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What’s All This, Then?

“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.”

Orson Welles
director, actor and producer

Honestly, this blog is supposed to be funny, but sometimes it’s hard to get there.

I am a cancer survivor. You cannot imagine how good it feels to write that. This blog was established to help me document my journey, process my experiences and, ultimately, inch away from thinking of myself as a cancer patient and towards being a mindful, peaceful and accepting (that’s a tough one!) creature on this Earth. Be warned, some of my posts are self-indulgent and unnecessarily wordy; I have much respect for anyone willing to slog through them.

Right now, this blog is anonymous: I need to stumble through my feelings, complain when I feel like it and be blunt when necessary — and I need a safe space to do it without fear of judgmental glances. While my goal is to keep this light-hearted, I realize that I have the pleasure of being a survivor and chuckling about my cancer experience; there are many who are not granted that opportunity. Writing this blog is a privilege.

Cancer sucks. It’s an indiscriminate spectre that has haunted the lives of practically everyone at some point, whether relatives, friends or ourselves. For me, cancer cannot pass into faded memory quickly enough, but at the same time, I am infernally curious about the disease and how it has changed me.

So here are my facts:

In early 2017, I was diagnosed with triple-positive (estrogen+, progesterone+ and HER2+) breast cancer. The lump was 1.6cm in diameter, removed at the end of March, along with three sentinel lymph nodes that were revealed to be unaffected. Chemotherapy (Taxotere & carboplatin) started a month later and lasted the entire summer, 6 hefty courses, one every three weeks; adjuvant therapy (Herceptin, a monoclonal antibody) also started at this time, but went for 17 courses, ending in April 2018. Daily radiation treatment lasted six weeks through autumn of 2017. A 3-D mammogram in February 2018 showed nothing, in a good way. That marked my first year without the tumor.

I wish I’d been able to write in 2017, but my head wasn’t there. I was not processing, I was existing and enduring. After my final Herceptin infusion, my port was removed and I turned around to see what had happened. It took several months of writing before I tossed out my first post in September 2018, privately at first, and then, “Hello, world!”

It’s going to be a bumpy, unpolished ride. Bear with me.

Again, the Mammogram

It feels like it wasn’t all that long ago that I had my five-year 3-D mammogram…and here I am with my six-year scan.

I’m writing this prior to the scan and will follow up with the results at the end of this post, but I find it useful to write while I am still experiencing the little uncertainties that come with scans. Like a Schroedinger’s-esque situation, I am both a cancer survivor and a cancer patient right now, since no matter how small a chance that another tumor will be found in my breast, survivor and patient are my only two possible modes of existence.

For this short period of time, I’m both survivor and patient.

For my own sake, I try to release all expectations at this time. I don’t want to relax and tell myself that I’m sure that the scan will be clear, because the drop down from that back into “cancer patient” state would be too fast and steep, so I breath deeply and anticipate nothing. But that’s hard to maintain.

At the same time, just a few weeks after seeing my oncologist who skillfully performed a clinical breast exam and found nothing, it’s very unlikely that a mammogram would bring up anything life-changing for me at this time. In fact, if anything were found, it would be a tumor in its nascent stages that would be much easier to treat than the one I had in 2017. Or so I tell myself.

To be frank, it’s not locating another tumor in the breast that constitutes the scariest scary outcome. No, it’s the not finding a tumor in some other part of the body — perhaps a lone sleeper cell that evaded chemotherapy’s effects and circulated through my body before grabbing onto a vital organ and silently beginning to grow.

That’s the real bad news…but it would not be the news I’d get today.

This brings me back to that situation that all cancer survivors face: accepting that there are no guarantees.

The waiting is the hardest part.

For the next hours before my mammogram I will focus on work, think of nothing to do with cancer and take deep conscious breaths. As I sit in the waiting room I will gently distract myself, submit to the squishing of the scan and hang in the stillness of the present moment until I get my response…and hopefully go on for another year. Maybe.

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So, I’m back now with the outcome that I was both hoping for and (to be honest) expected: All clear for one more year!

And even though I always play it cool before and during the scan, the difference in my state is really noticible after I get the thumbs-up sign. Those minutes of sitting and waiting for my results [note: as a cancer survivor, I get my answer on the spot, which I really appreciate] are a little uncomfortable — I float, trying to focus on my breathing. But to this day, even when I’m “not expecting bad news”, I cannot shake that tickle of unease.

And that’s just another part of being comfortable with being uncomfortable. Still working on it…

Just One Day

If you had one day to live, how would you live it?

