Trauma and Recovery Archives - Page 2 of 2

Hurricane

March 25, 2024October 23, 2017 by Kelly Inselmann

During a hurricane, the warning signs are there: the weather turns dark, the winds pick up, rains become frightening and torrential. You buckle down to survive.

The storm feels endless. Power goes out.

At the mercy of nature, you do what you can to be cautious, and you have the water, flashlight, candles, and snacks you need to get through. You are grateful for your friends and family and neighbors. Sometimes strangers show up to help at a crucial moment.

Maybe you get through relatively unscathed, except for the fear and worry about others.

But sometimes your house is barely standing or unrecognizable. It was far worse than expected.

People bring food, text messages of concern, drive you places, help you tear off the rotten wood and carry your belongings to the street for a while. There’s FEMA – not a great option, but better than nothing.

As time goes on, to others your struggle seems less urgent, and you hear from people less. They assume you are getting along better and of course they have their own lives.

The sky outside is blue and you can hear the birds chirp. Restaurants and stores are back open. The world is going on around you, even though you are still not finished rebuilding your house or your life. You are now on your own.

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This hurricane comparison came from Robyn who sent me a message after reading a piece I wrote on how your emotions must be allowed to emerge in order to heal.

She likened cancer recovery to the aftermath of a natural disaster: “It’s like a hurricane hit your life and even though you should just be grateful you survived it, dealing with the aftermath of it all takes so much longer than the actual hurricane itself…”

It’s true. Cancer, like other chronic and critical illness, hits your body and your personal life like a hurricane. And like hurricane survivors, it’s important to know it is not unusual to struggle greatly as you pick up the pieces of your life. Others are also experiencing the shock, fear, dread, anger, loss, gratitude, and joyful moments as you.

Though you know it takes time to heal, there’s pressure to move on quickly and be cheerful, even as you are confronted with painful or upsetting side effects: joint or bone pain, pain from surgery, chemobrain, lack of mobility, job loss, relationship problems, fatigue, just to name a few.

Still, it takes time to come to terms with the reality of what you have gone through. You have to get to know your body again, rebuild it, and adapt to changes in how you see the world, your relationships, and priorities.

Sometimes the pressure comes from within. You want so badly for it to be over. You expect yourself to fit right back in to your old life and schedule and priorities when everything about you has shifted and needs space and time and support to heal and re-integrate.

“I don’t want to have had cancer…” I sometimes hear from clients. The steps to recovery feel so overwhelming.

And yet, given no other option, you do move forward.

What helps manage feelings?

Reaching out instead of isolating. Say what you feel. Let yourself cry and express anger.
Finding ways to move your body that feel safe and nurturing, even pleasurable to you: walking, swimming, yoga, dancing-all at your own pace. Check out Team Survivor activities in your community.
Attending support groups and getting therapy.
Asking your medical questions until you feel you understand.
Resting without guilt.
Writing about your pain and your feelings and your experience as though they were important. Because they are.
Long deep breathing.
Spending time with friends and family who are supportive. If they are draining to you, limit your time with them.
Being in nature.

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Reality is, things may never be exactly the same. Be honest with yourself about what you are feeling and find community who allow you to show up just as you are.

Photos are from my sister’s neighborhood in Houston following Hurricane Harvey.

The Thaw

March 25, 2024October 9, 2017 by Kelly Inselmann

The days seemed endless, and Michele marked them off in her calendar like a prisoner records days of a long sentence on the wall. Six months of weekly chemo followed by 6 months of infusions every few weeks. In between, there was surgery and radiation. She resisted anything slowing down her progress. She focused on the day she was declared free of the cancer and free to get her life back.

At the end of active treatment, little things that used to annoy her, barely registered. She had more perspective about what is important: family, health, showing compassion for herself and others.

Michele survived emotionally with positive affirmations and faith, and by sheer grit: grinning and bearing it. To assuage the worry and fear of others, she often appeared cheerful, squelching pain, disappointment, grief and anger.

In the months following the end of treatment, she begins to feel easily irritated, fatigued and emotional. She has trouble containing her feelings, and they erupt in a flash of anger or tears at inopportune moments. She’s hard on herself for lacking gratitude. She worries her lack of positivity will bring the cancer back.

Michele is not alone! In my Yoga and Talk® Groups and Classes for Cancer Survivors, I see this phase of recovery often and I call it “the thaw.”

