"You don't need a lollipop."

Reflections on pain: part 1

Photo by Katherine McAdoo on Unsplash

Firstly, a warm welcome to those of you who’ve signed up recently, whether through coming to one of my yoga classes at Triyoga, or finding me via Substack itself. I write this letter once or twice a month. I always love hearing back from people, and learning more about you and your world  view, so do stay in touch!

My four-year-old son raced down our street, eager to get to the park. Halfway to the corner, he tripped, his shins and palms slamming onto the pavement. He started sobbing, and I sat down there with him, arms wrapped round him, and let him cry. Luckily he wasn’t badly hurt; just shocked and slightly bruised.

A man walked past, with his dog. ‘That must have hurt,’ he said, kindly. ‘But don’t worry. I’m sure mummy will buy you a lollipop to make you feel better.’

Needless to say, his comment led to a stream of demands for a lollipop. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You don’t need a lollipop. The pain will pass, and in a few minutes you’ll feel different.’

I then muttered, to deaf ears, something about the value of being able to sit with a certain amount of discomfort, rather than always rushing towards a distraction.  

Ten minutes later, my son was happily chasing pigeons in the park, his fall forgotten.

Children innately know how to be in the moment, and how to fully feel the highs and the lows as they unfold. They embody these words from one of Rilke’s poems: Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.

This is a skill most of us have lost somewhere along the way. When discomfort lands, our instinct is often to escape into the arms of something more palatable, be it comforting food, booze, scrolling, shopping, or even work.

Perhaps this response was partly instilled in us as children, when the adults around us often rushed in to soothe our distress with offerings of salves, such as that lollipop. No doubt from kindness, because they couldn’t bear to see us upset. But perhaps this helped us become fearful of discomfort?

Of course, sometimes escaping our pain is just the tonic we need. When a slab of chocolate cake, a glass of wine, or a funny movie are a healing balm, especially if we’re in the thick of one of life’s challenging periods. Because sometimes we need a break from being with our difficult emotions.

Equally, there can be value in turning towards what feels uncomfortable, even though it might sound counterintuitive. As psychotherapist Graham Music wrote so eloquently, in his expert contribution to one of my articles for Psychologies magazine:

We have to be able to process our feelings rather than escape them, by putting a defence in place – say workaholism. It’s important to learn to move towards difficult experiences rather than push them away, despite the short-term gain of bypassing their discomfort. The long-term effect of defending against them can lead to living a diminished life. When emotions are faced and borne, we generally feel more alive, and life becomes richer for this. We also feel relief, such as when a fought-against sadness eventually gives way to deep tears.

I first experienced the idea of being with discomfort rather than running a million miles from it in a Yin yoga class, during my first yoga retreat. In Yin yoga, you hold passive, floor-based stretches for several minutes, in order to open up the body’s connective tissue. Often targeting tight areas such as hips and legs, it’s intense.

‘Breathe right into the sensations,’ instructed my teacher. ‘Stay present to them, rather than trying to distract yourself by thinking about something else.’ Which, of course, was exactly what I was doing; mostly about how if I’d known the retreat would include this, I probably wouldn’t have signed up. And when the hell was he going to bring us out of this pose we’d already been stuck in for eternity?

Yet, as the retreat went on and we practiced Yin every afternoon, to my surprise I discovered how in the moments I did manage to lean into the intensity of the sensations, they weren’t that bad. When I was able to drop my mind’s running commentary about them, they became, paradoxically, more, not less, bearable. And when I stayed present to them, I also discovered they weren’t as immutable as I’d assumed. Rather, they’d subtly change, moment by moment, breath by breath.  

The potency of this practice stayed with me. Over the years, I’ve explored using its premise when encountering life’s various heartaches, be it the pain of being dumped, of losing someone close, or of discovering that – yet again – I wasn’t pregnant. I’ve learnt how often an emotion takes up residence in a particular part of my body, such as my chest. When I can dare to breathe into it and stay present, holding it with tenderness, it seems to melt away more easily than when I barricade myself from it.

And as with Yin yoga, where during those first classes a minute in a pose felt like forever, with practice, we can also expand our window of tolerance for discomfort. A useful skill, given life can be stormy as well as sunny.

I hope you’re having a good summer. I’m writing this from a London whose own mood seems somewhat undecided – sunny right now, although stormy earlier on!  And for those of you who come to my yoga classes, a reminder that early morning yoga at Triyoga (details below) is back on from next Thursday (August 31^st). I hope to see you soon.

Love,

Annabel x

THINGS I LOVE RIGHT NOW

TO READ

I’m Sorry You Feel That Way by Rebecca Wait is a brilliant and compelling novel about complex family dynamics and mental health. Its serious themes are set off by razor-sharp and often hilarious prose.

While writing this letter, I re-read this beautiful article by my meditation teacher, Sally Kempton (who passed away last month), on how to work with difficult emotions. Well worth a read if you’re interested in exploring this topic more.

TO EAT

If you’re in London’s Covent Garden, pop over to Neal’s Yard, where The Barbary restaurant has recently opened its little sister place, The Barbary Next Door. It’s more a takeaway, with just a few outdoor tables, serving filled homemade pitta breads and the most divine babka glazed buns. Plus excellent coffee.

TO COOK

I made this gluten-free Ottolenghi Plum, Apple & Cornflake Crumble last weekend, and it was delicious, not to mention perfect for this time of year, with plums and blackberries in season. It’s described as a breakfast crumble, but we ate it after a Sunday roast. Though the leftovers did make a great breakfast the next morning!