I pondered this question last week as I was trying to calm myself down before teaching my first official public yoga class, while also juggling emotions about certain events at home over which I had no control. Read that as: anxiety.

And in the midst of this all-too-familiar emotional turmoil I felt myself being consumed by my thoughts. And yet, if I had only one day left on this earth, I can’t image that I’d let myself get mired in everyday worries. My perspective would immediately snap into a megawide view of everything that exists in the world.

Never was I so aware of every palm tree…

It would be easier to see the beauty everywhere. Consider this: when I returned to Southern California after four bitterly cold years in a Northern climate, I noticed every.single.palm tree. I was so aware of everything that I had missed during my years away and appreciated every ray of warm sunshine. Other cares temporarily fell away as I was filled with gratitude to be back.

If I had only one day to enjoy the world, I hope that I wouldn’t spend it lamenting over little things. I would sit with my face to the sun, smell the breeze, take deep breaths and appreciate the here and now. Accepting that I had only 24 hours, I imagine that I wouldn’t be ruminating about something a co-worker said to me in passing or how I really should be cleaning the bathroom more often.

So interesting that it would take facing the end of my days to begin truly appreciating them.

So how about this (and this was what I meditated on last week in the midst of nervous feelings), why not imagine the feelings of that last precious day every single day? Stop and feel into my feet on the ground and the air in my lungs. There is so much wonder all around us and what a pity that it takes a drastic event to experience a perspective shift.

It feels so glorious to be alive.

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Don’t get me wrong, the shock of knowing that your end is near could be devastating. So if you’d like to use this idea as a meditation prompt, perhaps consider if you were on vacation in a paradise-like location and if your plane were leaving in a day, how would you enjoy your remaining time there?

Finally Normal: My Six-Year Oncological Visit

I hit another cancer journey milestone this past week: my six-year oncology appointment.

Like my last few appointments, this one felt commonplace and unintimidating…and if the nurse had let me sit down for a couple of minutes after coming into the exam room, my blood pressure would have been lower. As it was, the reading was not that far from normal.

For the first time since cancer, my bloodwork is all normal!!!

One other thing that was strikingly normal: for the first time in six years, since all the cancer madness began, all my bloodwork, both Complete Blood Count (CBC) and Comprehensive Metabolic Profile (CMP), was completely normal. Nothing that would suggest a year’s worth of cancer treatment in the past.

This is so curious because for years, nothing felt normal.

Now everything is.

Ironically, it was my oncologist who was experiencing illness and I had to switch my appointment time so that he could get to his doctor.

I was hit by the realization that everything that had felt out-of-control and hopeless six years ago no longer existed. I was the one who had kept the idea of cancer alive in myself. I still defined myself as a cancer survivor because perhaps I needed some way to justify what I considered to be my shortcomings, as in, “I used to be able to do this, but…”.

This was a battle I fought in but only memories remain. In the present moment, there’s only silence.

Returning to the cancer center for this appointment felt like I was visiting a battlefield from a war that I had fought long ago. The echoes of battle cries…just the wind. The clashing weapons and falling bodies…not there anymore. This may sound like such an overly theatrical description, but that’s exactly what it seemed like.

This doesn’t mean that I’ve got the rest of my life figured out. There are still so many unknowns, including an increased chance of cancer recurrence — and I still need to schedule this year’s mammogram, something else that slipped my mind as I was basking in the idea of being “normal”.

But that tortured soul who, on top of all the other stressful things going on in her life, was hit with a cancer diagnosis…she doesn’t exist anymore. If I’m so unfortunate as to have the cancer come back, she won’t be experiencing the aftermath.

I will. And I feel like I’m so much better equipped to handle all that uncertainty than she ever was.

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I still call myself a cancer survivor. But it’s only one of a long list of “skills” that I have on my resume.

What Is Self-Talk Telling You?

Last week we had a guest come visit. This was preceded by a flurry of preparation on my part as I caught up on all the cleaning and organizing that I’d been putting off.

And as I was planning out what I was going to tackle on which day, I berated myself for waiting this long to start, thinking that if I’d done more the previous week, I wouldn’t feel so rushed.

So as I pushed through late day fatigue, I realized that there was a soundtrack running through my head. In it, I’m explaining to our guest why there’s still clutter and dust, and what issues I have with where we live that we get a lot of road gunk coming in through the windows. Excuses, explanations…

I always imagine my home as being dirtier than it really is, and it continues that inner narrative in my head that I’m never going to be good enough.

