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I suffer from an old back injury and I visit an osteopath on a pretty regular schedule. It is part of my routine. I don’t think about it much. My back gets tight, I make an appointment, get it re-aligned, and off I go. I like routine. There is a certainty in it. I know what is coming. I know what is expected. I have lived most of my life by routine, mostly guided by what other people tell me I should do or who I should be. But I’ve broken my routine. I’m on my own for the first time, making my own choices. One step at a time, I’m figuring out who ellie is, and what I want from life.

You may wonder why finding a new osteopath is worthy of a blog, but lessons are often found in the unexpected places. Isabelle, my new osteopath is set up in a cute little bungalow. It’s a place I immediately feel safe. This is big because I haven’t experienced this feeling before. I allow myself to open up and be vulnerable. I can let my guard down, enjoy the luxury of not thinking or worrying when I am there. I like this place.

My first visit is not what I expect. Unlike the clinic that resembles a doctor’s office I was familiar with (describe the pain, treat, leave), this place is blanketed in a warm glow of soft lighting, hues of rust and gold coloured walls, tapestries, and throw pillows, giving the room texture and warmth. The exam bed is padded with a heated blanket. Our conversation is little more than a quiet hum.

Tell me why you are here…

So, I describe the injury. But that’s not the end of the explanation. Why does my mouth keep on saying all these words?  Well, you see, I was adopted. Then I was married. Then I was divorced. Then I was married. Then I was divorced. My adoptive parents got sick. My relationship with my brother was strained. My mother died. I’m tired of being strong.

As she works on my back, she continues to ask about my life. The who. The when. The why. I am crying. Quiet tears sliding out of the corners of my eyes. It is the first time I have cried since my mother died. I am surprised and I tell her so. She stills and just holds me and waits.

The moment passes, and in her quiet voice she explains how important it is to not just treat the body, but also to treat the mind and spirit. Being a person used to the clinical side of doctors’ visits, I am skeptical of the touchy-feely approach. In my mind I want to run. But I am tired of running and I am ready to try something new. Not knowing how to respond in this new situation, I blurt, “I can’t find comfortable shoes. I have tried everything, but nothing helps.”

She responds with a question I am not ready for, a question that makes no sense to me. How do you walk?  I am stumped. I am silent for a while. I was expecting a lecture on losing weight, the need for new orthotics or special padding, that I am buying cheap shoes. Pretty much anything besides this simple question, how do you walk?  I falter on this. I’m trying to find an answer. Does she want to know if I limp, rock, or stumble? I picture myself walking to work. I walk fast. Well no, not fast. Well yes, I walk fast, but not faster than others. I walk fast for me.

“You are pushing yourself,” she says. I am feeling proud. Proud that I find ways to exercise even when going to work. Proud that I am first in the office, always pushing for more. She says I need to slow down. My shoes are fine, I’m just too hard on my feet. It’s weird. I am lying on this bed, while this stranger is leaning over my body, working. I almost feel like I am a child in my mother’s arms. I’ve opened up, my vulnerable side is exposed, and she is guiding me to look at things in a different way.

Have you ever seen an image, like a cartoon character, running so fast that you see several outlines of the person trailing behind?  That is how I feel. That is how I have been living my life:  with a rush to do more, to please. This simple exercise of slowing down my pace becomes something more than just feet with no pain. As I am focusing on this new pace, I realize I have been living my life on the run. I could get there faster if I only tried. I should have worked more on that project. If I was only a little faster, a little stronger. I could have pleased my boss, friend, aunt, child, brother, ex-husband, colleague.

I spend my time either living in the future of what needs to be accomplished to have the perfect life, or running from the ghosts of the past. I’m never living in the moment.

So, I slow down. I look around me. I experience the feel of where I am. I enjoy the breeze while waiting for the traffic light to change. I watch the sun peeking around a building. I’m experiencing the moments. At work I am not feeling anxious, I’m feeling confident. When I am home, I am content to be.

Perhaps this all seems a little bit contrived, or simplistic; a cute story. But this is a part of my journey. This is a moment of healing that is the culmination of trying to figure things out. This is a response to years of living with people who have continually told me I am not what they want and I will never succeed.

Days turn into weeks. I can feel this peace settling in around me. It is like I have allowed those outlines of myself to slide back into my body. It’s like all of me has been re-aligned, not just a quick fix on the back. Treating the physical at the same time as the spirit is a strange new concept for me.

I don’t think you can actually see that I have slowed down, but I can feel it. I can breathe. That is when I realize, I’m not pushing to please someone else. I’m not being guided by those other voices. There is a peace that I have never experienced before.

It is me allowing me to be enough.

Love,