Living In Pain
By Theresa Shay
This is the second piece in a three-part series. Read Part 1 here.
You might like to hear from someone who spends a lot of time in yoga and meditation that a steady practice means you’ll never be in pain. That fairytale is not what I am here to tell, but I am ready to share with you the story of the pain that rose for me last July.
I can pinpoint the day the pain became excruciating. On the fourth day of the retreat with Kaliji in Germany, my shoulder, neck, and upper back began to pinch and cramp without pause. I couldn’t easily move, rest in deep relaxation, or sit still. My usual walking remedy did nothing. Worst of all, I could not sleep. Within a week, numbness was traveling down my right arm, I was taking full doses of ibuprofen, and I could not trust my right hand to hold things.
I returned to the United States and heard myself report to my husband that this was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life, other than the pain I had when I was 14 years old. That was when I began to wear a back brace to treat my scoliosis. The brace pressed so hard into my side that my skin bled from the friction. My back hurt, my head hurt, my shoulders hurt, and my mouth hurt because I’d also just gotten braces on my teeth. The experience moved me to tears repeatedly.
These two very intense experiences, though 40 years apart, are 100% connected. This is the journey of my experience in the body I’ve been given, with all its curves and twists, all its patterns of use and tension. These are my patterns, and you have yours. Yoga has not saved me from pain, but it has influenced the way I experience it and address it.
Through the late summer and fall I entered the Western medicine funnel seeking help with the pain, weakness, and numbness. I had x-rays, experienced my first MRI, and filled the prescriptions the doctor offered.
The diagnosis came back: degenerative disc disease involving arthritic changes and bulging discs at three cervical vertebrae, causing significant bilateral neural foraminal stenosis. It sounded awful, but in simple words, pinched nerves and an aging spine. I considered that nothing to be afraid of, but I did want to feel better.
I explained to the doctor that I spend a lot of time embodying my physical state and was eager to learn how to work with this diagnosis: what to strengthen, where to relax, what I might be doing that was exacerbating the problem, what exercises and movements might shift my sensations. The doctor had no answer. She could send me to pain management, and she could offer a nerve test to identify which nerve was causing the trouble, but self-supported healing was beyond her scope.
I paid my bills, the entirety of the annual budget of my Health Savings Account, and went home. I am grateful to western medicine for all the effective treatment it knows how to give, and I felt this situation needed to be approached from another perspective.
I returned to the bathtub, which was the only place that consistently relieved some of the pain. I persisted with my slew of appointments for complementary care: massage, cranio-sacral, yoga for scoliosis, acupuncture, chiropractic, and spiritual direction. I engaged herbs, homeopathics, exercise bands, the foam roller, journaling, pills from the prescription, and more baths. Everything helped a little, and nothing worked a miracle.
My yoga practice continued. I saw the places my strength had disappeared and the places I had new freedom. Both experiences were true at the same time. I studied Child 2 Asana, which felt impossible for my right shoulder. I explored new freedom in Extended Penguin. I kept breathing. I kept tracking. I kept practicing, and I kept trusting. Everything helped a little, and nothing worked a miracle.
The pain gradually subsided by December. When I traveled over the holidays, it returned, though not as bad and not for as long. Most days, I am not in pain, then another week I am. I’ve continued appointments with my care team and keep exploring through my yoga practice. Every day is different, and I continually transform.
While I’ve had significant pain during the past ten months, I have also had extended periods of profound meditation and wonderful times in Yogaflow®. I have enjoyed moving and learning about the relationship between my body and my mind, my own resistance to what appears, and the fatigue that accompanies pain. I have surrendered to the need to modify sequences and use props I didn’t used to need. I have met students who are in pain with personal stories and shared compassion around our experiences.
These situations are fascinating opportunities to learn. To embrace the offering of life requires being as grateful as I can for all the gifts, not just the ones that are easy to manage and understand. I stay the course. I apply the knowledge from TriYoga to guide my way: breathe, relax, focus, stay aware, find an opening – even a teeny tiny one – rest, surrender, modify, and trust.
If you are in pain, I encourage you to keep searching, seeking, exploring. Surrender what you need to let go of, but don’t surrender responsibility to the body. No one gets a free pass, but everybody gets to ride. The journey you are taking is yours alone, and we are all on this trip together. Pain full…pain free...we meet whatever arises, one day at a time.
Theresa Shay is the founding director of TriYoga of Central Pennsylvania, where she teaches weekly yoga and meditation online and trains others to teach TriYoga®. Each week, she shares wisdom cultivated from decades of TriYoga study and practice.
Learn more about her here. Theresa can be reached at Theresa@PennsylvaniaYoga.com. Find her on Instagram @theresa_of_triyoga for more inspiration and light.