I actually went as far as to text our guest an apology that we didn’t have a nicer place to offer them to sleep. I felt that they should know in advance.

I was getting quite stressed about the whole thing, so I took a moment to ponder what was actually going on.

Yes, keeping a very tidy apartment is difficult when I’m the only one working actively towards maintaining it. Particularly now that my plate feels even fuller as I try to incorporate teaching yoga into my current work schedule…

But that’s not the real issue.

Problem is, I was raised to believe that my home is a reflection of me. My abilities as a housekeeper were practically a moral issue, as allowing in clutter and not keeping up on scrubbing things meant that there was something wrong with me. I was shown examples of other women who seemed to have no problem giving cleaning the priority that it required.

I felt like a failure.

With a guest coming to visit, I realized that no matter what the apartment looked like, I would still fear being judged. And it is that fear of judgement that has followed me through my life, throughout all the ups and downs, cancer and anxiety.

What did I hear from my inner critic? That no matter what I do, it’s still not good enough.

In fact, I have taken a liking to getting things clean and organized, standing back and surveying the work that I’ve accomplished. But that feeling of not being good enough still haunts me, and it’s not like this is a new revelation.

Frankly, I’ve been aware of this for years, especially when I realized that deep down I had viewed getting cancer as a failing, like I had brought it on myself, even though I was doing everything imaginable to live a fit life. So it wasn’t until I turned my attention to my inner critic and listened to what it was telling me that I realized, ah, maybe I wasn’t over all of this just quite yet.

Mindfully allowing that voice in my head to express itself, but without getting sucked into the negativity, offered me insight into those old fears and worries that encrust my mind like mineral deposits on a bathroom faucet. They’re tough and really stuck on there.

Bringing awareness to that negative soundtrack takes some of its punch away, kind of like identifying the monster under the bed and making it sit on the living room couch where I can keep an eye on it.

Yes, it’s still there. But now it’s tamer and eventually I’ll be able to show it out the door.

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Undoubtedly, negative self-talk can be harmful, but it’s also quite difficult to stop. However, being able to allow yourself the space to examine it and understand its roots is one of the best ways to free yourself of it.

Tall Like a Mountain: A Meditative Visualization

In dealing with anxiety, I’ve come to accept that while fearful thoughts come and go, I remain the same.

Visualizations have been helpful in realizing this. One of my favorites, the one made famous by Jon Kabat-Zinn, PhD — creator of the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) program — is the Mountain Meditation, and I value this visualization particularly because it is so meaningful in its description.

For this meditation, you settle into your seat and bring your attention to your body. Scanning your different parts, from your feet to your head. Feeling yourself breathe as you go. No need to change anything; you’re simply noticing sensations.

Imagine your ideal mountain…and then become it.

As you sit with eyes closed, shift your thoughts to a beautiful mountain, tall and stately. Imagine the details about it, it can be whatever kind of mountain you choose. Steep or gently sloping, rocky or carpeted with greenery. Allow the image to form itself: the mountain is stable, majestic and unperturbed regardless of the season or weather.

Then, once you have a clear picture of your mountain…allow yourself to become the mountain, settling into its form and taking on its characteristics. Feel yourself grounded in its stillness.

Sitting as the mountain, imagine the seasonal changes and the different weather that each brings. Through the snow of winter that blankets everything, the spring thaw as nature awakens and buds burst open, the summer teeming with life under the warmth of the sun, and autumn with its changing colors and cooler breezes that move you into a quieter state in preparation for the coming winter again.

All these bring wind, precipitation and occasionally harsh conditions whether they be cold or heat. But the mountain still sits as it always has, unmoving and unbothered.

And so you, as the mountain, also sit in the midst of different conditions. When you take on the garb of the mountain, you link with its strength and stability and unchanging nature from day to month to year. This meditation encourages us to see through the chaos of our everyday lives and find the persistent calm behind it.

This is one of my favorite meditations because it carries so much meaning. Below is a YouTube video of Dr. Kabat-Zinn leading a 20-minute Mountain Meditation:

Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Mountain Meditation

If you would like to read a version of it, PalouseMindfulness.com has provided their own adapted transcript of Kabat-Zinn’s Mountain Meditation in a pdf file. Alternatively, googling “mountain meditation” will also bring up a nice variety of recordings.

I encourage you to try this when you feel you need extra grounding.

“My Eyelids Are Heavy, But My Thoughts Are Heavier” – Anxiety At Night

I have a full toolbox of techniques for handling anxiety during the day, but nighttime is a little trickier. If you’ve had the same experience, you’re not just imagining things.