The thaw can occur anytime during or after treatment and is hard to predict.

The shock and emotional numbness that offered (unconscious) protection from the trauma begins to wear off, often unevenly. Sometimes, you feel positive and grateful, other times the future seems plagued with danger and endless fear of recurrence. Effort can feel meaningless, your feelings raw or simmering below the surface.

You know how when your foot falls asleep and then you try to walk and you have to take your time and it’s awkward and uncomfortable? The emotional thaw is similar in that you have to take your time and people may need to wait.

While it can be deeply unsettling, in my experience, it’s also a signal that you are ready for emotional healing.

As your heart thaws and you come to terms with the reality of what happened to you, give yourself as much permission as possible to rest and allow the sensations and feelings to emerge, be understood and healed.

Here are a few ways to be kind to yourself during the thaw:

Know that tears are the body and mind’s way of cleansing. It’s a way of integrating your experience, so the thought and feeling are not separated inside you. If you need to cry, cry until the tears are gone for the moment. Don’t try to stop the tears. Stay with the feeling. It won’t last forever. Michele recently told me that she lets herself cry in the house, car, and shower. When the tears come, she welcomes them and tries to squeeze every last one out. Sometimes people cry in yoga class or in my groups and because they are in public, they try to turn it off and feel embarrassed. At least in my classes, I say bring it on – it’s a sign that you are cleansing and integrating.
Find ways to discharge grief and anger physically, through exercise or art.
Vent to a trusted friend or support group. Be willing to name what you are actually feeling and be heard. If someone can’t be there for you, don’t blame yourself. But look for others who can be present even when you are sad or angry.
Seek out a therapist to help you piece together the cancer experience in the context of your life. Is there unresolved prior trauma that has been triggered and now needs healing as well? Do you need help sorting through complex relationships?
If you can’t stop crying or raging, and I mean 24/7, not just allowing the tears to flow, or if you are not sleeping at all, PLEASE see a therapist or doctor. There is much support to be gained.
Look for community where you can show up exactly as you are in this moment, transformed. Both the same and different from how you were before cancer.
Get bodywork – massage, acupuncture, physical therapy, yoga. Your experience has been stored in your body and will benefit from gentle care.

It’s messy to thaw out and more than a little painful. But to gain vitality and wellness, the thaw is essential. Grief and anger must be felt, not stuffed inside or disowned, only to leak out or keep you numb. And you must be supported in this process-don’t isolate.

Deeper emotional healing, truer relationships, and re-connecting with the pulse of your life is on the other side.

Over the next 6 months, I’m going to focus on the Role of Emotions in Healing. I hope you will join the conversation by leaving me a comment on the website about your experience with the thaw and questions about feelings and cancer and how they relate.

Learning to Pace Yourself

March 25, 2024April 24, 2017 by Kelly Inselmann

“Life is not under your control, but the rhythm of life is.” Yogi Bhajan

Every morning, though fatigued, you get up and attempt a “normal” schedule. Much of your responsibilities relate to other people-children, spouse, coworkers, friends, elderly parents.

Even though you are depressed, you keep it to yourself so others don’t realize how scared, angry, or sad you are.

You are in pain, but when someone asks how you are doing, you momentarily forget and say “doing well!” Your “doing well” might be a crisis for someone who hasn’t been in the treatment or recovery frying pan.

When I began teaching yoga to cancer survivors 7 years ago, I noticed how deeply the ladies would relax during sivasana (the rest at the end of class). Having discharged tension and expanded their breathing, bodies and minds would melt into a feeling of safety and comfort.

I was surprised, however, and a little worried, when I saw them spring up and immediately drag themselves to a seated position as soon as they heard my voice begin to gently wake them from sivasana.

These ladies moved from 0-100 in a flash, their nervous systems activated as they complied with what they thought I expected which was contrary to the rest and slowness their bodies needed.

To help them slow down their return in future classes, I began to say: “Continuing to relax, bring your awareness back to your breathing,” so that they wouldn’t injure themselves jolting upright.

They needed explicit permission to listen to their bodies and go at their own pace.

Most of the people in my Yoga and Talk® Therapy Groups and classes have been very productive members of society. Health conscious, achievers, they have met the challenge of cancer head on with an inspiring will to overcome. They manage the side effects of treatment alone and often blame themselves for not feeling better quicker, not being more “productive” quicker, even while battling fatigue, pain, grief, lack of sleep, anxiety and depression.

