Author: Samantha Jayasuriya

Off the map

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

As we piled into the car early in the morning, we all had a sense of anticipation in our stomachs, or was that the fact that we had left without our breakfast?

The main road out of Honfleur, flanked by ancient planes, sycamores, and beech trees towering over the tarmac, was clear. The tree roots, deep and wide, provided a gateway as we trundled out of town heading towards the coast.

We were on an adventure, led at the steering wheel by a driver who had skills similar to Toad in The Wind in the Willows. Pootling and trundling were really not the verbs of choice for Colin. He preferred to veer, race, and swerve in no fixed order on our car journey that day. Racing towards the beach would have been a more judicious verb or maybe that should be a reckless verb.

We had been informed by the sensible French authorities, who did not want the masses from Paris descending on their coastal towns, that there would be roadblocks and gendarmes on duty to avoid small beaches being overrun with people. Personally, we thought it was because the beach dwellers who had their summer houses really did not want their view obscured by the out-of-towners or tourists. As we were looking up at the sky and not out to the horizon, I remember feeling quite indignant that these restrictions were planned.

The roads remained clear as we started to navigate on our paper map towards the coast where my mother-in-law’s cousin lived. Denise had invited us to come to her house and walk down to the small beach at the end of her road to have a perfect view.

This eclipse in 1999 was the first in the region for 9 years and the most viewed total eclipse ever. If you lived in the UK, it was the first total eclipse since 1925. So it was a big one – totality does not happen that frequently.

It was the first total eclipse in my lifetime and the first eclipse that I had been so thoroughly taken with. This one had truly captured my imagination. It felt like a portent of things to come. I can truly imagine what the people of the past might have thought when they saw the sun disappearing from view. It would have caused such consternation. Their sun god being eaten by the moon; what would become of them? For me, the eclipse was the sign of good things to come. This was the summer where in France we had been tasting various brands of Saumur wine to serve at our forthcoming wedding in October. This was the time of sunshine and good food, surrounded by loving people who I am grateful to have had in my life for over 27 years. This time was two months prior to the best wedding in my life.

The ‘A’ roads, or what is known in France as ‘N’ roads or Routes Nationales, were our driver’s preferred choice. He didn’t want to go on the autoroutes in fear of being stopped and turned back by the gendarmes. Our destination was Les Grandes Dalles, a distance which would take at least two hours, hence the early pre-6 a.m. start. I recall it took much longer than that as we crisscrossed the area to avoid being caught out. These were the days before we had Google Maps that we all rely on so much to get us from A to Z. Then, we literally had the A–Z to get us anywhere in the UK and had similar paper maps abroad.

I sometimes yearn for times before satnavs, Google Maps, and the like. A time when the journey was a little longer as we had to stop every now and again to read the map. As a female driver who often drove long distances on her own, I don’t know quite how I did it. No phone, a paper map, yet I did always get to where I wanted and never seemed to get lost.

That innate body knowledge of being able to navigate with the simplest of tools is an ability that is lost to so many. Many who only see themselves as a blue dot on the map. Those who only can see where they are going but have no idea of where they have come from. Being able to know where you come from is very important to me.The stories from my past make me who I am today.

But I digress, back to the trip. We had to get to the coast no later than 10 a.m., as by then we anticipated crowds. Crowds waiting to claim a tiny patch on the beach, set up their chairs, and look up towards the sky.

We got to Denise’s place well before 10 a.m., had time for coffee and croissants, and a saunter down to the beach. There was no beach when we arrived; the tide was in, so we claimed a spot on the beach wall, waiting for the hordes. No hordes came, just a few villagers and their visitors, all chatting convivially before we stopped and paused.

The sky darkened first, taking on a lilac hue reminiscent of an early dawn or sunset. The air settled and everything seemed incredibly still. It almost felt as if the waves had ceased their constant movement, in awe at what was going on above our heads.

Using the special glasses in order not to hurt our eyes, we watched as the moon nibbled slowly at the sun, taking bit by bit until it was all gone.

Totality brought a visceral response in me, a mixture of strong emotions. Fear that my beloved sun would not return and the joy of being able to witness this view with people I loved dearly. I returned to the days of olden times when a deeper part of me remembered that same view, maybe on the 21st June CE 19, when the sun stopped for nearly 4 minutes.

I had a slight anxious feeling and the question of, “What if the sun doesn’t come back?” at the back of my mind, and breathed a sigh of relief and sadness as the light shifted and changed, the sunny yellow glow of midday beckoned, and the waves echoed in my head.

That day was the day of the eclipse, but it was also Colin my late father-in-law. Colin who loved adventure, loved to journey, and never ever made a plan.

Watching the eclipse with my family last night, I had many similar emotions. Happiness to be surrounded by families all with their pinhole cameras, colanders, and sieves waiting to see the change. That same sense of anticipation in the air as we noted the changes in our shadows as they lengthened. The dimming of the light and the birds flying off in flocks to roost in the trees. I sensed the same anxious feeling as the sun darkened, and then a relief as the light began to return.

We did not have the little eclipse glasses, but just at the end, another family gifted their pair as they headed off home. Another half an hour was spent in excitement as they revealed so much more than our pinhole cameras could see. Another half an hour as we shared the glasses with young and old around us, all so impressed with the celestial event above their heads.

Eclipse times remind me of so much. Every day is an adventure, a bit like my favourite Japanese saying: Ichi-go ichi-e – one time, one meeting.

And where is your adventure, where is your journey taking you? We, like the celestial bodies in the sky, have our own orbit. What joys can you spot on the way? What road might you take and dust off from the A–Z of your past?

Go well, go safely and, from time to time, don’t stick to the map

.

