Tonight was my first karate course. For five years I have grieved my daily running regimen, suffering everything from an occasional wince to a full blown nervous breakdown, time and time again. It has been a medical nightmare. Since I first discovered that I could interact with my own body just four months before diagnosis, I have longed to own it, shape it, make it look like me, make it feel like it was mine.
I'm super sore but my head is in a happy place. It was a scary hour and a half, but I felt safe and looked after.
Sensei is an incredible soul with whom I connected immediately. I simply cannot imagine myself under another instructor. What he has overcome resonates within the frequencies of my own outcry for a sense of connectedness with the world around me. I cannot tell now whether I will even be able to grow as a pupil, but I wish to know him forever. Anyone who transforms colossal pain into leadership and education is a remarkable person. That includes me. So I'll do my best work what I have learned from my PT, listen to my sweet wife when she tells me to rest, and challenge myself to be healthy as much as possible.
I finally feel a shift in my attitude, a turn of my disposition away from work and toward a healthier me. I have no idea what to expect of my pain level in the morning, but it will be of my own will for a change! For years I have not waited, but actively sought, a place where I felt like I could safely grow into what I now know of myself, where I could safely learn to interact, and where I would be in the company of people who will not shy away from danger. I think the people at this dojo have understood danger, and have understood a dream deferred.
Another mention: the students! It's as though I had walked into a garden of hope, where the acceptance by them led me to accept myself. It's hard to look in the mirror and see what has happened--what I have let happen to my body--over time, as I have struggled to stay alive. When I get sick again, I will be in the same gauntlet where I cannot care for myself, cannot feed myself, and cannot manage my day-to-day life. But if I can plant my energy in this soil where the other students have moved over to make room in the bed, I will be a stronger flower with stronger leaves when the winter comes. I use this metaphor because a garden is a welcoming place, and every student made it a point to say hello.
Yes, this is a healthy way to spend my time. Surely I will get hurt a lot, but I get hurt a lot anyway. At least I have something to do with my body, other than hate it, which is not useful.
The biggest challenge will be my fear of moving. I don't know whether that's because of the way I grew up, or because of EDS. Maybe half-and-half. It is so important to do this work in a safe environment, where I am completely removed from all distractions, and under the expectations of effort and commitment. On the flip side, I also need to heed my PT's advice, and rest. So far, I'm doing a good job of that. Speaking of which, off to bed.
Be well.
No comments:
Post a Comment