My whole life is based on movement.
I crisscross the country as a sports producer for ESPN, joining my merry band of tv misfits along the road to creative brilliance.
I also co-own a yoga studio in East Greenwich, RI, a way station for souls who come for the physical and stay for the spiritual and community acceptance.
So what happens when that movement comes to a grinding halt? When you have to find other ways to be flexible?
In March 2014 I was slowly coming off the road and got sick. Like strep throat and mono sick. Like I’m so sick and tired I can’t move sick. And then I couldn’t raise my left arm. Countless tests, doctors appointments, PT appointments later and no one could figure out what was wrong with me. Until I went to the neurologist, who diagnosed a brachioplexus injury brought on by the mono. Apparently mono, an autoimmune illness, can attack nerves. Recovery time? Two years. Two. Years. Try lugging a bag of heavy tapes cross country with the use of one arm. Or try to chattarunga when you have no feeling in your left arm and you collapse on the way down. My best friend is an amazing yogi and my favorite teacher, and she listened and lovingly argued with me as I struggled with not being…enough.
What. The. Freak.
I was mortified when I was asked to be a Lululemon ambassador; crap, I couldn’t do anything; how could I represent! I hid when I went to the NYC Yoga Journal Conference and took Seane Corn’s class. I love this woman and was embarrassed by my clumsiness. I would fall off my bike…ALOT… because I couldn’t hold onto the handle bars tightly and it would throw off my balance. I refused to give in to any of it. I would lie on my mat every Tuesday night in my friend Sharon’s class. I would do some sun salutations and then, exhausted, lay down and silently cry. Rivers of tears. God love my friend who was so encouraging and let me just soak it all in from corpse pose, appropriate because I felt like death most of the time. I did this for months. And over time, I slowly gave in. I put my beloved bike away, rolled out my mat, and leaned into the stiffness, stillness, numbness, the quiet, and the not knowing.
And that’s where the magic began. The tiredness started to ease, and while my arm remained numb and wouldn’t move, my lower body could. When I realized I didn’t have to be perfect, I could be good. Enough. And it was enough. So I modified. And modified. And modified. My legs got strong and by focusing on the things I could do as opposed to the things I couldn’t, I became more flexible. Also, within the movement, I prayed. Really hard. I dove into my reliable Catholic standards of Hail Mary’s, Our Father’s and Acts of Contritions. And I threw in my favorite Hindu chant for good measure: Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha. Ganesha, my hOMe boy, is the remover of obstacles and the bringer of new beginnings. I used it all. It became a body prayer. I started to peel away the layers and removed those things that no longer served me. And I became me again. I realized it was okay to be vulnerable and to rely on others. And I didn’t always have to live up to the ESPN producer/yoga studio owner/yoga teacher persona. I became strong again, in different ways. I didn’t have to be perfect. I could be good. And it was enough.
Almost two years later, I have regained 85% of the movement in my arm, but it’s still numb. It’s also a reminder of how far I’ve come.
When there is no struggle, there is no strength. Amen.