contact a plumber, but it’s a few days before he can come and see it, and once he does, it takes a further few days to sort out the problem. I fill the basin using boiled water from the kettle to wash in, carry around hot water bottles wherever I go, and sleep under an enormous mountain of blankets.

Finally, the plumber returns, the boiler is fixed, and life returns to normal. My first hot shower is wonderful, and it becomes a pleasure to wash my hands in warm water, even to do the washing up. It was only a few days, but the incident reminds me how lucky we are to have something so simple, which makes life so much more comfortable. Undoubtably we will all return soon to taking it for granted, but for a brief time we feel incredibly grateful.

I hope you all had a happy new year, and wish you the very best for the year ahead.

A trip to Kilkenny

A few weeks ago, I spoke at an Irish Law Society Skillnet Event in Kilkenny, with 166 delegates. When the training organiser invited me several months ago I had initially been surprised, until I made the connection that several lawyers related to the case studies in my chapter on movement and resolving chronic pain in the PPDA textbook. To my delight, one of those lawyers greeted me as I arrived in Kilkenny after a fraught drive from Dublin.

Organisers and speakers at the event

Stress and its consequences are a topical concern for professionals under pressure. Like GPs, many solicitors have evolved to run their own practices, which adds pressure to understand how to run a business, alongside keeping up to date with professional developments. Both practices involve interaction with people and complex communication issues, which are potential areas of generating stress. It’s important to recognise there is good stress which can energise us if we lean into it, however, I wanted to give each of the delegates the opportunity to recognise the stress they may be experiencing and a practical tool to address it.

After a general introduction to the methodology of Resolving Chronic Pain and the principles espoused in the Psychophysiologic Disorders (PPD) textbook, I introduced some tools to address stress illness, in terms of anxiety, headaches, overwhelm and shortness of breath.

The rest of the conference was cerebral, so the chance to get up and move was appealing to many of the attendees. We began with a nod to Amy Cuddy and a confident posture, then moved on to ribcage breathing understanding the relationship between deep breathing and the rest and repair attributes of the parasympathetic autonomic nervous system. Then we got into pairs and explored the internal strength associated with some exercises. We concluded with a roll down, reminding ourselves of the robust nature of our spines.

I want to thank both the organisers and the delegates, all of whom made me feel so welcome and participated with such enthusiasm, and gave lovely feedback afterwards.

Clara's story

I often think that I have the best job in the world. I have the privilege of meeting wonderful people who for one reason or another have experienced life-limiting chronic pain or anxiety. Once we have agreed that the teaching programme of Resolving Chronic Pain is an appropriate fit, the changes are usually significant. Once the pain has dissipated, the real work begins, as there is an opening for a change in perspective. Clients often talk of how their confidence has increased, they enjoy trusting their bodies again, and want to work on achieving their potential. This might be changing their work situation, developing a creative activity, or deepening connections with people they care about. Sometimes it’s a combination of all three. 

Clara, who has used a wheelchair since a car accident some years ago, wanted to explore the Resolving Chronic Pain process after reading one of John Sarno’s books. She lives with her parents in an apartment in Dublin and needs help to travel around. Clara enjoys her own company and gets on well with her mother, who is her main carer. However, both her parents work, and she is grateful to have the company of her dog, who is a great comfort and often joins our calls.

Clara is extremely creative. She had painted a little in the past before her accident but hadn’t done so since. We discussed the possibility of her painting as a means to distract her brain from the pain signals that had been medically checked and labelled benign. To Clara’s delight, she found her rediscovery of painting to be a tremendous source of joy. She doesn’t experience pain signals when she’s painting.  

“I love painting because it gives me a sense of freedom and joy, the same freedom I was feeling when I was a child,” Clara says.

 "When I paint I am often so absorbed in it that I "forget" about the pain I have. It's truly magical how my mind stops thinking about it. My paintings are usually inspired by ideas or images I get during meditation, so they often have a spiritual feel. I also love to paint intuitively, not having any plans beforehand. Or to paint only to express a feeling I have. Lately Egypt has been a big inspiration, especially its many mysteries, gods and goddesses. It gives me joy that I can put that on canvas.”

 As her confidence increased, Clara decided to engage a peripatetic art teacher who come to her home to teach her once a week. Her art teacher suggested she show some of her work at an exhibition in October and Clara was thrilled by the compliments of those attending the exhibition.

 Many were interested in one particular painting. Clara has now commissioned a limited run of prints of that painting and one other. If you would like to see the painting or purchase a print, you can find Clara on Etsy by clicking here.  

Practise what you preach

As some of you know, I had a brief bout of illness recently – nothing to worry about, a fierce cough and sore throat. Frankly, it was horrible and very boring, and I’m extremely glad to now be feeling much better.

Unfortunately I had to take some time off teaching, which is never a decision I take lightly. I tried to “push through” for as long as I could, despite at times barely being able to speak and needing to rest my voice in between calls. On one such day, my daughter happened to call, and after hearing my croaky voice was horrified to learn that I was still working. She told me very sternly and in no uncertain terms to rest – which made me laugh, as usually it is me giving this sort of advice to her.

I have written before about the importance of taking time off when you are unwell. This can be very difficult if you work for yourself, and your work is very important to you – especially if your absence directly affects other people. However, it seems that in some areas I struggle to practise what I preach, as I certainly wasn’t taking my own advice.

