Funny thing about the body. It’s always talking even though we’re not always listening.
It tells us it’s thirsty, it tells us it’s hungry, it uses what’s useful, it releases what’s not.
A straightforward process that works pretty well until the body doesn’t have enough of something, or it has too much of something, or we give it something gone bad. After you do one of those, the body starts talking A LOT LOUDER…like it’s gone deaf. Or like you have.
Or, to be specific: Like I had.
Because I made the grave mistake of doing all three of those somethings at the same time. Some of them over a long time. And my body decided that if I wasn’t gonna take a moment to listen, then it was gonna make a moment.
And that’s how I wound up in the emergency room all yesterday afternoon…shaking from top to toe, head spinning, swimming in sweat, teeth chattering, with a new and alarming tic to my right hand, alternately puking out my guts and crying out my heart, all while silently praying someone would just hit me on the head with something large and hard and right damned soon (please) because I can’t bear much more of this—no really—so being knocked out would be quite awesome. Really.
And, bless them, they did. Not out cold with the stick I’d been wishing for, but with an IV and a magic cocktail that stopped almost everything.
The nausea was gone and the room was stationary, but the shaking? Still there. It came and went and went and came on its own clock. And when a nearby car accident brought in broken bodies for reassembly, the medics left me to it.
And so I rode sweaty, tearful, twitching waves for a few hours. My body would be still and then it wouldn’t be. Still. Not still. And all I could do was hang on.
It was only later, after a righteous shot of Valium with an ibuprofen chaser, that I realized how small my world had become in those anxious hours.
There was no work. There was no plan. No social media, no to-do lists, no strategies, no objectives, no sales pages, no products, no invoices, no no no no nuttin.
There was just me trapped in a reactive and (rightfully) vengeful body that had collected my mind’s waste and was flushing it out however it could.
Because for many weeks I’ve been drinking worry and eating fear. And, apparently, my bodymind had used up what it could and was way past ready to be rid of what it couldn’t.
It didn’t matter that I’ve been having quite a nice time, actually. Enjoying my clients and their work, enjoying your company and my own work. And especially spending more time with my hubby and my family and enjoying them all.
But along the way, throughout all the fun, I’ve been nibbling and sipping at fearful things and leaving them…mentally undigested.
And so I became, as my sister dubbed me, lightning in a bottle. Over the weeks, my unacknowledged and unsung emotions spun themselves into a tempest that was far too big for its container.
And once a bit of food poisoning plus vertigo made a crack in my body-bottle? Well, I guess my mind saw a way to release the storm through choking tears, a full body tremor, and that damned drumming of my hand.
And my world became so, so small. There was no planet, no country, no county, no hospital, no emergency room, no people. There was a bed, but only because my hand wouldn’t stop taptap tap taptaptap tapping it.
There was just me and my furious body. And my breath, which was the only thing I could control.
In through my nose, out through my mouth, in…and out. Just me and my bone bag, taking it in and working it out…renegotiating our life-term contract.
Just us two, talking and listening in the emergence-y room.
Until the medics were certain for sure the shakes and tic were in—and out of—my head and gave me a jigger of happy juice that made them both go away.
But nothing they gave me could stop the crying. My mind was quiet and my body was calm, but my eyes kept emptying. My heart could not be fooled into believing everything was copacetic.
Hearts trump all, yo.
So I’m resting today. And tomorrow. And this weekend. And honoring my bodymind’s concerns. And breathing.
I don’t want to rest, but the doc gave me a note to show my employer. After I told her I worked for myself, we agreed I could still benefit from permission papers :-)
But let there be no mistake, I do have a boss. My bodymind proved it’s the boss-o-me when it called me into its office and wrote me up for being a shitty steward.
Thankfully, I didn’t get fired…I’m only on probation.
At least, that’s how I see it, because they rolled me into the hospital, but I walked myself out.
And I’m all ears.