poison ivy
In my last entry I wrote about retreat, and how mine in particular forced me to contend with my rage. The real test of a retreat, though, is how one uses the insights she learned as her life continues. I am doing well. On my first day back, S commented on how I was not getting angry as easily. I am back in control of myself, which means I’m being a better parent—in other words, when S raises her voice or cusses or makes violent or illogical comments, I can correct and give consequences without feeling guilty. Before, consequences seemed a bit crazy since I, too, was losing it on a regular basis. S and I have had multiple talks since my return about what happened to me while I was there. I haven’t told her every detail, but I have shared how my anger had taken over my life, and how I needed to stop being afraid to be angry, but to find ways to let it out without hurting others. I can remind her of how I came to these lessons when she loses control.
But, by Sunday morning, I had a new struggle to contend with--my left eye was swollen shut, and I had a rash all over my body—and I really mean all over. I suspected poison ivy, and the doctor on Monday confirmed I’d had a major allergic reaction to some kind of plant. I had to go on medications (not my favorite thing to do) and have been feeling utterly uncomfortable since then. The healing process is slow; the meds make me drowsy but are necessary to keep swelling and itching down. Even doing simple things like dressing and eating is painful.
It seemed like a kind of brutal lesson to have to take right after returning from a retreat. What was I supposed to make of this? I asked this question on my facebook status update, mostly jokingly, and one of my friends posted, “Did you do something while you were out there to make the goddess mad?” He was joking, too, but I had been wrestling very physically with the goddess. My body was sore from all of the pounding, even though it was counteracted with yoga and walking. The earth accepted my sacrifice of both rage and peace, but there is always a cost for waiting this long. Anger is physical, and getting it out is physical work.
I can’t separate the body from my mind and heart. I have been in the habit of doing so most of my life. Yoga was a way for me, when I started practicing about ten years ago, of bridging the physical and the spiritual, and of reconnecting with my much-neglected body. I knew what felt good to the body in the short term but not always in the long term. In a way, this retreat was also about bringing me back to my body after a long winter of not nearly enough exercise, overeating, and gaining 10 pounds. I needed to feel things in my body again in order to know who I was. Not that I couldn’t have learned these lessons, mind you, without the poison ivy, but my discomfort has forced me to stay in my body and to remember it.
And there is also another, perhaps simpler lesson, here: the fact that there is a limit to the things about my life that I can control. Sure, I could have been a bit more careful, but I was looking out for poison ivy—I do know what it looks like—and it’s possible this is a reaction to another plant I would not have recognized, or that, in some moment of rage, I just plain missed what I was touching. Allergic reactions happen even if a person is careful. So many aspects of our lives are out of our control, and we simply have to pick up the pieces when something difficult happens.
I have mostly handled this experience well, except a couple nights ago. At the end of a particularly long day, I was so exhausted I could feel myself wanting to snap at S. When she refused to get up and clean up her things at 9:30, saying she’d do it later, I was able to stop myself from snapping and to remind her that she needed to do her chores on time. I also told her calmly that I was hurt she hadn’t bothered to help with supper even though I’d asked, especially since doing things like cutting vegetables and mixing dough is difficult for me right now. She blew up at me, even though I’d said these things calmly, but her blow up ended quickly, and she apologized, got up, cleaned up, and we moved on. At the end of the night, I said, “Didn’t I do better that time of telling you how much you had upset me without getting really mad?” She said yes, and said she had noticed, and promised to keep trying to do better, too.
Since that night I am feeling a bit of relief—the itching and swelling are decreasing. Today we leave for a wedding for the weekend, and then a two day meeting for work in the Twin Cities, where we’ll meet S’s college buddy so she has someone to spend time with while I’m working. I keep dreading the idea of putting on a dressy dress and nice shoes, of the long drive, of sitting for two full days in meetings—but I am also recognizing that I can do this; it’s not the end of the world, and I will be OK.
I can’t help but wonder if this is also about my growing interest in disability studies and the fact that I will soon be co-teaching a class on this topic. Obviously, many people are disabled and struggle or need help with cooking, cleaning, bathing, etc. every day for their entire lives. Obviously, the world, or at least the U.S., is designed for these kinds of tasks to be done quickly so that we are able to get to the more important things, whatever they are. Maybe this is also simply a lesson in compassion for others, and recognition of my own privileges—as well as reminder that it is OK to slow down.
