Workshop in Athlone

As some of you know, I teach in-person sessions using movement to help people explore their understanding of their bodies and how they perceive others. The information exchange between body and mind can open up a new route to emotional literacy and empathy -something you can read more about elsewhere on my website here.

The aim of these sessions is to enable insight into and confidence in the body, heightening awareness, which is fundamental to developing genuine empathy. Empathy is often described as the ability to understand the world from another person’s point of view, and is associated with deep listening skills and verbal encouragement. These sessions are for a general audience, but in particular can help those who find that empathy doesn’t come naturally, or makes them feel anxious. 

The workshop in Athlone was an introduction to a training day for practitioners involved in a research study run by Systematic Kinesiology. The aim was to help the participants understand how it feels to do something new and to trust the person guiding them. This led to a lively discussion - you can read some of the feedback here.

Many of the workshop participants had travelled a long way in bad weather to get to the workshop, and it was a truly brilliant group. This sort of work helps form a bond and throughout the day they repeatedly contributed thoughtful and passionate points of view, creating a cheerful and productive atmosphere.

By association

I have a friend who plots her usual running route via her favourite café, and always ends her run there, so she can enjoy the treat of a takeaway coffee as she walks home. Another friend told me recently that he only ever wears his favourite shirts on Mondays. Many people I know tend to wear their best outfits on Fridays, to celebrate the end of the week, however he said he finds his favourite, brightly-coloured shirts cheer him up on the day he finds most difficult, giving him some small thing to look forward to on a Sunday evening.

This friend no longer lives in a city, but when he did, and would face a 45 minute commute every day on very busy public transport, he would save this time for reading, and ended up looking forward to it as a chance to enjoy his book. Back when I was training for my marathon, years ago, I would only ever listen to music when I went out running. It became a way to motivate myself, as I always looked forward to the enjoyment of the music, leading me to look forward to the runs themselves as well.

My husband long ago formed the habit of listening to the radio while ironing – a task he used to find boring, but not when gripped by whatever sports commentary happens to be on (or sometimes singing along to the greatest hits!)

We all need a little bit of motivation sometimes, and it can help to form a habit of linking something joyful with something you find more difficult, so they form an association. You might find you even end up looking forward to your chore or task as it brings a joyful side effect!

A reconnection

Karen Darke had felt pain in her left shoulder for so long that she felt “held together” by supportive tape intended to relieve pressure on muscles and joints. When she went to a doctor, he told her she had the shoulders of an 80 year old – in her 40s – and would need corrective surgery and probably a shoulder replacement at some point.

A geologist, Karen was working in the Bolivian Andes when an accident left her paralysed from the chest down. She took up the sport of hand cycling, and went on to win gold for Britain in Rio de Janeiro in 2016. It was after the win in 2016 that her shoulder hurt, and she found herself feeling “completely misaligned” after eight years of gruelling training.

She had been prepared for the risk of depression after the Olympics, which is a known phenomenon among athletes. To combat this, she had planned a trip to cycle 1,500km through Patagonia with two teammates and one of their wives. When she told them she wasn’t sure if she was up to it due to her run-down condition, they encouraged her to go.

The group cycled through villages, some hundreds of kilometres apart. Karen’s story is shared in the book Wilder Journeys: True Stories of Nature, Adventure & Connection, edited by Laurie King and Miriam Lancewood. In it, Karen writes of the pleasure of reconnecting with nature again, adding: “For all the comforts offered by our modern world, I can think of no substitute more satisfying than lying on the grass watching a sinking sun after a day moving through the great outdoors, listening to the soothing bubble of a nearby stream and the crackle of a small fire”.

After days of cycling, allowing her mind to drift and focus just on the kilometres ahead and enjoying the nature surrounding her, Karen writes that she feels like she is “waking up from a long coma”. Her shoulder stops hurting, and her movement is no longer limited when reaching or stretching. She no longer has need of any shoulder surgery, and writes that she will later phone to cancel it.

