When I first began exploring yoga therapeutically around 2011, there are a couple of assumptions I made:
A) This will be interesting because all of these other people have pain and I have none. Well, maybe I have my funky neck stuff that has been around since I was a kid but that is just there. It’s part of how I am.
B) This talk of “yellow lights” and signs that I’m going to have a flare-up – that might be true for other people but not for me. My neck stuff just appears out of nowhere.

Oh, how I don’t know what I don’t know. But for now, 6 years later, what I know about pain in my practice and in my every day is this.

We all have particular patterns of tension that our brains cue in our bodies in order to get through stressful periods of life. Many of these same patterns of tension are cued when we try to do something physically that is actually beyond our current capability. I feel these patterns in my tendency for migraine headaches since I was 9 years old, reoccurring neck pain, and sneaky shoulder blade / rib tension. Yet, because I’ve developed awareness of my yellow lights, I can now see how those old patterns (that turn into pain) are doing their best to help me. Those full out pain flares are saying,“STOP. You are a car that has no fuel left and all you’ve got now is this steep hill that you’re careening down on momentum! And I think our brakes are getting overheated now….eeeeekkkkkk!!!!”

Now, before that dramatic turn of events, these yellow lights include a myriad of signs ranging from Yield to a Speed Bump to a Stop to a Sharp Turn Ahead… until if I ignore them all then I run out of gas, careen down the hill, my brakes go out and I drive off a cliff into a place of intense pain and more prolonged recovery. Which to be frank isn’t fun with three kiddos under 6 plus the rest of this crazy beautiful world.

“But I don’t have any signals before my pain.
What kinds of yellow lights do you feel, Rachel?”
Initially, they might be more obvious than you think.

I discovered my very first yellow light years ago in relation to my neck / shoulder blade pain flares. I began to notice that when my son wanted something in the backseat and I wanted to help him immediately (i.e. immediately decrease his whining!), then I would crank my right arm back while driving to reach the second row while my torso and head continued to face forward. If I had waited two minutes for the car to be at a stoplight or stopsign, then I could have rotated my whole torso around. Instead, while driving I was trying to extend my shoulder AND internally rotate my arm bone at the same time. And quite frankly, I did not have the mobility to do those two actions to the extent it takes to reach a kid in the backseat. As a result, my shoulder blade jammed in toward my spine and a whole domino effect of lockup started which included the space just inside my shoulder blade between the blade and my spine, my upper traps on the right, and my neck rotation. It wasn’t and still isn’t fun. (Yes, I still do it sometimes… read on.)

I used to think, “Well, I can do it just once.” But for me myself and I, I was wrong. If I do it once, I will do it again. And if I do it once, it isn’t about my lack of range of motion. It is about my patience. And my patience is all about how honestly I’m coping with the current stressors in my life.

If I can’t wait 2 minutes until I get to a stoplight to help Ruthie or Nora, then at least one yellow light (in regards to my pain) actually probably came about earlier in the morning when I was rushing to get out of the house instead of leaving with ample time. Or when I kicked toys out of my way as I walked through the playroom with a huff and a puff. Or even when I growled in meditation practice as I heard Ruthie wake up early and jump out of bed to play in her room next to mine – frustrated it wasn’t perfectly quiet for me now. (I sound like a witch, don’t I? Speaking truth about yellow lights is not pretty.)

Now to your practice. When you check in at the beginning of class to breathe and be, explore getting honest about how you’re showing up on the mat. Don’t tamp down the feelings and thoughts from your day. I get the whole “See them and let them pass” but I want to propose a second option: “See them, feel them.” When you feel the yellow lights from your day blink at you here in centering at the beginning of class, honor them as you move into your practice. Are you in a day where everything is going smoothly and you can thus exert more effort right now on the mat? Or are you in a day where you’re irritated by everything and everyone and thus need to invoke compassion right now so as not to continue the car careening down the hill?

