transition – Emily Downward

How Losing the Ability to Walk Taught Me a Valuable Lesson

September 12, 2014emilydownward

One of the significant losses for me last year was the loss of my physical abilities. I went from being a proud 7-time triathlete to someone who had to reserve a wheelchair in the airport because I couldn’t walk the distance from the check-in to the gate without excruciating pain.

At the beginning, it was mostly an annoyance. A couple months after my last triathlon, I noticed pain in my right hip when I ran. Training for triathlons taught me I could do more than I thought I could do, and I had learned how to push myself past the whining voice in my head that said it was too difficult. So I pushed on.

The pain increased, and I became frustrated with my body. I was in a relationship with a man who was a former personal trainer, and he encouraged me to push through it. Given his experience and also the fact that I wanted to impress him, I pushed on.

The pain got worse, and I had to completely stop running. Thinking it was a temporary setback, I made myself walk every day and began doing yoga 4-5 times a week to increase my flexibility and strength. Still, the pain worsened and my mobility declined.

I heard a motivational speaker recently, who in recounting her personal story of transformational weight loss, said, “The one thing you have control over is your body.” I hope she never experiences how very untrue that statement is, because it was incredibly difficult to surrender for me.

But when your body stops walking, you have to start listening.

First, I had to surrender to the idea that this was truly happening. I had so much resistance to the idea that I couldn’t do what I’d been doing. Eventually, it was obvious. I couldn’t walk without assistance, like a cane or crutches. I consulted a variety of specialists, and learned that a combination of scoliosis, the way my muscles learned to compensate, and repetitive training for triathlons had created the perfect storm for my hip.

Second, I had to learn to truly listen to and trust my body. I have always been more reliant on my mind than anything else. I had learned how to push myself. Now, I had to learn to let my body set the speed. Some days, I could walk a mile. Some days, I could barely walk around the block. Other days, I needed to rest. There was no pattern to it – each day was different. But my body no longer responded to force – it would simply shut down. As I slowly began to get infinitesimally better, I didn’t want to go back to being completed crippled, so I listened.

I also had to trust my body with what helped, and what didn’t. Frequently, even what the doctors or therapists were telling me wasn’t working for me. I learned to trust what I was feeling more, to distinguish between different kinds of pain – like the good kind of pain in a stretch or in a muscle you are building versus the you-overdid-it and now there’s inflammation. Lots of trial and error, but I’m learning and getting better at it.

Finally, I had to change my thoughts and ideas about myself. I had to create a new normal. I don’t think I’ll do another triathlon again, and I had to grieve that. I had to be okay with what my good-enough is. Not that I’m giving up on improving – not at all! But I accept and honor the limitations I have on any given day.

If you’re facing a big transition like this, you may also find these steps work for you:

Surrender to what’s happening. Byron Katie says, “When you fight with reality, you’re going to lose 100% of the time.” Acknowledge that this is what’s happening right now. When you come to a place of acceptance, then you can begin to find your way out.
Listen and trust your body. This is true not just in physical challenges but also in times of grief. Some days are up and others are down. Follow your inner rhythms.
Shift your thinking to accommodate your new reality. Let go of the idea of who you thought you were, and dig deeper to the inner knowing of who you are – that part of you that never changes, that is worthy and good enough without titles or accomplishments.

Today, I can hike three miles on a good day. I’ve even had days where I have no pain at all, and it feels amazing. I continue to accept, listen and be flexible in my thinking, and in addition to the ability to walk, I also have a lot more peace.

Catalytic Events

April 17, 2013emilydownward

Early on in my career, I had the privilege of working with a sassy, sweet and inspiring group of breast cancer survivors. Coming in at the age of 22 with my freshly printed college degree, I was hired to manage a group of volunteers who ranged in age from 35 to 65. Thankfully I had the presence of mind to listen more than I talked, as they had so much wisdom to share. Over time, I heard each of their personal stories, as well as hundreds of stories from women who called in to our helpline. A cancer diagnosis is one of the most shocking and dreaded things to hear, and yet, there was a remarkable beauty in how each woman chose to live her life and what meaning they gave their cancer diagnosis. It can be the worst thing that can happen to you, or, as many of them would tell me, it can be the best thing that ever happened to you. It gave them the opportunity to take stock of what was working for them – in jobs and relationships – and what wasn’t.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about catalytic events – those occurrences in our lives that knock us off our feet, take the wind out of our sails, and cause us to redefine who we are and how we think. Catalytic events come in three types: shock, opportunity and transition. Shock and opportunity are pretty self-explanatory and arrive unexpectedly. Transition events come from within, often beginning as a slight inner dissonance that grows and becomes impossible to ignore. All types of catalytic events send us into a period of death and rebirth, as we grieve what we were, or how we once defined ourselves, and give birth to a new, redefined version of ourselves.