A Live Science article by Louise Bond examines this issue. According to Clinical Psychologist Charissa Chamorro, PhD, at night our brains have fewer distractions, leaving us more vulnerable to worries that creep in. This makes sense as we can redirect our attention during the day to activities that are not available when we’re in bed.

Darkness can be unsettling enough, but researchers feel that the circadian rhythmn is also involved in the accentuation of nighttime fear.

And you don’t need to be suffering from horrible anxiety for this to be the case. Research (Li et al., 2015, Int J Psychophysiol) showed that even among women without anxiety, fear was enhanced at nighttime, and not simply because of darkness, suggesting the involvement of the circadian rhythm. At the same time, as diurnal beings, humans naturally evolved to have stronger fear responses at night. This is partly due to the fact that we don’t see well in the absence of light and therefore are more vulnerable to nighttime predators.

Furthermore, while there is a natural ebb and flow of cortisol throughout the circadian cycle with cortisol levels peaking in the morning and being lowest at midnight, when anxiety keeps cortisol levels high during the day, that affects nighttime hormone release and therefore your ability to rest (Hirotsu et al., 2015, Sleep Sci).

To make matters worse, once your sleep is disrupted, worrying about your inability to get a good night’s sleep can result in being unable to sleep, and a vicious cycle develops.

Establishing calming practices during the day can have a positive effect on nighttime anxiety.

You’ve probably heard the suggestions for improving sleep: turning the lights down in the evening, avoiding electronics (or using blue-light blockers), keeping your bedroom cool and dark, using a sound machine to mask noises, avoiding stressful or polarizing conversations in the evening, and the like.

To that I would add that what you do during the day itself can affect what kind of sleep you have at night. Meditation, practicing mindfulness, doing deep breathing exercises all put us into a calmer state. If you wake up in the middle of the night with a racing mind, having practiced and become adept at self-grounding techniques in daytime can help you soothe yourself at night.

While the roots of our anxiety may be complex, for those of us for whom it’s built up over time, so too will it take time to establish behaviors to help control it. Sometimes we need support of a therapist or medication, sometimes we can manage on our own, but setting aside time every day for even a short calming practice can help you improve management of anxiety no matter when it appears.

REFERENCES

Bond, Louise (2023) Can’t sleep? An expert reveals why anxiety may be worse at night. Live Science, https://www.livescience.com/anxiety-at-night

Li Y, Ma W, Kang Q, Qiao L, Tang D, Qiu J, Zhang Q, Li H (2015) Night or darkness, which intensifies the feeling of fear? Int J Psychophysiol, 97, 46-57. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0167876015001713

Hirotsu, Tufik S, Anderson ML (2015) Interactions between sleep, stress, and metabolism: From physiological to pathological conditions. Sleep Sci, 8, 143-152. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4688585/pdf/main.pdf

Six Years and 2 Days Ago, Panic

On Feb 8, 2017, I finally went to see my nurse practitioner about a breast lump that I’d originally noticed six months before, the previous August.

From the split second that the expression on her face shifted as she felt the lump and sent me off with an order for a diagnostic mammogram, everything changed. I went from hemming and hawing about spending the money on a copay for a doc appointment for something that would obviously turn out to be nothing…to a downward spiral into despair like I’d never felt before.

Memories of this period in my life are not very pleasant, so instead of loading up images of frightened faces and horrible possibilities, I’ve decided to post only peaceful pictures here.

Looking back on that time, knowing all the self-calming techniques and meditation methods that I currently practice, if I were going through this now one thing is very clear: I would still have panicked.

It bears mentioning that on Feb 8, 2017, I did not get my diagnosis. That appointment simply opened the door for scans that I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go through, but it devastated me regardless. In the two weeks that it took before I could actually go in for the mammogram and ultrasound, I died many times over.

The fact is, nothing ever prepares you for a cancer diagnosis. No matter what sort of mental calisthenics you practice, cancer is still CANCER. And even the idea that cancer could be a reality is terrifying.

There is no “alternative wording” that makes this easier. Sooner or later, you’d still bump up against that six-letter word that, for someone in my generation, meant a distinct possibility for a very sad ending (which arguably is an outdated and potentially irrational view, but that’s what you get).

Yeah, nothing stressful here. Just a sleepy kitten.

So rest assured, if you ever find yourself in this situation, no matter how you’re handling it, you’re doing a good job. Because you don’t really “handle” the news, you just splash around and try to keep your head above water.