Likewise, as you move through the practice, if you feel pain, excessive tightness or shortness of breath (all different representations of yellow lights) don’t just “fix it” by squirming around or randomly remembering to breathe. Get honest as you did in the initial centering. Recognize you’re in the midst of yellow lights. Then, exit the pose. And come back in honoring the yellow lights this time. Go only so far that you do not feel the yellow light. Then experience the pose from this new perspective of less tension and more ease.

What could you do with less tension and more ease? Well, for me, I’ve discovered more energy, stamina, and rationalism. I have choice now. I have freedom where I felt stuck before – in my body and in my life.

Want to come along? Start by seeing your yellow lights and responding with compassion. We can’t change what we’re not aware of. Get curious.

Take good care,
Rachel

I had plans, you guys. So many plans! This weekend, I am home for one whole night… alone! My husband has my kiddos out of town and here I sit in a quiet house. I was going to sleep for a long and luxurious night, write a couple of blog posts, draft an upcoming class, get a ridiculous amount of winter clothes put up in the attic, even perhaps indulge with a pedicure. Oh, and make a yummy homemade dinner tonight for everyone once we’re back together.

All in 18 hours. And this 18 hours follows last weekend’s 4 night beach trip with my family of 5, preparing my kiddos to go one place while I went another for this current weekend, and the school / work week that starts tomorrow. (Do you have at least a half grin at me right now? Because I’m definitely giggling a bit out loud at myself.)

I saw the amusing within my big plans yesterday on the way home from my 2 night trip to Asheville. I saw how if I pushed through on fumes to accomplish them then absolutely nothing would be enjoyable. I’d be limp in the water before I even started swimming on Monday. And so, what did I do?

As I lay in bed this morning and felt the crush of my day ahead instead of the potential for S-P-A-C-E, I paused. I repeated each task in my head for the upcoming day and then felt into my body for the corresponding response.

Blog posts – I breathe evenly when I think about this. I feel the lightness in my chest that always rewards me when they are done and I know I’ve shared my truth. This stays in my plan.
Class plan – Teeny tiny electricity behind my right shoulder. Eh… this starts to build the tension by way of a whisper. I look at my calendar and have a window to which I can move this draft later in the week. I’ve moved it in my “Work Plan” calendar to that time.
Clothes to attic – I literally feel the weight of carrying the clothes up alone (a lot of them) as it pulses in my right hip. As I feel that, I also know Ruthie loves to do this with me. We can do it in small chunks throughout the week. And no one will perish if I finish it next weekend.
Pedicure – eh. Neutral on this one. No response in my body as I know I have similar self care already scheduled later this week.
Dinner – My body gets a pulse of energy and fullness in my chest when I imagine eating something homemade and nutritious with my family tonight. Yes, I want to make a good dinner tonight. This stays in my plan.

Can you see what I did? I simplified. I paused, listened, and responded. I released my attachment to “MUST DO IT ALL!” and grounded back into “What can I do with ease?” It’s not that I am doing nothing and it’s not that the things that I am not doing are back in the black hole of “I’ll just get to that later.” There is ease in the now because I know when those things will happen this week. It’s not just crossing my fingers and hoping I get to them. And with that awareness of now and the ahead of my week, my shoulders are now at ease, my right hip is not aching, and my right low back has quieted. Crazy stuff.

In your own practice, how does your body react when you try to do it all in one singular pose? “In this downward dog, I will stretch my hamstrings, get my shoulders down, open my chest, relax my neck, AND breathe!!!” And you might pull off all of those things….. but at what price? Next time you’re on your mat consider simplifying. Can you quiet enough to hear which part of your body needs love the most? Answer it and trust that the others will receive nourishment and attention as the practice moves along. Keep following the whispers and responding and ease will bubble up one pose at a time.

There is more. There is always more.

Be well,
Rachel

A couple of weeks ago on our trip to Virginia, I saw two old friends. It has been 17 years since we met in college and about 3 years since our last visit or chat. I marveled at this experience. Why? Because I’m a professional explorer of patterns. Because I could feel how the ways that I interact with these two women are deeply engrained in my system. How I respond to their tones; how I chew on their words; how I receive their deep and open love for me as a friend. How I see them and know they KNOW me.

