For as long as I can remember, I’ve moved my body in ways that make me feel strong, balanced, and free. Whether it was my joy of cycling as a teenager or learning Indian classical dancing as a child or playing Badminton later, I was always moving intentionally. Without realizing it, I carried the love for movement into adulthood, but I also took my body for granted. So much so that an injury forced me to take a complete break and seek physical therapy. I couldn’t lift weights; I couldn’t run; I couldn’t even sit in one spot for too long without feeling unbearable pain in my lower body. I eventually recovered albeit slowly, but it was a frustrating and, at times, hopeless process. In this week’s blog, I share how I dealt with this blow of being unable to move in ways I enjoyed. I also talk about how I gradually returned to these physical activities with a new perspective and approach. I am discussing this bit of my history, because there are others out there who are no longer able to do what they love. They feel held back, which feels like a massive and unfair identity loss; however, it is in those very same circumstances that they have the opportunity to reinvent themselves without losing sight of their passions.
Almost 8 years ago, I injured myself while exercising. I used to do outdoor group workouts that involved strength, conditioning, and cardio. As someone who lived alone and worked from home, I cherished my time outdoors and the connections I made with others in the class.
One day, as I was doing hip bridges, I felt an excruciating pain on my lower left side. It radiated from my glute to the back of my left leg. I almost limped back home that day. For the next few days, regardless of how much I stretched and rested, there was no change. I finally went to the doctor, and they gave me a steroid injection in my left glute. It didn’t help, but I rested and took a break from working out. I eventually felt better, so I went back to training again. It was too soon, and my body made it clear. That’s when my roller coaster journey of MRIs, X-Rays, physical therapy, and visits to orthopedic doctors began.
The first orthopedic doctor I saw couldn’t figure out the cause of the pain. I was impatient and told him what I had googled, and he seemed to accept that as a possible diagnosis. I walked out of his office, even more flustered and overwhelmed. When I went to another orthopedic doctor for a second opinion, I lost all hope. He told me that I could never go back to strength training and exercises like lunges were out of the question. He went as far as to say that I had to cut back on my hour-long walks, which was the last straw. My options were surgery or physical therapy, but neither guaranteed full recovery. I wasn’t ready to undergo surgery, so I tried physical therapy. It helped some, but the progress was slow.
After physical therapy, I was still not strong enough to go back to the intense group workouts, so I decided that it was the perfect time to do something I always wanted to do: learn to swim. I started swimming lessons and fell in love with swimming. I learnt quickly, and one of the assistant coaches even offered me a chance to join an amateur local league of which she was a part. Sadly, my commitment didn’t last long. I began experiencing tingling in my right shoulder. The tingling spread all the way to my hand. Then, one day, I came back from practice, and my entire right arm felt heavy and like it was on fire. I knew right away that swimming would no longer happen.
At least this time, I was given a clear diagnosis: I had a pinched nerve in my neck, which was affecting my right shoulder down to my fingers. My sedentary desk job exacerbated the pain and hindered recovery. My right upper limb constantly bothered me, whether I worked, texted, cooked, or took Coco on a walk. I started back on physical therapy.
After a while, it worked, but I can’t tell you how doomed I felt during this time. First it was my leg and now my hand. I felt like my body was broken, and nothing was working as it should be. It was unfair that something I loved so much, which was moving my body, was not possible. I feared never getting better. These thoughts, along with everything else I was going through, took a toll on my mental health. I was in pain everywhere – inside of me and outside, but I didn’t know then that it was a necessary part of my transformation.
Unless I wanted to live in such misery for the unforeseeable future, I didn’t have much of a choice but to heal my body and heart. For the healing to happen, I had to reinvent and process. For that, I had to slow down. The powers that be knew I wouldn’t slow down otherwise, so they put me in a position where I had no choice but to take it slow. During that time, I learnt to be patient with my body. I learnt to listen to it. I developed other healthy coping mechanisms besides working out. I understood what it meant to trust the process, because I had no idea if I would ever really be pain free, which I mostly am today.
I occasionally have flare-ups, but, unlike before, I know better. Those flare-ups are a sign to recover and release. I have returned to strength training, but the intensity and duration are nowhere close to where they used to be, which is completely fine with me. The movement this time around is about honoring my body instead of abusing it.
If I hadn’t been forced to stop practicing the forms of exercise I did, I would have never experimented with other types of movements. I would never have given yoga a chance, which has worked wonders in making my mind and body nimble. I would never have put forth the effort and time to work on other parts of myself that desperately needed love and attention.
When we are unable to do something that has given us immense joy, it feels that we have lost a part of ourselves. It’s disorienting, but only if we let it be. Instead of considering this phase a loss, what if we took it as a sign to pivot and rebrand who we are? No matter what you’ve loved and lost (not who), zoom out and ask yourself which other areas of your life need you and how will working on those parts make you feel whole again.
As always, I am here to support you all the way. I hope you keep in touch with your stories, thoughts, and feedback. If you wish to learn more, please stop by www.imperfectbodies.com. Lastly, if you enjoyed this information, then please share it with others.
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All the best,
Chaitni