This is true of so many of us – we are happy to advise other people to rest and take care of themselves, but then cannot seem to justify applying the same principles to ourselves. The same applies when we are facing a difficult situation, or feel as though we are not being treated fairly. Sometimes it can be helpful to imagine that a friend was in that situation instead, and to think what you would advise them to do. You may find yourself fiercely standing up for your friend – so why shouldn’t you do the same for yourself?

In the end, I was forced to take my daughter’s advice whether I wanted to or not, as I was no longer able to use my voice. Thankfully, it has now recovered, and I am feeling much better and looking forward to getting back on track.

Shy bairns get no sweets

I have a favourite story about how a young woman made it into her first job. She was doing work experience as a recent graduate at a company she would have loved to work for, and had spent a week trying her best to get to know people and make a good impression. But she felt as though she hadn’t got very far, and on the final day was out of time.

She was eating lunch in the canteen when someone quite senior asked her how she was getting on, and whether she would stay for a full-time job with the company. When she told him there weren’t any current job openings, he asked why she didn’t just speak to the boss directly, and express an interest. “Shy bairns get no sweets”, he told her. At first she didn’t understand his wisdom, delivered with a hearty Scottish accent, but eventually got the gist.

She did email the boss, asking about job openings. There weren’t any, but he told her he would keep her informed, and six months later she was back for an interview. She got the job, and did well. The following year, the senior colleague who had told her to contact the boss directly announced he was leaving. She remembered what he had said to her, and applied for his position, despite the fact that he was at least 20 years more experienced than she was.

She got the job. She was thrilled – especially as it was not something that had ever occurred to her eighteen months previously, when she had been looking for her first foot in the door. I find this story useful when teaching, to encourage others to have confidence to take the leap when needed and put themselves forward for things even when they might feel out of their league. If you don’t ask, you’ll never know.

Making connections

At the end of August, an air traffic control problem in the UK saw over 100 people sleeping overnight at Dublin airport.  

At the time I was supposed to be travelling with a colleague to Italy, to meet up with our research group from The Whole Health Medicine Course, Class of 2014. At first we were invited to go home and rebook. But then we were told that our flight, originally scheduled to leave at 2.40pm, was delayed to 11:30pm. Five gate changes followed as Dublin airport began to heave with stranded people. A few flights did get away avoiding UK airspace, but many were not so fortunate.

 Thankfully I love people watching, and as we joined up with a few others due to be on the same flight, it’s fair to say we had rather a jolly time. As we reassembled for the fourth time at yet another new gate, one of our companions cheerfully suggested we would “be like family by the time the day is out!”

Luckily our flight took off after three and a half hours of shenanigans. We arrived in Naples at 10:30pm and we drove silently through the night to Sorrento, collapsing into our beds at 1:30am. Thankfully our planned research meeting in Sorrento was not disrupted in any way. This was our third in-person meeting, and our small group of five has kept in touch progressing this work in our individual fields since 2014. Each research meeting feels like a reunion.

 A couple of days later, we coincidentally bumped into our new friends from the Dublin airport queue. We excitedly exchanged news and wished each other well, joking that we were indeed like family by that point! 

A calming influence

A few months ago I wrote about our terror of a cat, Freddie. His regular exploits include jumping on kitchen counters, stealing every morsel of food not firmly hidden in a sealed container, and creating modern artwork all over the floor with toilet paper, newspaper, cardboard and anything else he can find and tear to shreds. Needless to say, we love him very dearly. But we did begin to despair when Freddie reached adulthood, as we had desperately hoped he would quieten down as he got older. Not so. His increased confidence, size and weight only meant he could wreak even more havoc.

We explained this to friends we had over for lunch one day, as we apologised profusely for Freddie having stolen their bread rolls, trodden in their soup and knocked over their water glasses. But far from commiserating with us, a friend suggested the unthinkable. “Why don’t you get another cat?” she asked. We hadn’t considered this as the obvious solution. However, it turned out she worked closely with vets, and knew a thing or two about badly behaved cats. A companion may calm Freddie down, she said.

By that stage we were ready to try anything, so off we went to collect a rescue kitten from our local shelter. We weren’t quite expecting the small, shy, cautious creature who returned home with us. We think Oscar had a difficult few months at his first home, and he seemed scared of loud noises and busy activity. We gradually introduced him to boisterous, over-active Freddie, and Oscar was… terrified. We wondered if this had been a good idea. We resolved that if after a few weeks Oscar didn’t get over his terror of Freddie, we would call the shelter for advice.

But then something wonderful happened. The two cats began to spend more time together, and Oscar began to open up. “Hurrah!” we thought. Only a matter of time before Oscar’s shy, cautious personality calms Freddie down.

However, that’s not quite what happened. One cat did influence the other, but it was Oscar who began to gain confidence. Oscar who followed Freddie onto the kitchen counters, who gained a taste for stolen bread, who learned how to shred paper in the most destructive way possible.

“Cream? No, I’ve not seen any cream, wonder what happened to it."

Now, months later, the cats are as thick as thieves. They chase each other – and sometimes us - round the garden, they have learned all of our favourite hiding spots for food, and they have identified each and every window and skylight they can slip through, and arrive with a bump into our laps while we are sleeping, working or in the bath.

Unfortunately, in our effort to give Freddie a companion to calm him down, we provided him with a willing accomplice to his mischief. Our friend has suggested we get a dog to regulate the group and bring peace and serenity to the household – what do you think?