This body
Oh, this body. This body my companion. I confess I’ve become quite adept at ignoring you. Back, when you ache, I take a Tylenol. Oh eyes, when you burn, I drink a coffee. Heart, when you race, I rush to cross things off my to-do list- a temporary balm to sooth the restlessness.
Almost everything that I experience and fail to put language to will shows up in my body. Tension goes to my shoulders and neck. The muscles winding up so tightly and a headache that starts at the base of my skull and creeps around towards my temples. If I eat poorly, too much sugar and not enough water, it manifests in my skin- my pores clogging up and flaking. My sinuses will rebel for not enough sleep, my nose running like a faucet. Demanding I stay in this weekend. This winter, a sharp pain while pulling on socks awoke me to the reality that my heels are cracking open. Bleeding. I had neglected to give my feet they extra care winter demanded- exfoliants, thick moisturizers, and long baths.
In 2022, I accepted a job that required my family to relocate to Washington D.C. The opportunity of a policy job in the city where policies are made compelled me, and the part of me that’s named ambition won the argument against hesitation, loneliness, and fatigue. With restlessness guiding me, we made the change. There were a hundred small things that, when added together, exceeded my capacity to cope in this transition. Family death, scary diagnoses of loved ones, and a relentless travel schedule provided the backdrop within which my baby roots were ripped- and the onslaught of decisions began. Should we sell our house? Buy a House? Or Rent? What Neighborhood? My new job began chaotically. I dove headfirst into a dysfunctional team and a role that required me to think about the horror of climate change all day. Through it all, I allowed myself no margin- I carried on head down and filled my schedule to the brim- I excelled at work, upped my physical fitness, plugged into community organizations, planned a trip to Japan… eventually, my body said no. It began with heartburn. Then stomach pain. Then crippling stomach pain. Bloating. Constipation. Fatigue. Hair loss. My gut would churn after every meal, cultivating an aversion to food that led to undernourishment. I was underfed, over exercised, over extended, and deeply lonely. In spite of my ailments, we opened our home to host friends and family weekend after weekend. We traveled abroad. Made new friends. We explored museums, restaurants, and local state parks. My memories are a haze of discomfort. I was going through the motions. Screaming into my pillow and crying in the shower before catching the train downtown to show my mom the Washington monument. I was unwilling to admit that I really didn’t feel up for any of it. I was craving an empty schedule and bone broth.
In an effort to find relief, I spent the year of 2023 going to doctors. My PCP, a naturopath, a gastroenterologist, and a chiropractor. All the tests in the world revealed that my body was definitely not functioning correctly, but a root cause evaded us. In the end, my GI doctor concluded it is neurological- essentially the nerves in my stomach are in a wad- no longer properly communicating to my muscles to, you know, digest. To make a bowel movement. To do the things we take for granted.
As I write this, I am three months into a nerve medication that has been helping some of my symptoms, but I am in the middle of this story- the path before me feels long. There is no redeeming arc that I have lived and can now share. All I know is that I am tired. And I am going to nap once I finish this.
Through it all, I’ve started to wonder what it means to honor my body. I’ve let my mind and my heart (figuratively speaking) drive the ship of my life. If I want (in my mind) to travel to every continent before I’m 30, then let’s save and book flights! If I want to work an impressive, demanding job, then watch out! If I want to experience living all over the country, then pack your bags! If I want (in my heart) to be a person of faith, generosity, and community, then we will be involved in faith organizations, give to charity, and volunteer. I will recycle, compost, eat vegan, learn Spanish, and call my friends and mom regularly.
My mind and my heart lead me to believe that I am both bigger and smaller than what’s true. I begin to believe that I have to be more than anyone could ever be. Yet I am also unworthy of simplicity. Of limiting my reach to what I can hold. Of putting things down.
Perhaps we live in bodies because our bodies force balance. Our bodies bring us back to the soil and ground us in the truth of what we could realistically expect. Our bodies cry out no while our mind and heart say yes.
I am in the habit of only listening to my body when it screams. When I have a raging fever or cannot get out of bed. What if I listened to my body when it talked? Or, better yet, when it whispered? What if I took my body’s cues as information to be revered? To be heard? Perhaps even treasured? Would the landscape of my pursuits look different?
I am coming to the conclusion that this has to be how we live. To live in reconciliation with our bodies we have to honor them. We have to listen.