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Pain Relief and Yoga

Karrie Zylstra Myton

Recently, I listened to a podcast on new discoveries about pain. In the beginning of the episode, the host talks with an equestrian named Kat Naud. Kat was on her way to competing in the Olympics, loving every minute of her life riding horses. Tragically, her horse missed a jump in competition and Kat was crushed by his weight. She broke her back in a way that has left her in constant physical pain. In the episode and in her TED Talk, Kat talked about how she found her way back to life in spite of that pain, through that pain, and around that pain.





She is even riding horses again after a long journey that started—as so many great journeys start—with a terrible dark night of the soul.


It struck me that two things about her story feel particularly related to my own journey with mental and emotional pain. We also recently talked about both of those things in Art Words and Yoga class.


The Tapas


blue, green, and orange flames

First, I noticed that Kat used tapas, a part of the eight limbs of yoga that relates to the fire of discipline. Kat was on the bathroom floor contemplating her own end, when she pulled herself back up out of the depths. She told herself that she'd had enough of not living and started to walk five minutes a day to move herself in another direction. Those five minutes were at first terrible but they got easier over time. She found she could eventually walk longer and faster each day.


I think we have to be cautious with that fire of discipline. Sometimes pushing ourselves too hard backfires; we can end up hurting ourselves more. But it has definitely been a powerful tool for healing in many cases.



Interconnection


a large log with trees growing out of it. A small person sits next to one tree, a cat, wolf and flying raven are against a blue sky.

Kat also used her connection to others in order to feel less alone while bolstering her ability to endure. She wrote about her pain in a blog and found others to support her and share their own stories.


This interconnection reminded me of our discussion in Art Words and Yoga. We talked about the Tree of Yoga as we finished our series on the eight limbs. I told the class that I thought all of us were connected to each other much like trees are interconnected through their roots and through the symbiotic systems they have with mushrooms. Ecologists have discovered that trees share nutrients with each other with these systems.


One wise student mentioned that we could also still be sharing support and connection with our loved ones who have passed away. That maybe those gone-but-not-forgotten ones still shared nutrients with us like nurse logs in a forest. I like to think that perhaps we even share with them from where we are.


Forgiving Our Bodies


scrabble letters spell the word "forgive"

This one is closest to santosha, or contentment, in the eight limbs of yoga. For this, Kat talks about forgiving her body for not being everything she wanted it to be. Forgiving her body for being in pain.


I have not broken my back under the weight of a horse but I have also found that I needed to forgive my body for not always being in top form. For me this is about forgiving my earthly form for going through perimenopause. For needing so much care and attention, especially after my recent losses and the stressors.


It seems obvious as I write it now. Of course, my body is mortal and of course it is a miracle that it does so well by me every day. Of course, it will eventually not be able to do this any more. My body is only human, after all.


So like Kat Naud, I have been deliberately taking steps to live more at ease with my own types of pain. As I grow older, I find I need to choose especially heathy foods while I continue to learn more about nutrition. I need to exercise in very intentional ways. And I need to really nurture my connections with others. I need to consider the forests of humans around me and look for ways to both give and receive support from others.


All of this feels worthwhile. It even feels like I am healthier in many ways than I was before my recent grief—before the other normal and painful losses of being a human who is growing older. And that sense of overall health makes it even easier to forgive my body for the work she puts me through to care for her well.


"It's a commitment for sure but, you know, when your choice is: Do I commit to not being here anymore? Or do I commit to finding a way through this and coming out the other side stronger, more knowledgeable and—to be honest, I think, healthier right now than I was before my injury?


I'm gonna choose that (second) route all day long."


-Kat Naud, equestrian



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