Body Grief and Getting Outside
Bundle up, get outside, then eat some Frito Pie!
But first, professional news
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On Body Grief and Getting Outside
Two Christmas’ ago my mother gave me a copy of The Open-Air Life by Linda Åkeson McGurk that explores the Nordic concept of friluftsliv, (pronounced FREE-loofts-leeve,) which translates into “the open air life” or “free air life.” Friluftsliv can be any outdoor activity that is unmotorized, unplugged, and noncompetitive, and allows you to access the part of yourself that knows we humans are every bit a part of nature as a Douglas-fir tree. While exact definitions of friluftsliv vary, it is agreed that it is a powerful and simple way to care for your mind, body, and spirit. I was thinking about this book and friluftsliv—both the appeal and difficulties of getting outside everyday—while I ate my morning toast about two weeks ago. I wasn’t at the kitchen table, but rather standing by the fireplace trying to get warmth into my creaky knees. My middle-aged menopausal body has changed a lot in two years and I desperately miss being in the body I was in when my mother gave me this book; but this winter, with the help of a cortisone injection, some comfortable and warm outerwear, and a puppy who needs frequent walks, I am crawling, dirt in my nailbeds, out of body grief’s depths.
The Christmas my mother gave me The Open-Air Life marked three months after my then husband and I separated. I was travelling alone every other week to my home in Western, Massachusetts and spending as much time as possible outside. I found tremendous comfort observing the ever changing landscape while also feeling the temperature dip and eventually the snow on my skin. I was processing the end of my marriage, and then come early December, my fresh and passionate relationship with Sarah, my college sweetheart from twenty-five years prior. I was also one year into recovery from binge eating disorder, and was feeling tremendous grief for the body I had and also the body I will never have. All of this thinking and feeling often made my guts out of whack and disturbed my sleep. To cope sometimes I would get outside of the house and walk. My home in Massachusetts is near numerous nature trails and quaint towns. I would also sit on my deck surrounded by maple and birch trees to write by sunlight and birdsong. Regardless of what I did, as long as I got outdoors, the raging conflict of emotions and worry inside of me would settle.
By that Christmas, I was still taking walks around a nearby pond and trying to get outside as much as possible. When snow fell or the sky was brighter and crisper than a starched and pressed shirt, I would swaddle myself in a scarf, coat, hat, and mittens and get outdoors. I think it’s lovely to be warm in my clothes when I am outside in chilly air. So when I unwrapped The Open-Air Life and began to read the back cover, I felt seen and understood by my mother and also a bunch of Nordic folks.
I kept up with going outdoors as much as possible, but as winter gave way to spring my right anterior tibialis, a muscle on the front of my lower leg, began to ache when I would go for longer walks. I kept strength training and doing pilates to find relief, but it was always only temporary and my walks grew shorter and shorter. Then in July my back seized up, which kept me from walking much more than from the living room to the kitchen. I live at the bottom of a hill on a road with no outlet. It was also brutally hot. My body was fatter than ever and aging which I did not want to be reminded of by aches, pains, and sweat. I went outside less and less. Slowly, finding a balance of rest and pilates I was able to get my back moving again but the lower leg pain increased.
To add insult to injury (or should I say injury to injury) in September I fell down a flight of subway stairs. I was distracted (having just signed my divorce papers in quadruplicate) and navigating my way back to my New York apartment with an aching lower leg in a downpour that would gain national attention for flooding. I lost my footing in an open air entrance to the 1 train in midtown and fell down the stairs like a rag doll. I sprained my ankle and twisted my knee. My ankle got better but my knee never stopped hurting. Then in November as I boarded a bus that same knee made the most terrible sound and I gained a visceral appreciation for the expression “seeing stars.” My world decreased in size as I could do less and less without physical and emotional pain. I allowed myself to succumb to miserable smallness for a couple of months until I couldn’t stand how lousy that felt. In January I finally saw a doctor and got some imaging done. I had a torn meniscus, possibly from the fall, and apparently I have some gnarly arthritis in my knee.
Relief came in an injection of cortisone paired with a deep desire to feel good in my body again, no matter the weight gain and limitations caused by injury and age. My body grief had taken its toll on not just me but my relationships. I was less fun and up for adventure. I frequently felt mopey and was also scared of getting hurt. And while nobody else complained, I was sick of myself. Where had the woman who embraced friluftsliv gone?!
The injection allowed me to get back into the gym and to walk more and more. I was finally able to expand my world and get my life back. But it looks different now. Walking down hills and doing squats are hard, especially in the cold. I am beginning to figure out my new normal and ways to engage with friluftsliv. It involves strength training, pilates, bodywork, CBD, ibuprofen, and a lot of patience.
It is December again, and we have had two snowfalls that have not fully melted here in Western MA. Sarah and I have celebrated our second anniversary and my ex-husband is about to celebrate his first with his girlfriend. Last Christmas my mom gave me a copy of The Magpie Murders which I loved and I hope she gives me another excellent book this year. My knees, especially my right one, creak and ache in the cold. “Yeah, that’s the arthritis,” my pilates instructor, confirms. I miss being able to hike up and down hills with ease and not worrying about slipping on the ice but I am getting outside every day again, multiple times a day, because on November 9, I rescued Buddy, a ninth month old Golden Lab mix. I knew he would be good for me in this way among the other million. All the injuries and worrying I tend to do, made my life too small to contain my spirit. I can always come up with a reason not to go outside: too hot for my bigger body or too cold, wet, and hilly for my knees. Buddy loves me very much and he doesn’t care about my excuses. He needs to go outside and do his business and sniff all the things to understand the world better and he needs me to go with him and I need to engage in friluftsliv.
READ The Open-Air Life and learn all about the benefits and ways to engage in friluftsliv no matter your age or size.
WATCH The Later Daters on Netflix. a gentle and heartwarming reality show following six Atlanta area singles aged 56-70 year olds looking for love with the help of dating coach Logan Ury. If nothing else watch for the sweet relationships between the daters and their families!
WATCH Shrinking a comedy/drama featuring a wildly awesome cast (Jason Segal, Harrison Ford, Jessica Williams, Michael Urie, Wendy Malick - to name a few). It is a story about how hard it is to human, as well as the concept of chosen family and the significance of community.
COOK Frito Pie. I can’t vouch for this chili recipe but you get the idea here. Dear friends of mine introduced this to me probably ten years ago or more and perhaps because it is cold and rainy out and I am feeling a bit mopey I find myself craving both comfort and fun.
Thank you for writing this. It helps me feel less alone. My body and abilities changed irrevocably two years ago when I fell and broke one ankle and sprained the other on my fortieth birthday. Two surgeries and over two years later, I've realized that I'm never going to regain my previous level of functioning, and I live with pain every day. I pictured myself being much more active in middle age and beyond. I have always loved dancing, but now I'm clumsy and limp. It's especially hard when I see same-age peers posting photos of themselves rock climbing or backpacking or running marathons--like, this is what your forties could have looked like. I also live in constant fear of falling and reinjuring myself, especially after I fell again on a hike a year ago and dislocated my pinky, which is now permanently disfigured. Being afraid of falling makes me feel so old, like I'm in my 80s. I still get out and walk the dogs most days, but I also have body grief every single day, and perimenopause adds a whole other layer to this.
I think it would be so hard to do much of anything with that much pain and difficulty, I would have retreated as well. So much of body grief is about the different abilities your body might now have. Glad you're started to emerge again.