Worried Sick?

Worry, like anger, joy/sadness, grief, and fear is a natural emotion. For thousands of years, we have recognized the energy of worry as that energy which triggers thinking. The feelings of worry–uneasiness and concern– move us to think how to satisfy the worry.

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In its natural form, worry is healthy. And like all healthy emotions worry moves.  Worry moves us to think. Thinking moves us to a solution. Then worry releases leaving as naturally as it arrived in us. This movement from worry to thinking to solution is something we do every day.

Suppose that we live by a river. In the spring, we notice that the rains swell the river.  Sometimes the river becomes so full, it overflows its banks. Our house is right there and we notice that when the river overflows, the water approaches our house. We notice that it comes close, just to the border of our garden.

Now, worry arises in us. We worry that the water could flood the house! So what happens? Our worry leads us to think how to protect our house. “What can we do to protect the house from being flooded by the river’s waters?” We ask ourselves. “Ah, we can bring sand bags to protect the house; or we can put the house on stilts; or we can work with others in the community to build a higher levee to protect our homes.”

Our thinking gives us options;  we have three here already. It also helps us to see which one fits best. Ah, sandbags seem best. We discover that the city stocks them every year for residents just like us. We make note of where the city stockpiles are and how to get there on several different routes. We note that the sandbags are within five minutes of our house. Deep breath. We have a solution and a plan to implement it. No more worry.

But suppose instead of leading us to this kind of constructive thinking, our worry leads us into a negative kind of thinking–a circular and repetitive thinking that feeds upon itself. If instead of problem-solving thinking, we careen off into this negative kind of rumination, we might think like this.

“There’s nothing I can do to stop the river from flooding. This is futile. What do I do if the water starts rising. What if I can’t get away from the water. What if the water ruins all my belongings. I have no place to go. I am alone. What do I do if the river floods? I can’t stop it. I’m alone. What do I do? I’ll lose everything.”

And, so on and on in a circle that traps the worry and gives rise to a sense of hopelessness and isolation. We become depressed; everything seems dark and flat and negative. No matter which way we turn we end up in the same place, in the same circular pattern.

From time to time, we all may find ourselves slipping into negative rumination. Then we catch it!  But, if we don’t it becomes oppressive. We feel trapped. Worry is now a concern because it leads not to problem solving but to negative, circular thinking that makes us sick.

The expression, “I’m worried sick,” comes from our collective human experience of worry gone awry. We become anxious, depressed, isolated. We stop caring about our lives; we refuse to see our friends. Stuck worry makes us sick and we suffer.

So what can we do? We can bring awareness to our worry and then turn to our body, sensing and accepting what comes. We can acknowledge it, keep it company and listen compassionately without judging.

“How does one do this?” We may be asking. Mindfulness meditation, BodyTalk, and Focusing  are three practices that help us to do this. In all three  we focus our attention, receive what comes compassionately, and acknowledge non-judgmentally.

On Anger

Emotions are natural expressions of our whole organism. In the ancient Chinese healing arts, Five Element theory in particular, five natural emotions are defined: Anger, joy/sadness, worry, grief, and fear. In this tradition, as in others, each emotion has a natural expression that all of us recognize.

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Anger moves us to action. When we see a wrong or something out of the natural order of things, anger rises up and moves us to action. Perhaps we see a small child standing alone in a busy parking lot. We sense anger in us and, at the same time, the urge to lead the child to safety. Once the child is away from danger, the anger dissipates; we turn our attention to the child, smiling we ask his name and if he knows where his mom is.

Healthy anger moves;  it rises up and falls away. But what happens when it doesn’t move? What happens when we hold on to that anger? It seethes. Over and over our self-talk reproaches the child’s mother for leaving her child unattended in the busy parking lot.

This is sticky anger. And there’s more. Today’s anger has stuck onto some past experience. Perhaps as a child we felt unsafe. Perhaps we were left alone in an unsafe place. The small child became angry and that anger moved it to find safety. “Make me safe!” If no one came to help her; she may have coped by building a wall or fortress around her; by pretending that everything was OK; I am OK she would tell herself.  The fortress, the “I’m OK,” and the anger stuck.

