WHAT IF WE LEAN INTO DISCOMFORT MORE?
Last week, I cried in a hospital waiting room. Together with other individuals waiting for their names to be called and to be ushered in for their scans, I told my husband in between silent sobs about my growing discomfort around being poked with a needle.
Since the diagnosis, I have had needles poked at me for one biopsy, three separate blood tests, one lymph node blood extraction, and one drip for the MRI and CT scan. All in 3 weeks.
When I had my first breast cancer experience, I lost count of how many times I got probed and poked. It was a tedious treatment plan with me going through a lumpectomy, 21 days of radiation, 4 rounds of chemo, a year-long of immunotherapy, and 8 years of tamoxifen.
And did I mention, I am not so fond of needles even before having breast cancer?
I saw my mom go through so many painful blood tests and transfusions how nurses found it difficult for them to find suitable places to get her blood or to give her intravenous fluids.
I went through a somewhat similar period myself when I had chemotherapy, and my veins collapsed. They even had to insert a port to make it easier. For me, it made it less traumatizing.
This experience reminded me of a journal entry I wrote nine years ago entitled “I am faced with my Jekyll and Hyde”.
In most situations, before going to the hospital, I have my meltdown moments. It's usually the case of nerves, the expectations from my husband, and the list of things that still need to be done. All pile up in one big explosive event- I turn from being the calm, collected Dr. Jekyll to the mean, fire-breathing, no holds barred, Mr. Hyde.
I began to utter words that hurt the person I loved the most. I grew impatient. I became demanding. I turned into a crazed, consumed with my “I-want-this!” alter ego. I let out slurs of grievances, and yes, some curses that would normally not even flow out of my lips. I felt vulnerable, and to mask it, I toughened my stance and breathed fire that I could feel raging deep inside me.
Then the transformation was complete.
And I looked back in the mirror, guilt-ridden. Not wanting to look at the face looking back at me.
But I needed to celebrate my Hyde. I needed to celebrate my moments of frailty that are so much disguised by the bellowing me. I needed to admit my frustrations and my unmet needs. I needed to acknowledge that I have moments of fits as I have moments of calmness. That there is not the one without the other. Both are integral parts of my wholeness.
The choice of how to live life is mine, not yours or anyone else.
So I chose to find better ways of expressing my grievances.
I chose to learn how to fight fair.
I chose to help myself to deeply understand my needs and feelings so I can communicate them better.
I chose to work on understanding myself more and finding grace in my shortcomings.
I chose to live life inviting the darker, uncomfortable side of my thoughts because I know I will eventually learn how best to share them with the ones I love the most.
And how far have I learned since then in expressing myself and my needs!
Yes, I still get my periods of intense frustration.
What I do notice though is I began expressing my discomforts more before it reached a boiling point.
I began noticing the trajectories of my sensations, emotions, and thoughts.
I also began understanding what behaviors can lead to certain patterns. Hence it was important for me to register when I feel discomfort in my body before it triggers me into irritation, frustration, disappointment, or yes, even rage.
BEFRIENDING MY BODY
“The mind’s first step to self-awareness must be through the body.” - George Sheehan
In this path of noticing my source of discomfort, I realized what I needed was to reconnect back to my body. To understand my bodily cues better than anyone else.
Where did it begin in my body?
How did it feel?
Where is it residing in my body?
How does it intensify?
How does it subside?
How is it different from other emotions?
With whom (circle of connections), where (specific location), when (time of day, season, period, or rhythm) do I feel this?
What words do I use to express my discomfort?
How am I able to articulate my discomfort in ways that are easy for people to understand?
These are just some of the questions I started exploring to grow a deeper understanding of where my discomfort lies.
What this awareness has given me is the ability to tune in with what is “alive in me” and to express that with people.
It has given me the language to share what is stirring inside of me.
It also gave me opportunities to explore the questions:
Where is this discomfort coming from?
What are the needs behind it?
What are the unmet needs that are asking for attention, care, and expression?
Discomfort is our body’s way of telling us that we are getting into our learning zone. Yes, it is out of our safety zone, away from what we deem as comfortable, secure, and reliable. But what is relevant is that the discomfort is important for us to re-orient ourselves to our needs, recalibrate our actions, and re-center ourselves to make us “self-full.”
Discomfort is a great guidepost that can indicate the areas where we are holding ourselves back. It can show the spaces where we taper ourselves to meet others’ expectations to “not rock the boat”. It can also guide us to the parts of us that we camouflage to fit in.
Yet fitting in doesn’t mean we belong.
“The difference between ‘fitting in’ and belonging is that fitting in, by its very definition, is to parcel off our wholeness in exchange for acceptance.” -Toko-pa Turner, Belonging
When we can learn to notice, name, and navigate our discomfort, we are more able to advocate for ourselves, for our values, for our yearnings, and step into our fullness. We also begin to show up more congruently rather than “parceling off our wholeness.” We also model our self-fullness to others especially the children who see us as their source of inspiration.
Being aware of our growing discomfort can tell us so many cues from which we can explore further, dig deeper, and learn/unlearn.
Going back to that scene of me crying in the waiting room. Amidst strangers’ eyes who most likely noticed my discomfort, I had my husband’s loving arms wrapped around me, reminding me to breathe. His presence was calming. It helped me to settle, to tune in, and to acknowledge that the situation I was in was surfacing a lot of traumas stored in my memories and in my body.
It helped me to express my fears, and where they are coming from.
By leaning into my discomfort more, I realized that at the center of it were memories I held around my mom and her struggles and how she went through all of them. Yes, there was a lot of pain, but she also went through it with a lot of strength and grace. It helped me to evoke those energies into my situation and to invite my mom’s strength and grace to envelope me as I went through the day.
In a society that reminds us to “not rock the boat”, as it can cause tension, problems, and discomfort, I find it crucial to remind myself that “When the boat is rocking, rather than to immediately stop the rocking, learn to lean into discomfort more and to practice asking myself these questions:
P.S. I am very curious how my writing is resonating or landing with you. Feel free to share your thoughts, what is stirring, or if you tried the reflection and exercises, do share (as you wish to) what came up for you! Words of affirmation is my love language and it nourishes me to know that I am contributing to those who are reading my posts.
You can find out more about me and my work at lanajelenjev.com