Following the Rheumatologist’s diagnosis of Fibromyalgia I went to my GP (General Practitioner) to fill a prescription. ‘Oh’ she asserted ‘that’s due to lack of oxygen in your muscles’ . Although she did not give more detail, this simplified definition (and one professional’s viewpoint) has stuck with me throughout the years. This could explain why, when I felt so unwell, I wanted to be rescued by an ambulance team and hooked up to an oxygen tank. This lends clarity to why I was so envious of Michael Jackson’s reputed sleep tank-oh just Heaven in that mini universe. Perhaps this answers why I slurped up the oxygenated water my sister offered me and I fell dehydrated into an oasis.
And so, when my massage therapist (Regi) asked me to trial Transformational Breathing I reached for the chance of trying a new self healing technique. Regi observed that my breath was shallow even though I thought I was breathing thoroughly and deeply. He explained that this is often refered to as survivours breath. Wow, how true a metaphor to events that have taken place in my life. Through the sessions I learned how to breath into my ‘core’; my lower abdomen. I now have a much greater understanding of the impact of my own breath, and I was un-aware that my breathing patterns were ‘survivors’ breath. I was breathing shallow into my ‘fear belt’ as well as pausing therefore not breathing for unnerving lengths of time. These breathing patterns run parallel to personal experiences of traumatic circumstances and subsequent former lifestyle. Although the sessions (I only had time to particicpate in a few sesisons ) did not serve as a ‘cure’ for the pain and fatigue I endure, they certainly have served as a tool to enable me to breath through difficult pains or times of distress. I have begun to understand that the breath is not simply a tool for pumping oxygen into my lungs, but has the power to heal and open up a connection to a more spiritual and an invitation to travel on a transcendental journey.
An angel appeared through the twisted phone line.
Her wings ruffled and broken.
Silver feathers fell into my palms.
I watch her awake.
I remind myself that she is not my daughter
yet I cannot help but wish that this is the soul I let go so very long ago.
I weep for loss. I weep for hope.
I weep for the children as they cry & sing & dance & dream.
Fragments of self fell from my body
my shell shattered like a glass bauble on to the stone lintel.
Which part am I? Was any of it real?
I stand naked before the fire.
Emerging from self – timid, shy, embarrassed, fragile.
I am now free to flicker and shine. Yet, I remain afraid to fly.
Or is it that I don’t know how.
Many of those pieces I now wear with pride
I adorn myself with mirrored segments that reflect my past
I shine. I am real. I am whole.
Thank you for reading, FreeMeFibro
∼FreeMeFibro∼Living with #ME #MyalgicEncephalomyelitis #Fibromyalgia #Lupus #Spoonies #CFS #ChronicFatigueSyndrome #Raynauds Syndrome #chronicpain #autoimmune diseases
So well said. I think it will help anyone who reads about the breathing techniques. And your poem is beautiful, so
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, feels a bit raw sending the poem out on the web, but i have to take a chance…