Karen’s story is a truly remarkable one, and this is just one episode within it. But it is a fascinating example of a serious intervention being planned for a patient (in this case surgery) and then later cancelled after a change in lifestyle – in this case trading an urban lifestyle focussed on a gruelling training regime for a reconnection to nature at a different pace.

Off to the woods

The moment I stepped onto the train, I knew I had made the right choice. Half an hour later, I was even more sure as I left the pavement and my feet crunched onto fallen autumn leaves. I squelched through the mud, reaching for my hat and scarf to protect against the colder air, and looked up to see shafts of sunlight reaching through the branches above. I could feel myself relaxing. How could I have considered missing this?

It was a weekend day shortly before Christmas, when I had found myself unexpectedly without any fixed commitments or obligations. I did however have a long list of things to do, which had been building up over the busy run-up to Christmas. I had tried to get everything ticked off before the weekend but it just hadn’t been possible. As I contemplated my to-do list that morning, I felt a little overwhelmed, knowing that I would have to go back to work the next day. Despite having so much to get done, I also knew this was my last chance before Christmas to get outside for a walk on my own due to other commitments. I sat down at my desk with a cup of tea and sighed, resigning myself to a day in front of my laptop, regretting the walk I was missing out on.

Half an hour later, I found myself staring out of the window, feeling tired and distracted and not having made any progress. I made a decision, closed my laptop, and went to get changed. An hour later I was in the woods, trampling along one of my favourite paths. I immediately felt calmer, and despite me not making progress on it in that moment, my to-do list felt a lot more manageable.

After a blissful walk, I went home, and got more done in a few hours in the afternoon than I had during the whole of the previous day. It reminded me what I already knew: the importance of taking time to rest and recharge rather than trying to “power through” any kind of task. A few days ago, coming up against an abrupt return to the to-do list at the start of the new year, I deployed the same tactic. This time I made a plan the day before and left earlier, managing to have a wonderful few hours of walking before a full, productive day. I find especially in the winter, and at the start of a new year when things can feel abruptly busy, it can be very helpful to identify something that helps you recharge, and dedicate time to that very valuable activity.  

Making connections

 It was a Tuesday evening, and I was feeling a little tired. A combination perhaps of the darker, colder evenings and busy planning for the end of the year. At first I was a little reluctant to get dressed up and go out to a restaurant in Dublin, but I soon geared myself up and off I went.

It was a dinner for some of the mothers from one of my children’s schooldays. We’ve met up semi-regularly over the years, and this was our ten-year reunion. I had been one of the organisers, and it had taken some effort to bring it together, especially at a busy time of year. As soon as I walked into the room, I was reminded how much that little effort is worth it. It was wonderful to see friends again, and to reconnect with some women who I had lost touch with over the years. We all heard the major updates in the lives of our children, and caught up with how our own lives have changed since we last met.

The pandemic seems (thankfully) a long time ago now, but I am still reminded how lucky we are to be able to meet up in person. This kind of reunion took some time to organise, but it was so worth it to rekindle and maintain those connections. I had a similar feeling after meeting colleagues and collaborators during my trip to Canada and the US earlier this year – it was an effort to get there, but a fantastic reward to meet like-minded people in person. Sometimes attending these meetings can be a little tiring, whether they are for work or socialising – especially at this time of year. It’s important to rest and take care of yourself, but sometimes, it’s important to push yourself to get out the door and make those connections.

What’s in a name?

The final update from my trip to Canada and the US was an announcement from Dr David Clarke, who some of you will know as one of the team who edited the Psychophysiologic Disorders (PPD) textbook. He announced that the Psychophysiologic Disorders Association is changing its name, to the Association for Treatment of Neuroplastic Symptoms (ATNS), with a catchphrase of “symptomatic”. His aim is to reflect the neuroscientific research of the field.

PPD practitioners spend a lot of time thinking about names, as they can be very significant to patients, practitioners and their relatives. Describing pain as “chronic” can sometimes be difficult for people, as they feel they are somehow not entitled to this term, or their pain is not “bad enough” to meet a certain threshold. I use the term chronic pain to describe pain that has been present for more than three months, while acute pain does not last as long. Importantly, chronic pain is not the same as “permanent” pain, and if it is caused by stress illness then it is possible for it to be resolved. 

