Making assumptions

“You’ll be fine!” the woman assures us. “I’ve even taken my mother up there and she’s not as young as she used to be. If even she can do it, you’ll be grand.”

My friend and I look doubtfully at each other. We’re on a day trip to the hills, and have stopped at a café for refreshment before a planned walk up to a viewpoint. The weather has closed in, and dark clouds are threatening rain. We had mentioned our plans to the friendly young woman behind the counter at the café, asking how difficult the route up to the viewpoint is.

“Mum found it a bit tricky at her age, but we got there in the end,” the woman continues brightly, mentioning the age of her mother.

My friend and I look at each other, and it’s all we can do not to burst out laughing. This woman’s mother, who has been described as bordering on decrepitude so far in this conversation, is several years younger than us. We thank the woman and head outside as it begins to rain. We hold a quick discussion – both a little doubtful after what she said, clearly not realising our own ages. But we’re wearing good shoes and waterproofs, and the path is very clearly-defined, so we decide to take our chances and begin the walk. We set out at the same time as a couple in their twenties, and pause to let them go ahead on the narrow path, so we don’t hold them up.

The weather worsens as we climb, and the rain soon turns to snow, blanketing the ground. Thick clouds mean we can no longer see the mountain views around us, but we are reassured by the presence of the young couple ahead – at least if we collapse there’ll be someone to run for help. The climb is steep, and the wind whips into our faces, making it feel as though we’re in a different season from the almost-Springtime and daffodils back home. It’s not particularly comfortable, but it is exhilarating. Suddenly, two figures appear ahead – the couple returning. “We’ve had enough, good luck,” they say as they pass, looking exhausted. My friend and I look at each other. We’re enjoying the exercise, so we continue for a while before turning around.

Back at the café, the young couple are nursing aching feet and cold limbs, thrilled to be back in the warm. “How did you make it up so far?” they ask in awe. As we enjoy hot cups of tea, we reflect on how glad we are that we went up, and how much what you can and can’t do is dependent on your attitude. It’s so easy to limit yourself based on other people’s assumptions, but everyone’s circumstances are different – in this case our fitness, clothing and preparation allowed us to climb the hill with ease, and it had nothing at all to do with age!

Happy Easter

I went out one night almost four years ago on a mission. I drove to a nearby service station, and got out of the car. Peering across the car park, I spotted my target and gave a signal. I approached, face hidden, and placed the money in a neutral location before withdrawing again. The masked figure then approached, collected the money, and deposited the goods before vanishing the way he had come.

My trip to buy four chickens from a local farmer took on a slightly more cloak-and-dagger aspect than usually necessary back in April 2020. We had planned to buy them a month earlier, but had been delayed by lockdown. Even when things finally opened up enough to meet others, we were still concerned and cautious, and arranged the sale with as little interaction as possible – meeting outside, wearing masks, and depositing the money and then the box of hens on the ground between us, rather than handing them over directly.

Writing about the passing of our final hen a few weeks ago reminded me of what a different world these animals were born into compared to our lives today. It really is hard to believe that that experience was four years ago. Happily, this Easter I was able to see family and friends in person rather than over a Zoom call, and not worry about things like the supply of sugar and flour for making cakes, or whether or not we would run out of pasta or toilet roll. Those were months of such uncertainty and fear, and had a huge impact on our lives. It’s easy to forget how difficult things were back then, as life has returned back to “normal”, but I think it’s worth reminding ourselves every now and again, and thinking about how far we’ve come to get “back on track” – or cut ourselves some slack if we are still working towards that.

It also makes me feel incredibly grateful for those small things, like being able to see people in person, to go to the shops, and to know that it’s unlikely I will be plunged without warning into further restrictions on daily life in the coming months. I’m also feeling grateful for the few good things which came out of that time, such as a renewed love of walking in the local area, rediscovered when it was our only option! I hope you all had a restful and happy Easter.

Defying expectations

It’s hard to believe it was almost four years ago that I first wrote about our new hens. Some of you may remember the chickens we had before at my Pilates studio – these new four created a similar atmosphere of peace and calm, concerned only with grazing through the grass, and investigating whether anyone who approached had brought any food. They brought huge joy as pets, and the delicious, fresh eggs every morning were a bonus.

Happily, this group of hens all stayed safe from dogs and foxes, and only began to leave us through old age. This breed is only expected to live around two to three years as pets, and they did quite well, with the third only leaving us in May last year after more than three years. We felt quite sorry for the final remaining hen, now left to live out alone what we expected would probably be her final weeks, at her ripe old age. Our neighbours and friends took pity on her too, often asking us how the one remaining hen was doing, left alone in her decrepitude. We looked out at her, grazing alone on the grass, and commiserated with each other about how lonely she must be, and how she was probably likely to die of solitude in the coming weeks if not of old age.

However, it soon became apparent that we might have been wrong about this hen. None of us are animal behaviour experts and we have no real idea what, if anything, she was thinking. But it became clear that the feelings of loneliness, sadness and frailty which we had all ascribed to her were more in our own heads than hers. Instead, this hen continued to live a life which by all appearances was as healthy and happy – if not more so – than before the departure of her companions. She continued to be active, continued eating well, and continued living. The doom-laden predictions that she was on her last legs turned out to also be entirely in our own heads. She had stopped laying eggs after around two years, as all the hens had done, and so she continued to enjoy what was in effect her retirement, spending her days foraging for food and very competently scaring off the cats, who never dared to approach her too closely, despite her being on her own.

Chicken, as she became known (all four hens originally had names, but in all honesty we struggled to tell them apart and it became a moot point after the others died), continued in rude health until around two weeks ago, when we went down to feed her in the morning and discovered she had died in the night. With no sign of illness or distress in the preceding days, and at four years old, she surpassed all of our expectations. We had foolishly ascribed human feelings of loss and loneliness to her after her companions died, and written her off in her old age. Her feathers turned grey and some began to fall out, but her personality did not change and she continued to be as active and feisty as she always had been. It was a joy to see her continue to prove us wrong, month after month.

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.