I’ve been going through a few catalytic events simultaneously in my life recently, all of the opportunity variety. I am thoroughly grateful for these opportunities, so I have struggled a bit to allow myself the accompanying grief. It took a loving friend-coach pointing out to me that I was ignoring my grief. I then realized I was avoiding it, afraid of the depth of the sadness.

Catalytic events bring up our issues, and I’m finding that although I’ve done a lot of personal work on my issues already, there’s still a little more to work through. What I thought was a banana is now looking like an onion, as I peel off one layer to uncover yet another. Martha Beck teaches her coaches to “live it to give it.” So I will continue to peel away the layers, exposing the limiting beliefs in my mind and creating new ones that will serve me better (hint: they are more kind and empowering).

If you are grieving, and if you, like me, tend to want to avoid that, remember that pretending to be happy or to not feel what you’re feeling only prolongs the process. Allowing yourself to feel it, although it seems unpleasant, is the quickest way through. Resisting the feelings only makes them persist longer.

Change in Scenery

March 20, 2013emilydownward

I’ve recently experienced a big transition: I’ve moved across country to be with my boyfriend. I’m an experienced mover: I moved seven times growing up, and this is my fifteenth move as an adult. I have learned a lot about moving, including how to pack well and the value of detachment from material items that can get broken, damaged or lost. Moving always provides me an opportunity to reflect on what’s working, what’s not, and what I want to change in my physical environment. I don’t usually do a complete redecoration, but I refine what I have around me to reflect who I am now.

My mentor Martha Beck teaches in coach training about the Living Space tool. It’s based on the research and experience of Thomas Moore, a former monk and clinical psychologist. Coming out of the monastery and its austere way of life, Moore realized the significance and value of what we choose to put in our living spaces. He believes that every choice we make in the material world reflects the condition of our inner lives.

In the Western world, we seem to accumulate and value material possessions. I have found it interesting to note what I have too much of: kitchen and bathroom items. Some have been gifts, and some I’ve brought in to my home. I obviously get some comfort from having all these things, even though I found many things that haven’t been used in years.

So as I’m choosing what to unpack and what to store away, I’ve also been finding myself questioning what’s working and what’s not working in my habits and activities. What do I want to keep, and what am I ready to let go of? I’m doing more of what serves me and serves my clients and less of those things that drain my energy and don’t provide a good return on investment.

The interesting thing about our environment: when we make a small change in the outside, it can have ripple effects on the inside, too. It’s known as the butterfly effect. Coming from chaos theory, the butterfly effect explains how a small change can have a huge impact on a later state, such as how a butterfly flapping its wings can shift the trajectory of a hurricane.

Try this experiment: Look at your physical space and find the area that bothers you the most. What’s one thing you can change about it, either by taking something away or adding something? This works at home and the office. The changes you make in your surroundings will have effects on your inner state as well.

Faithful Friend

April 10, 2012emilydownward

“The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It’s our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows.” – Dr. Brené Brown

The past month has been difficult for me, and I just couldn’t write about it before now. At the beginning of March, my 18-year-old cat Sabrina was euthanized. She had been with me basically all my adult life. I got her when she was 6 weeks old during my senior year of college. I saw her the day she was born, as my college boyfriend’s cat was her mom. Of the litter, Sabrina picked me, coming to sit on my lap and claiming me as hers.

She was my “little love,” and was with me through some of the most difficult transitions in my life: divorces, break-ups, cross-town and cross-country moves. She was my constant, my steady companion, providing me with so much love and affection.

I’ve struggled with my grief, wanting it to be over already. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of feeling sad and expecting to see her when I come home. I’m tired of missing her, tired of feeling the ache and emptiness in my heart when I think how she’s not here to sit beside me. Tired of not being able to sleep because her absence is still so acute.

I’ve tried to rationalize with myself. I know she had a really long life, and I am grateful for it. I know the last year in particular was difficult for her, and her health had deteriorated so much. I don’t feel guilty for euthanizing her. It was time. I never wanted her to suffer, and although I treated her conditions to keep her comfortable and functioning as optimally as possible, I didn’t want to do extreme measures just to keep her alive. Her body was just shutting down, unable to keep going.

But all the rationalization doesn’t diminish the pain of the loss. And as much as I want to push it aside, get over it already, or pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does, it’s still there. And I know that disconnecting from my sad feelings also disconnects me from all feelings. You can’t shut down just some.

I know in time, it will feel less acute. I know her leaving has left an opening for something new to come in. I know she’s at peace, free from her declining and painful body. I know we had something special, a bond that changed me, and her memory will always live in my heart.

“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” – Mother Teresa