The first few minutes of greetings were surreal. They knew the early adult, rough and gritty Rachel that was constantly living through the fuzzy lens of “What will everyone think?” They still know some of my oldest tire tracks (aka: patterns of acting and reacting) and they know them well. They were both a huge part of my support during that darker period of my life and provided anchors that helped my sails avoid staying toppled day after day.

On the drive up, my son asked “Mama, are you excited to see them?” I paused before responding. I had to feel. Yes, I was excited. And there was more. (There is always more.) I had butterflies in my stomach and my throat was quite thick. It felt like there was little space for breath or food to get down those hollows but not in a panicky way. Simply in an “Oh – isn’t that physical reaction to meeting my past curious?” kind of way. And then when I saw them and had ridden through the initial “This is almost like a dream that you’re in front of me. Are you real?”, we quickly hit the “It’s like no time has passed.” stage of talking and being.

There arrived the awe.  Although we hadn’t spoken in years, those tire tracks were so deeply in my brain that after minutes together, we all felt that “It’s like no time has passed.” I immediately felt loved, seen, and supported. The thickness of my throat was gone. Our interactions were well oiled and our time together was full of ease, honesty and support for one another in a new stage of life.  I’m sure you’ve felt this before with dear friends that you haven’t seen in a good bit of time.

It got me to thinking about “old” and “new” integrating in my body. I used to have consistent restriction in my neck, tension in my shoulders and intense migraine headaches. It was a grittier period of body experience for me. And now I know more ease through my daily therapeutic yoga practice.  My old tire tracks that I associate with more pain and strain have just as much value in their ability to help me heal as my new tire tracks of ease and more suppleness in my body. They both inform me of where I am. Of what my body needs. Of what my heart needs.

This reminds me of a verse from a Y Guides song that my Grandmother used to sing to me:
“Make new Friends but keep the old,
One is silver and the other gold.”

My reoccurring patterns of tension and strain are friends of gold for me. We have a history and I know when they are trying to get my attention now.  They are well worn grooves. I no longer ignore them and push them to the background. I listen when they start to whisper. These whispers of more subtle awareness are silver friends for me. When I hear the whispers, I respond with action or stillness as they may desire, and the tension tends to settle down like a satiated baby after a feed and a snuggle. Together, I am rich with awareness and unlimited opportunity to keep feeling better. And better. And better.

I’d love to hear reflections, comments or questions that come up for you by email.
Be well,
Rachel

A few short weeks ago, a book called Journal of Solitude by May Sarton found me. I was at an outdoor play space with my kiddos and there was a small hutch where people could leave old books to pass on to new hands. This book jumped at me as soon as I opened the little door. And it is clear why as I softly turn the pages and read the intimate words of Sarton’s reflections:

“It is a mellow day, very gentle. The ash has lost its leaves and when I went out to get the mail and stopped to look up at it, I rejoiced to think that soon everything here will be honed down to structure. It is all a rich farewell now to leaves, to color. I think of the trees and how simply they let go, let fall the riches of a season, how without grief (it seems) they can let go and go deep into their roots for renewal and sleep… Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.”

There is more. There is always more.
Be well,
Rachel

Alternatively, pain arrives as a messenger or an informant in it’s varying costumes of tension, tightness, throbbing, aching and sharpness. I smile as I say that I now know this place also.

Example:
Pain holds so much power in the greater context. Zoom out. Consider…
1) How does your pain or tension shift when you think in your brain the words “What an inconvenience. Harumph!”
Pause. And feel for a few breaths.
2) How does your pain or tension shift when you look out the window and drink in whatever natural world is in front of you?
Pause. And feel for a few breaths.

There is more. There is always more.

I have a single spot left in each of my classes this Saturday, March 18^th. Please email me to pop onto either list. The 1:30 p.m. Hatha Class will explore this idea of tension as an inconvenience or as an informant. The 3:15 p.m. Therapeutic Class will integrate a focus on the core per one student’s request.