Today’s anger gets all caught up in that. This “sticky” anger is not helpful; it gives us no space to understand the context of this current situation. Everything gets filtered through us in the guise of that little girl and the fortress, and the “I’m OK,” and the anger whether we are aware of it or not.

The mother is here in front of us right now. The anger is burning in us; we feel a pressure or something that’s hard to describe.  Then we realize (or maybe not) that she is crying. Picking up the child, she admonishes him for running away as she hugs him tightly to her breast. She thanks us profusely. There is a moment of recognition (or not)  in us that we’ve read it wrong. This is a good mother; she takes care of her child; she loves her child. She is thankful for our help.

Perhaps, at this moment, we feel puzzled and grateful or perhaps we just grumble. Outwardly, we express our thanks that child and mother are safe and sound. We move on. Inside, the anger and the whole thing about it recede into our subconscious until triggered again.

This is what happens in life. Our experiences of the present get caught up, get filtered by stuck experiences and emotions of the past.

Natural anger moves; it dissipates; it leaves no trace. Stuck anger lodges in the body and can express itself in many ways: As resentment, or as a constant undercurrent of irritation or as exploding rage. Stuck anger makes us sick. It gives rise to suffering. So what do we do?  We can bring awareness and just notice that something in us is angry, irritated, frustrated, or raging. We can acknowledge it, keep it company and listen compassionately without judging. When we do this, we will experience a shift; the anger and its story will move; will release; and, we will feel the flow.

“How does one do this?” We may be asking. Through BodyTalk and Focusing, the body becomes aware of the anger and the whole context of that anger–the stories, feelings, images, judgments– the whole thing. We can then approach the anger compassionately, listen to what it wants to tell us; and experience the healing shift of life-forward energy. When we experience anger and it doesn’t feel right and appropriate in the moment or it lingers on and on and wants our attention, then BodyTalk or Focusing or both can be just right for us.

The Body — A Different View

In my professional healing and wellness work, I use body-based modalities. But what do we mean when we say body? Do we share a common definition? Experience tells us that we do not.

To some the body is just a thing, “an object in a world of objects.” (Cornell, 2005, p. 221) It is that physical structure, the bones, flesh, and organs. Others acknowledge that the body is alive; it has processes, but it is not all of us. They acknowledge that the body breathes, taking in air containing oxygen and exhaling air containing carbon dioxide; that cells divide and create new cells through meiosis and mitosis; that cells and organs make new substances from other substances through chemical reactions; and that sensory information from the environment is captured and transmitted to the brain where it is assembled into an experience or a situation. But, they maintain the mind, the Self, memory, emotions, knowledge and wisdom is somehow separate from the body.

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At the same time, most of us would acknowledge that we have experienced a bodily sensation that carries with it meaning. We say things like, “I had a gut feeling this would work out.” Or, ,”I had a gut feeling to stay away from that.” Or, ” My stomach is tied in knots; I’m so worried.” No one asks, “How did the gut know?” “How did the stomach know about worry?” By which mechanism does the gut and stomach have this knowledge?

When questioned the response might be, “It’s just a saying.” But is it? We’ve felt something.  The stomach tied in knots. The queasy feeling in the abdomen. The tightness in the chest. The clenching in the throat. We have felt it. Then we let it go.

Something in the consciousness of our culture keeps us from talking about something so natural. Perhaps because the process is not analytical or rational, we shy away. And yet, we acknowledge these feelings in our everyday communication, “Something in my gut told me to call you.”  And, we make good use of what they tells us.

This is our body talking; not in a physical but in a subtle way, delicately yet precisely. This body, this interconnected process, interacting with the environment, has wisdom that it shares with us all the time. We can learn to pay attention to it in a special way so that we can fully partake of what it has to share.

When we pay attention with focused yet open awareness, moment to moment, and non-judgmentally, we are in Presence. When we are present the whole of us, the whole the body, can sense what wants our attention now. We make contact; we say hello. We listen and acknowledge from that neutral but compassionate Presence. We feel a body sensation, sense an emotional quality or mood, see imagery, and connect to a story.  By doing so, by entering into this respectful relationship with our body, we can heal, grow, and receive that life-forward energy that allows us to achieve that which we desire.

Reference: The Radical Acceptance of Everything by Ann Weiser Cornell
Photo: Wikimedia Commons, Venus de Milo, The Louvre, Jastrow 2007