There's a great conversation about body image over at FMH. In a comment I wrote that I think I am not very well connected to my body. I live in my brain a lot. I don't think that's particularly good.
I don't usually notice, for example, whether eating too much fat, sugar and salt really makes me feel bad. When people say they feel bloated and uncomfortable, I don't really know what that means. I think I do have a pretty stalwart digestive system -- otherwise I wouldn't be able to ignore my poor choices. I'm sure that's a blessing I am taking for granted, though I do try to make healthful choices most of the time.
Failing to exercise doesn't generally bother me. Sometimes it does guilt-wise, but as far as just how my body feels, I really don't notice much difference. Frankly it is a miracle I am not much, much chubbier than I already am.
I am supremely uncoordinated. Can't dance to save my life. You really do not want me on your team for anything where you are supposed to connect with a ball, puck, net, goal, whatever. I am pretty klutzy in general. Yet I have never had a broken bone -- I think I just have a solid frame. Another blessing I take far too much for granted.
I am a poor swimmer mainly because my breathing is uncoordinated. I tend to choke easily. I have a very mild asthma which is no fun, but manageable. When I got that diagnosis I was told I actually have undersized bronchial tubes. Interesting, huh? I wonder if those mini-pipes contribute to my soprano voice.
Anyway, related to my klutziness and general absent-mindedness, yesterday I thought I would make some granola while I was working at home. I am trying to use up the last of a huge bag of organic rolled oats I bought a couple of years ago, and I happened to have some almonds and pepitas I wanted to mix in with them for a crunchy treat to go on top of my yogurt. Granola takes a long time to bake and I thought it would be a good way to multitask.
The short version of the story is, I grabbed a hot pan for no reason at all. I burned my thumb and first two fingers on my left hand. I heard the skin sizzle and immediately chided myself for being so stupid.
The thing is, it wasn't exactly stupidity. It was disconnectedness. My brain was someplace away from what I was physically doing. Not to get all new-agey on you or anything, but if I had really been present in that moment, it wouldn't have happened.
I spent the entire afternoon icing my fingers, in between changing diarrhea diapers on a teething baby, picking up kids from daycare, making dinner, nursing a skinned elbow on A, and picking up after little slobs. There was so much I couldn't do. I didn't clean up the kitchen -- couldn't bear the thought of warm water at all. I took a lot of ibuprofen and aspirin, alternating; I was hurting quite a bit. It certainly made me appreciate my normal state of having two healthy and functional hands.
(G, by the way, is up in Yosemite until tonight. So no helper for me. The kids try, but let's be real. Love them madly though I may, help from them is a hindrance. Won't G be thrilled to come home and see the kitchen!?)
Most miraculous, though, when I woke up this morning, the pain was gone. I mean gone, gone. It doesn't hurt at all anymore. Overnight my body did a tremendous amount of healing. Yesterday I hurt. Today I don't. Yesterday I was temporarily disabled. Today I can do everything. Well, except for swimming and playing soccer and all the things I normally can't really do anyway because I am klutzy and whatever. That is an amazing thing.
I wonder what would help me be more connected to my body. Maybe yoga. Maybe more than six hours of sleep. What do you think?