Contributing writer for Wake Up World
During my early twenties, I did lots of yoga. About five hours a day to be exact, not including teaching it, for years. I also meditated regularly, practiced tai chi, and spent good long hours in nature.
These mind-body pursuits and experiences significantly changed my life. I peeled off many of layers of armoring, and some just fell away. But after years of this intense routine, at about the age of 23, I realized how much emotional pain I still had, how angry I still felt, and how unfulfilled I was.
So I became passionate about the issue of pain, emotional pain specifically. I wanted to know what to do with it, how to heal it. The couple times I had been in psychotherapy up to this point hadn’t been helpful enough.
At the age of 25, after a traumatic accident to my knee (which I healed by natural means, despite being told by two top orthopedic surgeons that I absolutely needed surgery), I entered psychotherapy again. This time, however, I had a set of tools that I didn’t have in therapy previously: a deep sensitivity to my body and the ability to sit with difficult thoughts and feelings. My yoga and meditation practices undoubtedly helped me this way, and for this, were invaluable in their contribution to what was to become a more profound transformation.
While the mind-body practices and the truth-revealing entheogens undoubtedly helped me “hold” and be more patient with my difficult feelings and thoughts, they couldn’t lead me where I now needed to go. Nor did they offer any clue about the depths I was about to plunge into.
Soon, I intuitively knew that I had to give up yoga, at least for a time. So I did, and it came naturally. The reason for this was that constantly stretching and opening my physical body masked my emotional pain. Yes, it helped expose and expel some of it as well, but at a certain point, the yoga was preventing me from more fully embracing my pain. This embrace, I later discovered, is what allows emotional pain to dissolve.
My “spiritual practices” had become a crutch, if not an addiction, distracting me from the sensitivity and contact I needed with my “story,” with the emotion seemingly locked in my tissues that I was trying to stretch open. Stretching my body open all the time took the pain away too quickly, that blessed pain I needed to release the deeper emotional pain stored inside me. Yoga and mindful meditation had served as stepping stones down into this deeper frontier, and it was time to let them go.
My return to the therapy room marked what was to be a three-year descent into my pain body. I would sit quietly on the couch in my therapist’s office, connect with my body, and begin to speak the story of my love wounding as if it came from my flesh and bones. My wounds also became apparent to me from the triggers in my daily life and added insight to this intense transformational journey.
At first, my inquiry seemed to be but disconnected and unrelated parts, as if I were laying cards out on the table just to acknowledge them. But after a few months, the patterns began to show. I began to get a sense of my core narrative, my core love wounds. This narrative was a story, but not the kind of story that sabotages and keeps me stuck. It was the buried story I began to read as if written on the wall of my soul.
What transpired for those three years was grief-work. I cried more during this time than I had in my entire life previously, like ten-fold. During this time, I “died” to everything I had known about myself. It was horrendously painful, but even in the worse moments, there was always a subtle “yes” about it all, that despite the hurt and the struggle and the misery I was (re)experiencing, the answer was always “Yes . . . keep going, this is good.” And I did keep going . . . until one day I walked into the therapy room, sat down as I had every other week for years, closed my eyes, scanned my body, and then, to my surprise, opened my eyes again, and said, “I think I’m done.” My therapist agreed.
This three-year stint of once-a-week therapy, and sometimes two or three times a week, was foundational healing. I explored the emotions underneath my triggers. I sunk into and was delivered beneath my anger and resentments, to the very love I didn’t get as a child from both mom and dad. I cried, wrote, and raged out this pain until I was done. This was my new yoga, and my new guru was my heart’s pain. Those years were to become the cornerstone of my life, the beginning of true happiness, fulfillment, and love.
Something else also happened when I released this backlog of pain: my creativity blossomed and never stopped. As but one example, I have penned some 4,000 poems since that dam of pain broke open, some twenty-three years ago.
Question Your Guru
All my life I have questioned and challenged my teachers. In my twenties, I would regularly attend conferences and workshops of all kinds of spiritual teachers. I also read as many self-help books as I could get my hands on. I was looking for what would help me deal with my emotional pain. So, I would ask these gurus: “What do you do with emotional pain?”
I never once received an answer that satisfied me. Invariably, none of these “spiritual” teachers spoke about what to do with pain, at least not in a way that sounded true enough to me. This prompted me to keep seeking.
So, when I found myself in the therapy room again through a set of synchronistic events, I was again asking what do about my pain. Except I didn’t directly ask my therapist; I asked myself. My therapist simply helped me hold space for the inquiry and safety to contact the frightening feelings I felt buried inside.
My body-mind, now at rest and not always stretching out its pain, told and revealed all I needed. In fact, it showed me directly by providing the images, sensations, feelings, memories, and release of raw backlogged emotion that I needed to answer my own question, the same question that I had posed to gurus and spiritual teachers for so many years. I’m thankful I now know a lot more about what to do with emotional pain, and I discuss this radical form of self-healing in an audio series called The Nourish Practice.