As New Zealand emerges from the most severe lock-down levels to greater freedom (but still not back to life as usual) I’ve been reflecting on what I’ve learned – no, not a new language, new baking skills, or sudden competence in using R (see here for a great tutorial), but things about myself. Odd though it may seem, I’m leaving lock-down with a sense of wistfulness. You see, the time from the end of March to end of April has been a lovely time for me.
I’m lucky, I have a good job, my work hasn’t changed much (well, a bit), my family are safe, I live close to the beach and a park, and the weather has been kind. It’s autumn in Christchurch, and it’s been mainly fine. The bird life has been flourishing. The foot traffic past my house has been families – Mum, Dad, kids on bikes and in pushchairs. Apart from the occasional drop-kick lighting fireworks or playing the Zombie Apocalypse Siren, and hammering from 7.00am to 11.30pm, our neighbourhood has been peaceful. And yet I know so many people in New Zealand and around the globe who are really struggling. Strange times indeed. So what have I learned?
- Solitude is not the same as loneliness. Solitude is being alone and being OK with it. Loneliness is being alone when you don’t want to be. Being with my own thoughts, listening to the murmuring of sounds around me, letting my mind wander then gently bringing it back to focus is a pleasure, almost an indulgence. Having headspace to let what passes through my mind just pass by, without music or talking or anything interrupting my musing is a pleasure. Better still: being with someone who also appreciates being together in silence. I’ve learned to love solitude.
- Some kids will remember this time with gratitude. I’ve watched whole families walking together, making huts from driftwood, spotting the teddies in the windows, making low-tech memories of time being together. I have a fairy door (and a fairy) at my gate, and watching the little kids search for the fairy (who flies from tree to tree each day!) is such a joy. I’ve seen Mums and Dads out cycling with their kids then heading home to do the DIY together. What a treasure! I’ve learned (again) that families need time being families.
- Some things stay the same – especially if you live with pain. Even though my days have been peaceful, my pain has not. With changes to my routine, the weather, sleep, and world events playing on my mind, my life with fibromyalgia still needs managing. I’ve had aches in places I don’t usually have aches, and the things I do to live alongside my pain still need doing. For me these things are: making sure I carry on with mindfulness (I savour those moments when I can be with my thoughts but not part of them), go for my walk for headspace and body movement, keep my sleep/wake routine reasonably consistent, and eat normally (hah! there’s chocolate and alcohol and crisps. I may have slipped up a little there…). I’ve learned that pain management is really life management.
- Comparing myself with others is a waste of time. Yes, there are people out there learning new things, self-improving all over the place, doing their on-line socialising (and CPD), being creative and producing a lot. Good for them! I admire their achievements, and I’ve even contributed to a few of those online Zoom talks. Meanwhile, I thought I’d have been truly productive in the studio making loads of silver jewelry (those of you who don’t know – that’s my ‘hobby’ that seems to have taken over my photography, painting, sewing and everything else!). I’ve created a few pieces – but when I caught myself feeling pressured to come up with a “COVID19 Collection” I realised that this pressure wasn’t me. It was my mind being competitive and wanting to prove something to others. The need to belong can lead me to also want to be acknowledged as Something Special. Better than. As good as. Because, of course, underneath that is “I’m not good enough as I am”. So I decided to let that rope go. I don’t have to compete. There isn’t a prize for She Who Produces The Most because in the end, life is a process not a goal. I’ve learned (again) that comparisons are one way my mind beats up on me, and my mind doesn’t know everything.
- Resilient people are adaptable people. Resilience is a word many people in Christchurch, NZ, are well and truly over. Since 2010, and the 10,000 earthquakes since, plus the Port Hills fire, and the terror attack on Al Noor Mosque, people in Christchurch have been challenged more than many in our wee country. Resilience doesn’t mean we’re unchanged. Resilience means we change with circumstances and we develop new ways of being, ways of expressing who we are and what matters to us. I sometimes think people believe resilience means “Oh you’ve bounced back and life goes on as it was” but for me the events since 2010 have had a profound effect on my life. I can’t walk through my city without seeing earthquake-wrought changes. I see bumper stickers saying “they are us” and “kia kaha“. I walk past the memorial wall Oi Manawa when I head in to work. The new streetscapes, city buildings, ongoing roadworks and repairs – all part of the way my city has changed. That underground subversive element in Christchurch has touched so much of our lives. Resilient people have found ways to express who they are despite the enormous impact of events over the past 10 years. I’ve learned that holding on to what I value while finding new ways to express these has given me freedom and growth – but I’ve had to let go of the form, the habitual, the routines that used to frame them. It’s painful. It’s tiring. It’s real and raw and hard work.
How does all this fit into a blog about pain? If pain doesn’t challenge clinicians and people experiencing it, I’ve wasted the last 30-odd years of my clinical career, not to mention my hours of social media involvement!
Change, as a clinician, can be tough – letting go of the form of what we offer (because … science) while holding on to why we ever started working as clinicians requires flexibility.
And solitude – to reflect on what it is we really want. We do it for families, those closest to our hearts (our own families, and others), so people can be who they really are.
Comparing ourselves with others leads to a popularity contest, and the self-management approach to pain is most definitely not a popular meme. I am not part of the Instagram/Twitter/TikTok/whatever meme culture. I don’t do short, snappy sound bites. There are, as far as I can see, no short-cuts or quick fixes for learning to live well with pain. There are only connections between people who care, who are willing to be vulnerable, who will let go of some things in order to take on new things in the pursuit of what matters.
This is what I’ve learned from Lock-down.