I’d love to hear reflections, comments or questions that come up for you by email.
Take good care,
Rachel

“Be careful!” says the father to the child as she attempts to climb a ladder. “Be careful!” says the grandmother as the child stumbles excitedly down a path by a lake. “Be careful!” says the mother to the daughter as the child climbs into the car for the first time to drive solo.

Years ago, I read a book called Last Child in the Woods written by Richard Louv. It is an excellent read focused on the shifting role of nature in our children’s world and unintended effects of that trend. One excerpt continues to resonate with me and strongly influences how my husband and I talk to our 3 littles ones. In the book, a young woman speaks of how her parents raised her with the phrase “Pay attention.” as a substitute for “Be careful!”

Before I unintentionally step up on a slippery soapbox, I’d rather you explore for yourself.

1. Say the words “Be careful” in your head. Now close your eyes and repeat the phrase three times in your head as you breathe naturally. Pause and notice what adjective you would give to your breath. Soft, hard, stiff, supple, held… you don’t need the “right” word. You just need what comes to you. Experience that adjective as active feeling in your body for a few more breaths.
2. Now open your eyes and let that go. Shake a little, shoulder rolls, whatever you need for a mini-reset.
3. Now say the words “Pay attention” in your head. Close your eyes and repeat the phrase three times in your head as you breathe naturally. Pause and notice what adjective you now give your breath. Experience that adjective as active feeling in your body for a few more breaths.

Does one intention feel more passive and does one feel more active?

Consider… do you tend to move from a place of “Be careful” or a place of “Pay attention”? Or neither? Embrace where you find space to explore, play, celebrate, and grow.

And if you’re interested in taking this a step further and integrating on the mat with me, email meto pop into one of my last spots for my Saturday, March 18^th special small group classes. I’ll teach a Hatha class at 1:30pm and a Therapeutic class at 3:15pm. Note that I will not have group classes again until May so do come if you’d like a fun combination of awareness, efficient effort and ease. (And amusing playful explorations are guaranteed.)

Finally, Susan Jackson and I are scheduling a reflection and integration discussion in April for theFemale Core & Pelvic Floor Conference that my teacher Susi Hately is currently offering online. The online conference is active today (Thursday) until midnight and signup is still possible. Pop on to http://bit.ly/2kgfr5R ASAP today to register and get access to an amazing panel of expert interviews today and in downloaded files after the conference closes tonight. The value here is phenomenal. There will be a host of tools to walk away with in order to grow stability in your practice and your life as a woman. Email me if you’d like to join our local group reflection in April and we’ll keep you posted on details.

I’m hearing from more and more of you with questions and reflections on your practice and movement. Keep the curiosities coming! The connection of learning together is one of growth, potential and acceptance of more.  There is always more…

Be well,
Rachel

There is always a conversation snaking through from your inner body outward. At this moment, I sit in the Minneapolis airport on the way home from Calgary. I am full up with new learning. I am grateful. I am tired. I am overwhelmed. Those are the words I put to this moment. But there is also magic in the potential of this moment. There is a parallel wordless conversation going on. My body has innumerable messages for me.

Right now, my right shoulder is holding tightly – almost like it is glued in place; afraid that it will fall out if arm doesn’t stick in like a peg forced into a hole. It reflects my exhaustion in an embodied way – a way that is in the tissue of my being. My favorite part is not the discomfort (ha!) but how much it has to tell me.

Every time my brain turns on to type, the shoulder rolls forward and gets that peg in the wood feeling.

Every time I pause, close my eyes and simply breathe – noticing my heartbeat in the midst of my return home – it effortlessly returns to its home in the socket.

The coolest part? I cannot even tell where that “released” position is. I can’t think my way there or plug it back into place. But the shoulder knows and with stillness and acknowledgement, it receives the arm bone willingly.

You tell me – what is my body asking for right now?

Ah, you hear it too… and so I close the computer. Be well, lovely people.