A word that used to be in common usage was “psychosomatic”, referring to a physical symptom with a non-physical cause such as stress. However, I find this term unhelpful, as it has become associated in popular usage with something that is “not real” or “made up”, undermining the very real symptoms referred to. As you all know, I find it important to recognise that the symptom of pain is both physical and very real.

The names that we use can sometimes influence the outcomes of our pain, as names influence how we mentally frame a situation. Emphasising the dramatic, chronic, and seemingly “permanent” nature of pain can make it feel as though that pain will never be resolved, decreasing the motivation to try. On the other hand, dismissing very real physical symptoms as minor or “made up” can in turn increase feelings of isolation, misery and frustration, increasing the stress response and further exacerbating pain.

Something that I am frequently told by patients who have successfully diminished their pain through their work with me is that they appreciate that the resolving chronic pain process is individual and patient-focused. While working with me they come to appreciate the importance of recognising that the words we use matter and that using particular words may have ramifications.

Boulder, Colorado

It’s been a while since I returned from the Psychophysiological Disorders Association (PPDA) conference in Boulder, Colorado. It opened with a summary of Dr John Sarno’s work and the current PPD research taking place locally. The highlight of the conference for me was a pre-recorded video from psychologist Arlene Feinblatt PhD, who talked about her work with Dr Sarno. I met Arlene six years ago in New York to discuss her relationship with Dr Sarno and the psychological contribution she made to PPD, or Tension Myositis Syndrome (TMS) as it was called then. She is a very special woman, and was an enormous asset to Dr Sarno in my opinion. We’ve kept in touch by email, and it was wonderful to see her again on video at the conference.

Me and Dr David Clarke MD at the conference

The following two days were packed with presentations during the day and good food with friends in the evenings. It was a pleasure to see colleagues who I’ve known for many years again after a hiatus due to Covid, as well as meeting some people I’ve corresponded with in person for the first time. Most attendees were based in the US, but there were some from Israel, Canada, the UK, and several other European countries. Since the conference I’ve been in touch with many of those new contacts and will bring their expertise to you in time.

With Jeffrey Axelbank PsyD at the conference

 One subject that came up repeatedly was the difficulty of communicating the concept of stress illness and the links to physical pain or anxiety and or low mood, which is difficult to convey to both patients and healthcare practitioners. A filmmaker was also resident at the conference interviewing us about our experience. In addition to those live interviews, some of the people I currently teach kindly contributed to the mini videos that the filmmaker will use to create snapshots of this process and the healing experience. It’s an ambitious project and will take time to materialise I suspect. I’ll keep you posted.

Movement session

As I touched on last week, the first task during my recent work trip was teaching a movement session at Lissa Rankin MD’s Transformations and Transitions retreat to around 25 healthcare professionals.

We all sat down in a circle at 8.30am on a Saturday a few weeks ago in Mill Valley, California. My intention was to make the session accessible, fun, and instructive, so immediately plunging into movement felt a bit extreme. Instead, I began with a story a patient told me about the role movement played in their recovery from chronic pain. We then had a discussion about posture and non-verbal communication. How does posture impact our confidence, and our understanding of self? What messages might we be sending non-verbally without realising it? What interpretations do we make from the non-verbal signals we receive from others?

Me and Lissa Rankin MD

 In the next part of the session I asked everyone to find a partner, which helped to form introductions and get people working together at the beginning of the retreat. We experimented with core stability work, before moving into the main movement session, during which one partner took the opportunity to move without constraint and the other acted as witness, watching out for them. I was really impressed by how caring each witness was towards their partner. There is never a right or wrong way to move in this context, and there was a huge range of movement from quite static small movements mainly in the arms, to large movements involving the whole body – sometimes rolling across the floor, requiring vigilance from their partner to keep them safe.

The final part of the session offered an opportunity for everyone to discuss their movement experience. The feedback from the session was positive, with some extracts below.

Jamie Hale: “It was an innovative and integrative mind and body experience – and it was interpersonally bonding, empowering and fun!” 