Doctors, I’m told, practice delivering the news in a calm but empathic manner. Trust me, that’s kind of lost on the patient. Since my lump was clearly cancerous on the diagnostic ultrasound, I actually got the news broken to me twice:

My radiologist (after the ultrasound): “I have two things to tell you. One, you have cancer. Two, you’re going to be okay.”

My general practitioner (after the biopsy): “It’s as we feared. It’s cancer.”

See, whether the delivery is kind of upbeat with an attempt at a positive ending or whether it’s more reserved, anticipating the patient’s fear at hearing this, it doesn’t matter. Because once you cross that threshhold, you can’t turn back to “it’s nothing, have a nice day”. You are literally propelled forward into the next steps, and there will be many of them.

Room for one more image? How about tulips? I love tulips.

But there are a few things to remember. Being thrust headfirst into the world of cancer means that at least you’re not standing still like you are when you’re worrying about a diagnosis. Recalling Churchill’s famous quote, “When you’re going through hell, keep going”. Of all the times in a cancer journey, the point right around the diagnosis is the most terrifying because you know you have cancer but not necessarily how “bad” your situation is or what the next steps are.

There is relief in the movement of information and the passage of time. If there is a way to focus on the next step, always the next step, without getting overwhelmed by the tidal wave brought on by the concept of having cancer, you will be able to gingerly find yourself a path through which to navigate the cancer journey, and there is peace in that.

And if there isn’t peace…you’re still very normal. ❤

Believing in My Abilities: A Superpower for 2023

I’m calling 2023 my “year of calm”, because I’m going to be nuturing a deep, conscious, peaceful state of being. This is my superpower.

Since my cancer diagnosis six years ago, I’ve worked at combatting the rawness of emotion by making space, and one of the things that I’ve found is very important in doing so is the feeling of self-efficacy: the idea that I, in fact, can step back from frightening or obsessive thoughts and ruminations. Not to repress them, but to observe them without getting sucked in.

Breathing deeply, relaxing, I create space around myself. Relief from the rawness of emotion in my face. Grounded, I watch the world from the safety of my calm bubble.

I flex my superpower of quieting my thoughts by visualizing this scenario: I imagine that I’m being chased by something scary (monsters, zombies, another cancer diagnosis…). But a split-second before something grabs me, I slow everything down, feeling into my extremities and making space all around me. I imagine this as a pearlized bubble forming around me and the calmer I am, the deeper my breaths, the more protected I become. If I believe in my ability to calm myself, no matter how close the monster is to me, they can’t touch me.

My calm demeanor allows me to float in my bubble. I see everything around me, including the things that terrify me. But from within that pearl, sounds are a bit more distant and the view is a little clouded, as if I am watching through a gentle haze. Inside I am firmly grounded and aware in my body. Confident that I’m safe in the present moment. And as long as I believe it, I am.

This might seem like an overly simplistic view of anxiety and it’s not meant to belittle what someone else might experience. I’ve been through those feelings of anxiety run amuck — at that point in my life this would not have worked. What I was experiencing was very real and intense. Having emotions constantly “in your face” chips away at the perception that you’ll ever being able to get a handle on them.

When I believe in my ability to calm myself, I calm myself.

After years of practice in grounding, mindfulness and meditation, I can attest to the fact that believing in my ability to calm myself has been critical in helping combat anxiety. Acquiring that level of confidence was a process of consistent mindful meditation, on good days and bad days. But now that I’ve gotten a fingerhold on it, every time I am able to calm myself, my self-efficacy is strengthened.

Because as anxious as my thoughts can be, and as loud as they may seem, they are only inside my head. Remembering that has given me the greatest superpower in the world.

In Memoriam: Thich Nhat Hanh, “I Have Arrived, I Am Home” [VIDEO]

Since my last post, my family and I were diagnosed with COVID. We are doing well and experiencing mild symptoms.

I’d like to devote this post to a beautiful documentary that came out on January 22, 2023, Vietnam time (January 21, 2023 in the US), a year to the day of the passing of Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh, aged 95, known as the “Father of Mindfulness”.

Entitled I Have Arrived, I Am Home (Plum Village YouTube Channel), this film covers the last few years of the life of Thich Nhat Hanh — also called Thay, or “teacher” — after he returned to the Tu Hieu Temple in Vietnam at which he was ordained a monk many decades prior.

“I Have Arrived, I Am Home” – 41:46 min

Under 3/4 of an hour long, the film beautifully illustrates how Thay, in his post-stroke years, returned to his roots in preparation for his passing (“transition”). It documents his death and funeral and the effect that his life has had on the existing monasteries of the Plum Village Tradition, which he established.

