Finding comfort in unexpected places
A technique for experiencing relief from pain, overwhelm and fear
Well, hi. It’s been a minute! Thank you for bearing with me as I negotiated a painful neck injury and all the trips to the hospital, chiropractor, radiographer, physiotherapist and herbalist it entailed. I am now in a place of hope and light again, having learned a few rather excellent (and perhaps overdue) lessons about accepting a situation when all your body wants to do is resist it, and finding comfort in unexpected places.
I’d like to share one of those ways of finding comfort with you.
It happened upon me in the least likely location: in my acupuncturist’s treatment room, sitting bolt upright, with needles sticking out of all my sore spots. (I’ve had a fear of needles since I was four. It says much about my levels of desperation that I willingly subjected myself to them). (Though I note that my acupuncturist learned some new swear words courtesy of my cowardice).
Every time I was left alone with the needles in and heat lamp on, I was flooded with memories of my grandmother. Not just the ones I knew I remembered. The ones I’d entirely forgotten.
I remembered the floral pattern on a blue dress she wore, the feel of prising open the treasured tin of cowrie shells and running them through my small hands, the smell of porridge burning on the electric stove, and the sight of her wedding ring on her arthritic hand.
I remembered the feel of the wallpaper I used to stroke as I fell asleep to her gravelly lullabies. I remembered daisy chains and fur coats, jojoba shampoo and tomato soup, and the themes of MASH and Hogan’s Heroes (the two times a day that my war-damaged grandpa found comfort).
I remembered warming myself in front of the bar heater, wet hair against my nightie and shag carpet tickling my toes. I remembered her whistling while watering hydrangeas (she had a peculiar way of whistling in, not out. My mother does it too, as does my daughter). I remembered being so small I would run to her thighs for a cuddle.
These memories brought supreme comfort in a time of great pain.
Later, in my bed and in pain, I took each memory and mentally wove it into what I called a comfort patch - a piece of material that contained some of the moments that had brought me relief in the past, and something I could imagine placing over the parts of me that were causing pain in the present.
It worked. The pain reduced, and the comfort increased.
A few days later, I was feeling overwhelmed by All The Things That Had To Be Done. I had to catch up on not just work tasks but wedding tasks too (as I’m writing this, it’s two weeks and two days until we get married. Ay, caramba). I visualised the comfort patch expanding into one of my Granny’s voluminous fur coats. Again, the coat was woven with all the memories that invoked joy and love, comfort and sweetness. I imagined myself wearing it. And I found relief.
Here’s a suggestion.
Next time you would like some respite from pain, overwhelm, fear or darkness, spend some time reflecting on the moments from your past, large and small, that have brought you comfort. Weave them into a patch, or a coat, and put it on. See if it brings relief.