Mary VanLaarhoven: “I found myself moving organically, guided by the wisdom of my body rather than the constraints of my mind. The emotional releases witnessed in other participants were profound, revealing deep connections between movement and healing.” 

Tori Maricich: “I really enjoyed the core stability and awareness exercise that Mags taught. Getting to move with my eyes closed, and reciprocating being a witness, while somebody moved initiated from inside their body felt uplifting.”

Rachel Gilgoff: “It was so beautiful to connect to my body in a purposeful, energizing, supportive, and patient way. You have translated the art of movement into an inspirational, authentic healing strategy that allows the clinician and the patient to feel empowered, capable, and trusting of our own body and inner strength.”

San Francisco

As some of you know, my household was affected by one of the many viruses doing the rounds a few weeks ago, unfortunately just before my work trip away, which resulted in a few weeks’ gap in the blog. Luckily, I managed to recover before the trip, and had a very productive time traveling to the United States and meeting lots of wonderful and like-minded people.

My trip began in San Francisco, after an eleven-hour flight from Dublin which gave me a good opportunity to catch up on my research! I stayed with a friend, who picked me up from the airport. It was wonderful to receive such a welcome in an unfamiliar environment, and reminded me how precious it is to nurture friendships, even when you don’t get to see each other regularly.

The Transformations and Transitions Retreat with Lissa Rankin MD began the following afternoon. There were seven Whole Health Medicine graduates including myself, and 20 healthcare professionals. Lissa is intuitive at creating an intimate group where everyone has the chance to make real individual progress.

The next morning, I taught the first session at 8.30am (not quite completely recovered from jet lag!). Lissa had asked if I could teach a movement session that related to Resolving Chronic Pain - most of the healthcare professionals attending were eager for new experiences to help them navigate a change to their previous career trajectory. Lissa includes three pathways in her 'Whole Health Medicine' (WHMI) graduate programme. My teaching session related to the first, called ‘Heal the Healer’, directly addressing the healthcare professionals' relationship with their own body and range of movement.

I’ll write more about that first session in detail in the next blog, as well as further updates from the trip. I’ll try to include an extra blog to catch up on those missed, as there is a lot to tell!

Progress

An acquaintance of mine, I’ll call him Fred, changed jobs a few years ago. The new job felt instantly overwhelming, and at first he struggled to get though each day. He was so busy he felt as though he couldn’t possibly get anything done on time, and was repeatedly missing deadlines. He found his new colleagues difficult to work with – those more senior were incessantly demanding, those at his level were prickly and uninclined to offer him any help, and the juniors he was trying to manage were obstreperous bordering on rude. He struggled to sleep, felt constantly tired, and frequently fell ill.

 The months passed, and things improved as he became more practised at handling his workload, and got to know his colleagues better. Eventually, he was offered a new job, and came to train the person who would replace him. He tried to ease her into it, to make helpful introductions and give her guidance that hadn’t been available to him when he started. However, she still struggled to cope with the workload, even while she was in training and only taking on a quarter of what the job involved. She missed several deadlines, miscommunicated with other teams and made several mistakes. Fred’s colleagues muttered to him that they wished he wasn’t leaving, as he was such a competent member of the team.

But rather than roll his eyes at the new person, Fred thought of his own first few months in the job, and how difficult he had found it. Only then did it hit him how far he had come. His work had become easier and easier as the months went by, and he had received positive feedback from his bosses several times. But it wasn’t that the job had become easier – as the struggles of his replacement proved – it was that he had become better at it as time went on. While Fred only wished the best for his replacement and didn’t want her to suffer, the experience of training her showed him his own progress, in a very satisfying way.

We don’t always recognise our own progress, especially if it is something gradual, which is not easy to measure. Fred’s example is very extreme, and the extent to which he was overworked is not something to aspire to. But his story is a reminder that sometimes it’s worth taking a moment to take stock, and recognise just how far you have come. Thankfully, he has now moved to a much less stressful job - and the woman who replaced him in his own role has adapted to it over time, in the same way that Fred did.