The writing of Thay greatly touched me during my cancer journey, and I Have Arrived, I Am Home is a lovely video that depicts his kindness and care for his students. This was not created to “convert” anyone but only to teach by example. I hope you take some time to view it, especially as our world continues to experience much unrest and pain.

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If you are interested in learning more about Thich Nhat Hanh’s mindful life, I encourage you to refer to this article from Lion’s Roar magazine, published on the day of his death last year.

I had the pleasure of attenting a “Day of Mindfulness” at the Deer Park Monastery (Plum Village Tradition) in Escondido, CA in Summer 2019 and described it here.

Navigating Anxious Moments with Breath and Muscle Release

When you can’t control your anxious thoughts, what can you use to get a foothold on stability?

This was the issue for me for years, if not decades. During panicky times, I’d close my eyes at night and see a montage of fleeting images like a rapidly changing patchwork quilt that I couldn’t stop. It was kind of like at the beginning of a Marvel movie, where images whiz by you. Except that for me there were no superheroes or rush of excited anticipation.

This is not an ad for Marvel. The first seven seconds of this 11-second clip represent what I used to “see” during middle-of-the-night panic sessions: just flashing images passing before me.

Anxiety meant being blanketed by nausea and fear that blocked my view of reality. I couldn’t see past any of it because the sensation was all-encompassing. Mindful grounding has enabled me to get a hold on the edge of that blanket and pull it up ever so slightly to let some light in.

That was accomplished by two simple things that I could control in the midst of everything else I couldn’t:
1) changing my breathing pattern
2) identifying and releasing muscle tension

I might not have been able to slow the thoughts, decrease my heartrate or relieve the nausea directly…but the combination of the breath and relaxing my muscles provided a path that led around those things and quietly affected them behind the scenes.

First, start with your breath

Bring your attention to the breath and consciously slow it down. Start by trying to make your inhales and exhales the same length, adding a second-or-two pause in between. Depending on your level of anxiety, this may take some time if your breathing has been rapid and shallow. Any slowing is helpful, especially at the beginning. Be compassionate and patient with yourself.

A hand on the belly makes it easier to focus on breathing into the abdomen.

I find it easiest to deepen the inhale first, drawing the breath into the belly. Placing a hand on the belly helps keep your focus there as the sense of touch supports grounding. Try a deep inbreath, pause, and a lengthened outbreath. Blowing out through pursed lips helps control the air flow and draw out the exhale. An exhale that is longer that an inhale helps slow your heartrate. Belly-breathing makes a big difference.

Aim for an inbreath of 4 counts, pause and hold for 2 counts, exhale for 6 counts.

Some guidance recommends that you place one hand on the chest while you have the other on your belly. However, in my experience, if you are particularly anxious it’s helpful to keep your focus off a racing heart. Keeping your hand on your belly is enough.

Next, relax muscular tension

Releasing the tension in your body will help calm you. We often don’t realize how much tension we’re holding until we mindfully scan our bodies.

Stretch in whatever way feels good. Don’t be afraid to take up some space.

First, streeeetch the way you’d stretch after waking or when you’ve been stuck in one position for a while. Imagine you’re a sleepy bear coming out of hibernation. Too often when stressed we crumple in and hunch over — opening up through a stretch may signal to the body that it’s safe to come out.

Then, roll your shoulders forwards and back. Gently roll your head in a front semicircle, ear to ear, paying attention to how it feel to move in that way. So many of us hold tension in the neck and shoulders and we squeeze muscles there without realizing it. Spend some time loosening up these areas.

Feel into your face. Raise and lower your brows several times. Relax the muscles around the eyes. Open and close your mouth and wiggle your jaw. Clenching in this area can cause headaches so try to release tightness here.

Turn your attention to the rest of your body. Are you knotted anywhere? Simply the process of noticing where your muscles are tightening can change your focus from anxious thoughts in your head to sensations in your body, keeping you present and less likely to get trapped by fears.

Aim for progress, not perfection. This is a learning process, so don’t wait for anxiety to reach a peak before starting. Practice when you’re calm so you know what a lengthened breath and relaxed state feels like in your body.

Those of us who have lived with anxiety would love to hang out in peaceful bliss all the time, but that’s not the reality of life. However, nurturing calm through techniques such as breathwork and muscle relaxation lessens the distress of anxiety-provoking situations and helps us find a sense of comfort within our discomfort.