moving through

A few weeks ago in class, we had our weekly seminar to help prepare us to go out on fieldwork in January. That week's was with a counselor from campus to talk about managing stress. When I saw this on the syllabus, I almost rolled my eyes. Over the years I have come to know what my body needs under stress - if I need to be around people or to be alone, what type of music to listen to, what food to eat, etc. I prepped to listen to yet another discussion about mindfulness and deep breathing. Instead, I was enraptured the whole time, and even took notes on my laptop. One part in particular stuck out to me. The counselor talked about how, just like emotions, stress has a beginning, a middle and an end. And sometimes, stress gets stuck inside us. Then she had us imagine that (in "cave man days") we are running from a lion that is trying to eat us. We run and run and run, and finally make it to our friend's house. Our friend comes out, kills the lion, and then we fall into their arms, feeling safe and relieved and supported. That night, there is a celebration in the town where everyone feasts on the lion and celebrates together as a community. 

A little while later in the presentation, she had us picture the lion story again, but that this time, we are running from the lion and suddenly, it is struck by lightning and killed. You are safe, the stressor is gone, but you don't feel completely relieved.

Around this same time, I was moving through stress of my own. I had completed a breast MRI last month, and had been recommended to do a biopsy that was happening later that week to follow up on a small mass that was found. I thought about this particular stress also having a beginning, middle and end and wondered if this stress could still possibly be in the "beginning" stage even though it felt like it had been keeping a hold on me for what felt like months. I was eager for this stress to move through my body in a painless way. 

On the day of the biopsy, I felt the stress shift in my body as my skin was pricked and tissue was extracted from me. 

I felt an ache in my chest as I curled up on the couch that night with a cup of tea and a favorite fall film. I welcomed the achy-ness because it was a reminder to me that this is a heavy and painful thing, and I must be gentle with it. 

As the days passed and the biopsy site healed, I felt the stress expanding, pushing at my ribs, sitting like a cold metallic weight in my chest. 

Within a few days, my phone buzzed and I practically ran out of class to answer it. As I looked out the window at Lake Superior, the nurse told me it was benign. I hung up, exhaled, and walked back into class. My stressor was gone, but I still felt an impossible weight wedged tight inside me. 

I realized I lacked the community I often yearn for in times like this. I know I always have a precious community of family and friends to fall back on, and I was able to celebrate with them through phone calls, voice messages, and texts rich in heart emojis. But in that moment I had no one's arms to fall into, no one to feast and to celebrate with in person. My stress was stuck and I ached to find ways to coax it through. My body felt tense all over and I felt like I couldn't rest. 

I would like to say that I eventually exhaled the biggest sigh of relief and that the stressful weight just vanished, but the reality is things moved through in pieces. I had teary conversations with friends over the phone. I smiled at the sound of warm voice messages friends sent amidst their busy days. My fingers tapped over texts that glowed with heart emojis. I yearned for connection. I decided to post my news on Facebook, relating it all to the Emily Dickinson quote "hope is the thing with feathers." My old English teacher from high school messaged me to say my words almost made him cry and suggested we get together over the holidays to catch up. Then at the end of the week, my family visited me in Duluth and together we ate, hiked, and celebrated under falling leaves and twinkle lights. 

Last week I noticed my biopsy site was almost completely healed except for a small red mark. I welcomed this new scar to celebrate having moved through another stressful season with resilience. The fall season is also marked by change and renewal, and I take comfort that the turns in seasons will also always keep me moving forward. 

song recommendation: "Hold On" by Adele