Just over ten years ago, when I was a keen sea kayaker, I very nearly drowned. Having been thrown out of my kayak by a freak wave, my foot got stuck between two large rocks at the entrance to the cove I’d been trying to surf into. The tide was coming in, fast. Each wave covered me, I had to push myself up to gasp a breath before the next wave pushed me back down under the water. My partner couldn’t get to me, it was early morning and there was no one else around. It didn’t look good for a while. I started to run out of energy, I was becoming lightheaded, and my body was numb.
Then the EDS, which has caused so many problems, finally came to my rescue. Whilst struggling, I fully dislocated my ankle and foot until I could rotate it and pull it free of my shoe. I really don’t know how I managed it, but it’s incredible what the human body and mind can do when they need to.
Once free, I clambered up onto the rocks to get my breath back and was then able to be helped back to the shore where I collapsed, exhausted. I was initially relieved, then thrilled that my new wetsuit wasn’t in tatters (as I had expected), and then dismayed by the amount of blood running out of the bottom of the wetsuit legs. I still have the scars, but I survived.
Like many people, I have lots of near drowning stories. But most of these have been on dry land when life events have threatened to overwhelm me. These have included illness, injury and emotional & financial stresses.
During all these events I sometimes felt like I was drowning. There were times when I felt like giving up. Some days I struggled to even breathe.
Then there are all the instances of ‘micro’ drowning: just having too much to do or too much to manage in one go. All those ‘micro shocks’ that build up and become too much to bear (the email or phone call, the sudden remembering of something we have to deal with and so on). Those little jolts that we brush off without realising that they have affected us and then wonder why later on we burst into tears because the laptop won’t load, or there’s no parking space.
Even without the big traumas, we are all subjected to these constant mini shocks.
Over the last few years numerous people have asked me how my mindfulness has helped me and whether teaching it makes me more mindful than those who ‘just’ practice it.
I’ll answer the second question first: teaching mindfulness is a continual process of reflection. Not only is there the ongoing learning & development that comes with preparing to teach, but my classes and clients are like mirrors. They show me where I am less mindful than I could be. This gives me the opportunity to address the areas where I am falling short. I am not a guru; I am just someone who is a little further along the path than those to whom I pass on the wisdom. And every good teacher knows that we can learn much from those we teach. It would be arrogant to believe otherwise.
The only answer I have to the first part of the question is that my practice keeps me sane enough to keep functioning. Even if it’s only just sane enough to only just keep functioning, sometimes that’s as good as it gets. Mindfulness teachers don’t have all the answers, there is no secret formula that suddenly solves life for us or ‘fixes’ us.
Mindfulness doesn’t fix everything. It doesn't magically stop us getting ill or make us magically instantly better. It doesn’t stop the world being a confusing and difficult place in which to live. It doesn’t make other people treat us better.
It doesn’t wipe the memory clean of that frightening or traumatic event. It doesn’t stop us feeling scared, upset, angry or confused.
But it does equip us with skills with which to navigate all of this. It helps us heal physically and mentally from trauma. It helps us not to be overwhelmed, to respond rather than react. This gives us choice. And choice gives us agency. We are not plunged constantly into one wild river after another with no way of getting ourselves out.
As John Kabat Zinn said, ‘you can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.’ It’s repeated so often it can sound a bit glib, but it does sum up what mindfulness and regular meditation practice can do for us. Kabat Zinn’s book ‘Full Catastrophe Living’ was not named accidentally. As he explains, the title sums up how most of us live most of the time, rushing headlong from one catastrophe to another, many of them in our own heads and of our own making. We often can’t avoid the first arrow – the life event – but the choices we make about how to proceed afterwards, what we tell ourselves about the event and the world, are completely within our control.
Regular mindfulness practice helps us to reflect what is, instead of reacting to what we remember or imagine. Christophe Andre, writing about reflection explains that it ‘means re-centering, re-inhabiting, regaining contact with ourselves, when many of our actions and environments act to cut us off from ourselves,’ and reminds us to be like the walker who, instead of cursing the sudden storm, takes refuge in a porch and enjoys the respite. We can’t control the weather, only how we respond to it.
Sometimes we really are drowning. Mindfulness isn’t meant to be a way of pretending that this isn’t happening. It would clearly be unwise to pretend that we don’t need rescuing when we are drowning in the sea, and yet we do it all the time. One of the ways mindfulness works is by showing us clearly where and when we need help, and then our regular self-compassion practices ensure that we get what we need. Without that self-compassion, the mirror I hold up to my own practice would be terrifying and instead of nurturing and encouraging myself I would likely give up and drown under a barrage of harsh self-criticism.
My practice doesn’t mean that I wake up feeling great and pain free every morning. But it does mean that I have the tools I need to get out of bed and make the best of the day ahead. And I do the practice, every day, whether I feel like it or not. Because my life really does depend on it.
I always encourage people to find some practices that can calm the nervous system and help them to feel safe and loved. From there, we can start the hard work of changing those stubborn patterns of reactivity and gradually unfold that meaningful and rewarding life we want to live. And we often start with the breath, because the breath can calm us in so many ways.
Remember that each new breath is an invitation to begin again.
Rather than answering 'how' does mindfulness help me - which would be a life story - let me just say that it does help me. In every single area of my life. Every time I go into hospital, or face a challenge there is a practice that helps me. I wouldn't function at all without my practice. But my practice wouldn't function when I really needed it without daily care and attention. And if we forget? We simply begin again. Take a breath.
If you would like some inspiration (pun intended), here is a link to a simple breath practice to help us re-connect in the way Andre recommends:
With love,
Natalie x
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