As I prepared to get back to work after my summer holidays, I looked forward to teaching in-person once again. As the pieces fell into place around schedule and location, and the first week of classes drew near, I realized how nervous I was. I have been doing this work for over fifteen years, so standing in front of a group of people and teaching them how to move isn’t new or unfamiliar to me. As I sat and got curious about my feelings of uneasiness, I realized that while I was nervous about teaching in-person, I wasn’t nervous about the Zoom classes that were also starting that week, those same Zoom classes that had evoked feelings of nervousness in me when I started teaching online last year.
One of the (many) challenges of being human is that our nervous systems can be easily overwhelmed and prompt us to run away from uncomfortable situations. Breath gets rapid, our sense of sight and hearing intensifies, our heart feels like it’s going to jump out of our chest… does this sound familiar to you? If we are in real physical, emotional, or psychological danger, we absolutely need to get ourselves away from that situation, and our nervous system’s stress response helps us to physically do that. We run into trouble though, because that stress response frequently happens when we’re not in danger. It happens as we are having a difficult conversation, or when we notice the “check engine” light go on in our vehicle, or when we’re anticipating a new and unfamiliar situation, such as teaching in person for the first time in 18 months and doing so in a new environment. When we react to the signals of the nervous system in those moments, we tend to rely on patterns that have been embedded over the course of a lifetime. Some of us respond to stress by running away, some of us play dead, some of us push back with every ounce of strength we possess. The way we have responded to stress in the past is how we will most likely respond to future stress.
One of the lovely things about living mindfully is we get to notice when our nervous system is on high alert, step back (if it’s safe to do so) and be curious about what’s going on instead of falling back on whatever pattern is our go-to. Instead of running from the difficult conversation, pushing back mindlessly, or shutting down, we can pause and create a little breathing room from which to make our best choices.
In those moments before that first class, my heart was beating faster, there were (very active!) butterflies in my stomach, the little guy on my right shoulder was telling me what a crap teacher I am, and I was beginning to believe him. In that moment I was also able to pause, acknowledge my fears and anxieties, establish that I was safe, and remind myself that the skills I have been honing for over fifteen years did not evaporate. Was I still nervous the first time I walked into that new classroom? You bet. But I was also able to enjoy the experience.
I invite you to start to become aware of the ways that you experience stress, the ways that you respond to stress. Can you do so with curiosity, without making yourself wrong for the patterns that have evolved? One day you’ll surprise yourself. You’ll feel your stress response coming on, notice it, and say “hey, I know what’s going on here…” and offer yourself a pause from which to make a conscious choice. I’d love to hear about that moment.
Book of the month: Wintering by Katherine May
I’m enjoying the conversations that have begun from the books I mentioned in the last couple of newsletters, so I think I’ll make “Book of the Month” a regular feature here. If you’re reading a book that offers you a look at life from a new perspective, has you laughing out loud, or offers you the chance to live in someone else’s life for the time you’re reading it, I’d love to hear about it!
For much of my life I have hated winter. I have joked that I want to be able to hibernate – I’d eat rich and fattening foods through December, go to sleep for the next three months, then wake up in March or April to embrace the spring with my svelte figure! Last fall I saw the title “Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times” and thought this was the book for me. Katherine May writes beautifully about winter as both a season of the year and a metaphorical season, inviting us to consider the cyclical nature of life, and our winters as opportunities to move differently through the everyday experiences of our lives. A conversation with a friend (who also has traditionally had a hard time with winter) revealed that we’re both looking forward to winter this year because of the book, and it will be turning up on the top of my book pile each fall.You can hear Katherine May talk about Wintering in the “On Being” podcast here.
