Listening to Our Bodies - A Shavuot Reflection
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In Judaism, Shavuot is the day that God/Goddess gave the ten commandments (and the Torah) to the Israelites on Mount Sinai. It is 50 days after the second day of Passover, and many Jews (myself included) have the custom of counting the omer. The Omer is a period of 49 days between the Jewish holidays Passover and Shavuot.
Each evening, we say: Today is the __ day of the omer which is __ weeks and __ days of the omer. On the 50th day, we celebrate Shavuot, which begins this evening. The Rabbis teach us that Shavuot is a marriage, a commitment ceremony, one in which we commit to being in relationship with something greater than ourselves. We count the days to get us ready for the ultimate connection day. We count as a way to prepare for this commitment we are taking on.
Every year, as I count the omer, I wonder what I will commit to that Shavuot. The days blend one into another; today is the 8th day of the omer, which is one week and one day of the omer, which is chesed she’ba gevurah (kindness within boundaries), Today is the 33rd of the omer, which is 4 weeks and 5 days of the omer, which is hod she'ba hod (wonder within wonderment), today is the 45th day of the omer, which is 6 weeks and 3 days of the omer, which is tiferet she''ba malchut (beauty in kingship) and so on and so forth. We were almost on day 49 this year, and I still had not figured out what I wanted to commit to.
And then, in an instant, I knew . . .
A few weeks ago, during a layover, I sat in a lounge in the Houston airport crying. Tears were gently sliding down my face. I was sad and mad and I didn’t want to accept the tumultuous feelings I was having when the phone rang. It was a friend calling to catch up during my layover. She could hear something was wrong, and I tried to explain.
“I am sitting here waiting for someone to come get me with a wheelchair so they can take me to the gate.” I said.
She understood some of what that meant but not fully, so I continued.
“I know that since my concussion I need help after a plane ride because my head feels scrambled and I lose my balance, I know I can’t walk right after a flight, but this is a few hours since we landed, and . . .“ I rambled on . . . “It’s been almost eight years, I should be okay, and many days I am okay. But right now, I can’t take more than a few steps before I need to literally lean on a wall . . . and . . . I have been waiting here for 15 minutes and I could have been there already, I just have so many feelings about this, I know I can’t trust my balance right now, I might fall or bump into things or people since my spatial awareness it off, but I just want to take my carry-on and walk to the gate.”
I heard my friend’s pause and then she said. “Chani, I don’t know anyone who would choose to sit and wait for over 15 minutes to be taken in a wheelchair to their gate, someone who would choose to only go as fast as the person pushing them can go, someone who would choose to not have an option to stop and pick something up, unless that person really needed the help. It sounds to me that you really can’t trust your balance right now, and you are doing the right thing for yourself and those around you. Please be kind to yourself.”
Something relaxed. She was right, of course. I would not be asking if I didn’t need the help, if I could get myself to where I needed to go, if at that moment I could ignore the signals my body was sending me, but I couldn’t, and that is really frightening.
It is a scary thing to know that the neurons in my brain are not working in the way they used to, to need to ask for help, to be unable to find my balance despite all the work I had done and am still doing to heal, to feel so vulnerable.
Since the incident, I have been thinking a lot about bodies and the wisdom they carry.
The truth is . . . my body has never enjoyed traveling. Yet I love visiting new places, meeting new people and experiencing new things. But my body has always struggled with how fast we move from one place to another that is not at a natural pace to our body.
As a very young child, my body reacted to travel with nausea and vomiting. Thankfully, this didn’t happen very often because we rarely traveled. My parents did not have a car and had very little money and so we stayed in the few miles radius around our home. We had everything we needed and some of what we wanted. I was 17 on my first plane ride, and it took me a little while to recover but I didn’t connect it to my travel fatigue or how my body moves through time and space. It was difficult, and I called it jet-lag. So what if mine took longer than most of my classmates? I was young and it was fun. Or so I told myself.
Then I got married, had children, and became a single parent of three small children at the age of 23. So, the luxury of travel didn’t really exist. I drove us where we needed to go.
As my children got older, I started to fly for work, mainly for speaking engagements or to officiate a ceremony. These trips were difficult on my body, but it was worth it. I loved those voyages and promised myself that when my youngest child was out of the house, I would make the time to travel, to explore, to see the world outside of the small radius of where I grew up in. Instead, a few months before my youngest went off to college, a barricade fell on my head, and I suffered a massive concussion.
This changed my life forever! In the beginning, my wife and children sat me down and invited me to stop driving. After some eye and vestibular therapy, I began driving for 5-minutes at a time, later for 15, and now I am up to an hour and half of driving before my brain-fog sets in. It also made it nearly impossible for me to fly. After flying, my brain feels scrambled. If there is turbulence, my sense of balance is completely off. I find it hard to get myself off the plane, let alone walk to the gate and out of the airport. It takes me about a week or so to recover.
And then I do the thing - you know the one where I pretend that it is not hard for me to travel. Where I forget how difficult it was the last time I did it. Where the desire to get my book out in the world and do speaking engagements clashes with the need to take care of myself.
THAT THING!!!
At first, when I spoke about this, I said, “It is really scary that I can’t trust my body.” But that is not true. I CAN trust my body, it is constantly showing me and sending me signals to slow down, to breathe, to rest, to honor what is happening. What I can’t trust is the belief that I grew up around bodies and abilities. The way society at large - and capitalism in particular - pushes us to go fast, to ignore the signals our bodies send us. To push through the signs that it is too much.
The tears I was shedding in the Houston airport were grief.
Grief that I couldn’t push through.
Grief of an image I had of myself that is no longer true.
Grief at the further breaking of a belief system that never served me.
I was sick as a child. In addition, I suffer from many allergies. Over the years, my body has sent me signals when the food I am eating is not good for me. As a child and teenager, I tried to ignore those signs, but starting in my early twenties, I started listening. I began honoring the wisdom my skin (itching from certain foods), my mind (fogginess from other foods) and my throat (swelling and closing up from specific foods) carry.
It is fascinating to me when people make comments about my food choices, or don’t disclose all the ingredients something is made of even when I ask. As if not disclosing will trick my body and I won’t have the reactions I say that I will. It is a reinforcing of the belief that I (and others) should ignore my body's messages.
This year, on Shavuot, I am committing to listening to my body.
When my body asks me to slow down - I will listen and slow down.
When my mind tells me it needs a break - I will put on my eye mask and rest my brain.
When the food I want isn’t good for me - I will not put it into my mouth.
When the noise level or lights in a certain place are overwhelming for my system - I will leave.
I often wonder what it be like if we were all able to:
Ignore the lies we were told about pushing through.
Listen to all the ways our bodies speak to us, and honor the wisdom they carry.
Trust our bodies, not to do what able-bodies are capable of, rather to tell us what they can and can’t do at the moment.
This year, I am committing to listen to my body.
What is your body asking from you?
Many blessings,
Chani
PS: If you're also feeling the need to slow down and want to do it with my support, I've created a way to slow down together. This August, I invite you to join me in the Slow Down Challenge, where we will meet virtually to pause, reconnect with ourselves, and be in the moment. You can find more details on my website. I hope to see you in August.
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