One gift I enjoy offering is a safe place to experiment with going at the pace and rhythm that your body truly desires. They have at least one hour a week where there is NO GOLD STAR for pushing past your own limits and your natural resistance. We practice honoring the resistance from our bodies and breathing in to it.

I encourage students to value rest as much as exerting themselves in an exercise or posture and to “go at a pace that is so in tune with your body that it feels pleasurable.”

This experience of tuning in to your body during class can become a building block to use in other areas of life. Just like in class, in regular life you can give yourself permission to come to a neutral resting position for a few moments. You can sit or lie down, even if others are dancing around or kicking their legs, or running around busy and “productive.”

Just like in class, the most advanced practice is to go at your own pace and listen to your own body as it heals and rests.

It’s advanced because it’s a challenge on many levels. It requires noticing when you are pushing yourself, complying with the expectations of others, or competing with your neighbor. Once you begin to notice the pushing and the resistance, you can find your own pace.

Liberation Dance

March 25, 2024June 23, 2016 by Kelly Inselmann

Liberation is a potential side effect of the cancer journey. But liberation from what?

It’s noon on Wednesday at the yoga studio. Twelve of us are inside dancing to a hiphop beat and poetry about liberation while alive.

Melinda has short gray hair growing back in after chemo. A blue and white sleeve that looks like a tattoo squeezes her arm to reduce swelling from lymphedema. She sways and jumps, comfortable in her own skin.

Lydia rotates vigorously left to right, favoring her right knee. Before we began, she shared she has an MRI this afternoon. She shakes off tension and fear.

Sarah barely moves. The youngest in the group, her treatment is long over, but fatigue and emotional recovery continue. Wavy red hair sways from side to side as she bends and slowly swoops.

Andi is newest to yoga class. Her bemused expression seems to say “I can’t believe I’m dancing around like this – wait until I tell my friends how strange and funny it was.”

When she introduced herself, she said she was here to change her patterns.

Each of us in the room resonates with a desire to feel free, spacious, and connected to a deeper pulse of life through our breathing and dancing. More than most, we know how fast time goes.

At the end of my own treatment for cancer, my energy was low, my brain scrambled from chemo, and I had a beautiful 18 month old baby.

Liberation from old patterns comes in phases for me. During my experience with cancer, first came terror, then overwhelm, and finally surrender to the unknown.

I’d had to learn to accept help, given no other choice. I was overwhelmed in the early months of treatment and new motherhood by the conflicting needs to nurture my baby and simultaneously address my own body’s crisis.

In yoga class, people often share what they are surrendering: to do lists, expectations and responsibility for other people, old anger, harsh self judgment, shame, old identity, worry about the future.

They are surrendering attachment to who they used to be so they can grow in to who they are now. Marked by both suffering and sacred moments of awareness.

When you truly let go, there is space for something new and spontaneous to happen. Yoga helps with this: the new movement, breath, and mantra all create a temporary interruption of your automatic patterns. New experiences are introduced that feel nurturing to the body and mind.

Moments of joy and contentment can erupt. Chronic pain or tension is infused with new sensations of relaxation and circulation, even well being.

Very slowly, I recovered my brain and began to work again. But the more I recovered, the more I saw every single old pattern that had disappeared, return! First was the pull to feel competent in the outer world. I had an intense drive to feel useful and in control, and to make up for lost “productive” time.

I found myself again ignoring the signals of my body in service to the desires of my mind. Now, I know our culture values this – and I thought it was a good and adaptive thing to be able to do. Move forward in life.

But there has to be an integration and respect for the container of our life experience – which is this body. You would think that as a longtime yogi I would have already gotten this.

This time around, my body won’t permit me to stay in the old patterns for long. I tried to lift too much in a hurry to get to a meeting and my rib cracked. If I don’t make time for swimming, my arm swells painfully from lymphedema. I get the chance to learn over and over to turn towards my own vulnerability and make room for what my body needs instead of constantly rejecting it.

Later, Andi came up to me and in a voice full of wonder at her own courage said: “If you’d told me I would stand up and dance in a group of people I didn’t know, with no inhibitions, the same week I had chemo, I’d never have believed you.”

Interrupting old patterns is an ongoing process, not fixed and stationary. It’s dynamic and fluid. Just like our dance.