On a last note, I haven’ t been doing yoga—bending is just too hard on the rash—but I have been writing daily in my journal, reflecting on each day at its end (rather than writing in the morning, which used to be my practice), and this has been good for me. It’s helped me to recognize frustration and anger, and once, yes, I did need to pound on the pillows and get it out. It’s also helped me to keep track of how well I’ m caring for myself, and I’m back to eating healthier meals and exercising again, even if, for now, that simply involves dog walks with S or going to and from work by foot—it’s a start. I’m just generally much more aware of what I’m feeling, and so I feel much more like a person with a center and a soul, and this is a good thing.
But, by Sunday morning, I had a new struggle to contend with--my left eye was swollen shut, and I had a rash all over my body—and I really mean all over. I suspected poison ivy, and the doctor on Monday confirmed I’d had a major allergic reaction to some kind of plant. I had to go on medications (not my favorite thing to do) and have been feeling utterly uncomfortable since then. The healing process is slow; the meds make me drowsy but are necessary to keep swelling and itching down. Even doing simple things like dressing and eating is painful.
It seemed like a kind of brutal lesson to have to take right after returning from a retreat. What was I supposed to make of this? I asked this question on my facebook status update, mostly jokingly, and one of my friends posted, “Did you do something while you were out there to make the goddess mad?” He was joking, too, but I had been wrestling very physically with the goddess. My body was sore from all of the pounding, even though it was counteracted with yoga and walking. The earth accepted my sacrifice of both rage and peace, but there is always a cost for waiting this long. Anger is physical, and getting it out is physical work.
I can’t separate the body from my mind and heart. I have been in the habit of doing so most of my life. Yoga was a way for me, when I started practicing about ten years ago, of bridging the physical and the spiritual, and of reconnecting with my much-neglected body. I knew what felt good to the body in the short term but not always in the long term. In a way, this retreat was also about bringing me back to my body after a long winter of not nearly enough exercise, overeating, and gaining 10 pounds. I needed to feel things in my body again in order to know who I was. Not that I couldn’t have learned these lessons, mind you, without the poison ivy, but my discomfort has forced me to stay in my body and to remember it.
And there is also another, perhaps simpler lesson, here: the fact that there is a limit to the things about my life that I can control. Sure, I could have been a bit more careful, but I was looking out for poison ivy—I do know what it looks like—and it’s possible this is a reaction to another plant I would not have recognized, or that, in some moment of rage, I just plain missed what I was touching. Allergic reactions happen even if a person is careful. So many aspects of our lives are out of our control, and we simply have to pick up the pieces when something difficult happens.
I have mostly handled this experience well, except a couple nights ago. At the end of a particularly long day, I was so exhausted I could feel myself wanting to snap at S. When she refused to get up and clean up her things at 9:30, saying she’d do it later, I was able to stop myself from snapping and to remind her that she needed to do her chores on time. I also told her calmly that I was hurt she hadn’t bothered to help with supper even though I’d asked, especially since doing things like cutting vegetables and mixing dough is difficult for me right now. She blew up at me, even though I’d said these things calmly, but her blow up ended quickly, and she apologized, got up, cleaned up, and we moved on. At the end of the night, I said, “Didn’t I do better that time of telling you how much you had upset me without getting really mad?” She said yes, and said she had noticed, and promised to keep trying to do better, too.
Since that night I am feeling a bit of relief—the itching and swelling are decreasing. Today we leave for a wedding for the weekend, and then a two day meeting for work in the Twin Cities, where we’ll meet S’s college buddy so she has someone to spend time with while I’m working. I keep dreading the idea of putting on a dressy dress and nice shoes, of the long drive, of sitting for two full days in meetings—but I am also recognizing that I can do this; it’s not the end of the world, and I will be OK.
I can’t help but wonder if this is also about my growing interest in disability studies and the fact that I will soon be co-teaching a class on this topic. Obviously, many people are disabled and struggle or need help with cooking, cleaning, bathing, etc. every day for their entire lives. Obviously, the world, or at least the U.S., is designed for these kinds of tasks to be done quickly so that we are able to get to the more important things, whatever they are. Maybe this is also simply a lesson in compassion for others, and recognition of my own privileges—as well as reminder that it is OK to slow down.
On a last note, I haven’ t been doing yoga—bending is just too hard on the rash—but I have been writing daily in my journal, reflecting on each day at its end (rather than writing in the morning, which used to be my practice), and this has been good for me. It’s helped me to recognize frustration and anger, and once, yes, I did need to pound on the pillows and get it out. It’s also helped me to keep track of how well I’ m caring for myself, and I’m back to eating healthier meals and exercising again, even if, for now, that simply involves dog walks with S or going to and from work by foot—it’s a start. I’m just generally much more aware of what I’m feeling, and so I feel much more like a person with a center and a soul, and this is a good thing.
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