“], “filter”: { “nextExceptions”: “img, blockquote, div”, “nextContainsExceptions”: “img, blockquote, a.btn, a.o-button”} }”>

Heading out the door? Read this text on the brand new Outside+ app available now on iOS devices for members!
>”,”name”:”in-content-cta”,”type”:”link”}}”>Download the app.

Shortly after the birth of my son, I used to be sitting on my bed when a nurse entered the room to ascertain on me. As she removed a bandage from my arm, I said “Ouch!” and turned to my husband and said, “That hurt!” We each began laughing. I had just delivered my second child after an 8-hour unmedicated labor yet I used to be surprised by the sting of a bandage being ripped off my skin.

That moment illuminated to me how our relationship with pain defines our experience of it. During childbirth, I used to be prepared for the pain, making a conscious effort to breathe with it and allowing it to open my body in order that my child could enter the world. It was absolutely probably the most intense sensation I’ve ever experienced. Although the pain of the bandage being removed was far less intense, it was unexpected. It was also being done to me moderately than something I used to be embodying. Each forms of pain were real. But my experience of them was entirely different.

Our Complicated Relationship With Pain

In recent times, an ideology has emerged in contemporary American society wherein pain is taken into account bad. In keeping with this manner of pondering, even the slightest hint of discomfort—whether or not it’s physical, emotional, or relational—is to be avoided. Friction of any kind is deemed intolerable, so we retreat to our corners and discover a supposed refuge within the familiar.

We do that not only with physical pain, but with any sensation or emotion we discover uncomfortable. After we flee in this manner, thought and behavior patterns grow to be ingrained and our perspective becomes calcified. No space stays for us to learn what could occur if we were to acknowledge pain—our own in addition to that of others—and permit it to act as a guiding force toward truth, strength, and connection.

How is that this relevant to those of us who practice yoga? As we practice, we learn to construct a respectful relationship with pain. A dedicated yoga practice is supposed to point out us our weaknesses. Physically, it’s going to tell us which muscles need strengthening, where tightness is limiting physical freedom, and if a joint is unstable. How does it tell us this? Discomfort and, at times, pain.

Pain can present in lots of forms:  A fleeting soreness that dissipates after a day or two; a dull, consistent ache; or a fast, sharp sensation. Each sort of pain requires a distinct response, and this is an element of the cultivation of wisdom.

What We Can Learn From Pain

There isn’t a dearth of comforts in modern life for those of us who’re privileged enough to have them. Yet there’ll at all times be hurt. On the mat, now we have the chance to practice taking good care of ourselves after we hurt. We even have the chance to easily witness our discomfort, our pain, and our suffering.

A lot of us have been programmed to either run away from or power through a majority of these sensations. As a teacher, I see this phenomenon play out within the practice room often. A latest student begins practicing and feels stronger, happier, calmer. A number of months in, some aches and pains begin. The scholar assumes yoga has injured them they usually stop practicing. Or the coed experiences these aches and pain, ignores them, and continues practicing day after day in the identical way until something quite literally breaks.

A more nuanced and more productive path forward could be the trail of investigation, exploration, and healing. When a student involves me with pain, I first listen. Then I ask questions. What does it feel like? Where exactly do you’re feeling it? Which postures aggravate it? Does anything make it feel higher? Does it feel like damaging pain or the pain of expansion? What about this pain do you fear?

Then we work together to give you a plan to change postures and transitions in order that we will prevent harm. We add elements that may goal the basis reason behind the pain, working toward full, free functionality. In this manner, the coed learns tips on how to establish that respectful relationship with discomfort and pain.

First, we listen intently. We allow the pain to talk to us. Relatively than running away out of fear, we sit with it and inquire. We discern where it could have come from and what is likely to be causing it. If the pain is sharp and we’re unable to breathe, that’s an indication we’d like to rest and seek the suitable help. If the pain is manageable, then we discover a strategy to practice yoga that lets our body know that we’re going to handle it, that it could possibly trust us to not cause harm. The nervous system then has the chance to chill out as we strengthen and heal through various modalities.

Those modalities could include a deeper connection to the breath, props to supply more support, lifestyle modifications to deal with more systemic issues, outside referrals to a physical therapist or bodyworker, in addition to allopathic medical expertise. It’s as much as each teacher to be clear about what she will be able to offer and feel comfortable recommending that a student in pain see a health care provider or other skilled. It’s also the coed’s responsibility to be honest concerning the level of pain she is experiencing. Healing is an inside job but we’d like the appropriate tools to make it occur.

Commitment to our yoga practice means we shall be undertaking this process time and time again. In so doing, we embrace our vulnerability and excavate the fear that’s often hiding underneath our pain. We then have the chance to regenerate and emerge stronger than before. Indeed, this process is the trail.

If we will engage on this rehabilitative process in our yoga practice, perhaps we will engage in it after we experience various sorts of pain throughout our lives. Perhaps most significantly, we will engage on this process with our family, friends, neighbors, and others with whom we disagree. The pain in our bodies is imploring us to listen, as is the pain in our hearts. If we will tune in, pain becomes the vehicle for transformation. That is the trail of resilience.

RELATED: How Respiratory and Meditation Can Relieve Stress and Chronic Pain

About Our Contributor

Pranidhi Varshney is the founding father of Yoga Shala West, a community-supported Ashtanga Yoga studio in West Los Angeles. She can also be mother to 2 children who she describes as “courageous and clever little beings.” The thread that runs through all her work is the will to construct community and live from the guts.