Ahhh.....ouch....ahhh....OUCH....AHHH.....

Ahhh.....ouch....ahhh....OUCH....AHHH.....

The sound of a good massage.

My thoughts ricochet like a pinball wizzard  between "this is heaven, please never stop" and "WTH?!?!".

Blissful images flood my mind as the therapist's expert hands glide, without resistance, from tight muscle to tense muscle.  He deftly takes the knotted remnants of my day accumulated over my life and deposits them into some cosmic communal vessel where all unused stress goes to be recycled into something wonderful.

But then, "OW!"  He hits a spot, just to the left of my right shoulder blade, where all of my responsibility and worry and angst take refuge, hoping to hide behind my "should"er. That place in my body where obligation and regret reside.

Yes, nestled between what I think I should do and what I really can do, my frustration and fear are allowed to fester and furrow deep within my fibers. There they hibernate and marinate only to arise at 3 in the morning causing me to lie awake or fight myself in restless dreams

Ahhhhh..... but when my magic man presses his thumb, or his elbow, or all 180 pounds of himself deep into that recess, damn, that hurts.  And it feels so good.

Why is it that when I get a massage, I like the pain?  I'm not a masochist (although I might like to star in my own version of "50 Shades of..." but that's a different blog post).   But I do.  Like the pain I mean.  I know it hurts, yet I lean into it, I breath through it, and in some strange way, I relish it.  It hurts, but it hurts with purpose.   Sometime, somewhere somehow my mind learned that at the end of the pain is release. It is pain with purpose.  In fact, the pain in a good strong massage is one of taking control of the latent pain, squeezing in "Take that!" and with sheer force of will, chasing the pain of "You didn't do that!" away.  The pain is good, directed, healing.  Afterall, without the trigger point pain, the knot just stays there and rots, turning septic and oozing its poison not only in my shoulder but my neck, my head, my back, my entire body.  So during a massage, I don't simply tolerate the pain, I yearn for it, beckon it and embrace it because i know that without it, I will never find sweet release.

Is all pain the same?  Is it not bad at all, but simply the final holding on of the negative right before the huge release?  Is it a precursor of growth?

If it is, then why do I constantly fight it?  Set my life mission toward "AVOID PAIN AT ALL COST"?  I'm not thinking I should look for pain, but rather, perhaps when I feel it, like in a good massage, I should lean into it, breathe through it, welcome it, and wait in giddy anticipation for it to be over (which it will) since I KNOW on the other side is sweet, sweet release.

The Buddha is credited with saying "Pain is inevitable.  Suffering is optional."  In massage, my pain does not yield suffering.  Quite the opposite.  Can I move this learning to other sufferings in my life?

Ahhh...ouch...ahhh...ouch....

In between the shooting flashes of pain release, my kids pop to mind.  Ever since they were little, I did everything in my power to shield them from pain.  I sheltered them and if that didn't work, I fixed whatever it was that went wrong.   I wrote notes, and demanded conferences, and fudged a thing or two.  As teens, I escalated and began solving problems they didn't even say they had.  All they had to do was text a question "Do we have roadside assistance?" and I would have the mounted police on their way with a jump, new tire and a hot thermos of cocoa.  "Mom, do you ask your students to do narrative essays?" BAM!  I was googling the components, downloading examples and before you could say "I only need a rough draft" was providing prompts to overcome my daughter's writer's block before it could manifest.  As a parent, I worried, and stewed, and frantisized all sorts of calamities so that I could outrun, out takle, and out perform them in my supermom quest to save my children from pain.  

"I got this mom."  "I love you but stop..." "If I need help, I know who to call."

As children they would insist "I can do it!"  As teenagers, what I called rebellion, they called doing it on their own.  They've been trying to teach me that my job as a mom is not to suffer on the way to avoiding their pain.  In fact, without pain, they can't grow.  Without pain, they can't feel the sweet release of growth.  They need the pain.

I think I finally get it.

I love them so much.  I would do anything for them.  I would give them anything.

And what I need to give them now is their own pain.  Their own mistakes.  Their own choices.  Their own lives.

They are smart, and resourceful and resilient.  They will make some bad choices but more good ones. And like my massage, any pain they experience will allow them sweet, sweet release.  

Pain is inevitable.

And I am here for them.  Leaning in.  Breathing.  Loving.

Suffering is optional.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.................