Day 31 – A pilgrimage of sorts

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

Solstice day, one month down, a lifetime to go

In my last post, I discussed adjusting my pace and used the word, ‘promenade’, to convey my feelings. Today, that pace feels faster as I hit the one-month mark. Maybe I am affected by the day, the solstice, when the light is at its longest and night time is at its shortest. From now on darkness increases incrementally as we enter the second half of the year.

That desire to use time wisely showed up as Carl and I headed off at 4am to watch the sunrise. The peace and tranquillity of that morning as we listened to the birds singing, watched the moths flitting and the light change over the trees was breath-taking. Each second, each minute, the changes in the colours were incredible. I could feel them fizzing in my upper stomach and a glow in my heart.

Use the light, make use of your time.

That phrase played out in my head after my consultant visit on Thursday when he told me that I was making good progress, more monitoring for new twinges and physio to commence. We shifted in that session into the second phase of recovery, no longer post-surgery.

I discovered that in the recovery room, the surgeon had shown me the small piece of disc that had been pressing on my nerve. I had no recollection of this conversation as time had been warping unusually that afternoon, the clock showing 3.30 pm to 4.15 pm to 5 pm one second after another.

Time can expand or contract in the most amazing of ways. It can hold us, drag us down or lift us.

I had noticed this when the anaesthetist spoke to me pre-surgery and put in the first cannula in my wrist he told me that the drug he was giving me was just a relaxant. At a finger click, I was then waking up in the recovery room after a four-hour surgery. Time and a good amount of anaesthetic can be pretty transformative.

The consultant at my appointment showed me an inside image of my muscle being held back with what looked like a spatula. I find these inside images fascinating. They remind me of an old film that I watched as a child. When a mini-submarine full of scientists was miniaturised and injected into the body of a patient to sort out some problem or another. I was entranced, wanting to enter that strange and magical world and do the same. I wonder if the surgeon too had watched that film and he in his way entered the bodies of his patients to relieve them from pain.

In a way, the work I do as a coach supports my clients to do the same. Stepping away from one particular issue or another trying on a new perspective and exploring new possibilities. It is the same as in my work as a writer. Creating new stories of a brave new world where life can be lighter, different, more interesting and enjoyable.

Now on day 31 a new story beckons for me and I know this as I revisit day zero. Just before the surgery. As I waited to be called, each minute taking hours to pass, I wrote a list of goals as I sat on the hospital bed.

They were –

1 When sitting down or lying down to have reduced or no pain

2 Walk to the park and back with no pain

3 Standing for more than ten minutes with no pain

4 Pins and needles and running ball bearings sensations up and down the leg gone

Today, this is where I am.

1 Much less pain sitting down and reduced pain in bed

2 I can walk to the park and back again without any sciatic pain. Now it is lower back ache due to a loss of muscle use in my back and legs

3 I can stand for more than ten minutes with no sciatic pain at all

4 All the pins and needles and leg nerve issues have gone, even the slight pins and needles in my foot post-surgery.

Creating new stories is exactly where I am right now. New stories which tell me I’m more than okay.

So where does this leave me now on my pilgrimage of sorts?

I have left the mountain which was a pretty hard climb, I’m down the other side and on a woodland path as this next stage of the journey commences. There will be light and sparkle through the trees and then darkness and gloom from time to time.

To help me navigate my way, I am going to use this photograph that I took in 2021.

I took it as my two boys played with my dog in a wood in Norfolk. They had found old rope swings and transported themselves back to early childhood days of just having fun without any fear of reproach from others. The dog joined in barking joyfully as they swung wildly and the trees framed them, guarding their joy.

Watching from a distance it was as if I had happened upon woodland elves. Not noticing us as they revelled in their play. Time stood still here in that wood as the second took minutes to pass. As with any photo, I am transported back to that pendulum of the swing, the sound of the bark, the click of the camera and the love in my heart for the day, the month, the years I already had with them and the ones to come.

This is the feeling that I want to hold onto now. A feeling of joy at the possibilities in the path ahead.

A pilgrimage of sorts day 25

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

Watch your back

Weekends come and go, and I find that time is passing quickly during this recovery period. In the coming week, I’ll be meeting with the consultant to get their view on my journey of sorts.

It’s been a slightly bumpy road this past week with the skin healing faster than my body can shed old skin. Those little memes of bears up against trees or elephants bathing in mud have popped into my mind from time to time. Along with the itch, has been a nagging sciatic ache in my right-hand side. Not what I had surgery for and not very welcome. As always I have tried as many methods of distraction as I can to avoid focussing on the pain.

Time passing is a key theme of the week. In prepping for a meet-up with a group of fellow third-age travellers, I was pulled back to a reflection I carry out yearly between Christmas Day and New Year. It comes out of the work of Caitlin Matthews and her use of the 12 Omen days, a way to use the tarot and nature to think ahead to the coming year.

How does this work?

Well each morning before anyone is up, I pull a tarot card and write down what I think it might mean for the coming month starting with January. I then focus on what meets my eye in terms of nature. I think of a few questions I might ask myself that month and add a mantra taken from the book Tarot for Self by Bonnie Greer.

So what came up for June? I pulled the ten of swords on the 31st of December and remember fully how frustrated I was when it came into my hands.

For those non-tarot card people out there who might be reading this, I use the Rider Waite Deck which is the most well-known. The ten of swords is the card that represents the air and completion. However, I didn’t think that when I picked it up as it also has a lot of swords on it and it looks like someone has been stabbed in the back.

This is what I wrote at that point –

Why am I picking all of these challenging cards? I truly believe the pain in my body is doing this pick, which makes me want to pick again each time.

June is usually a time of happiness, a lot of hard work as I find June gets squashed before the summer.

Back problems may be, new dawn -hope?

My concern as I pick these cards is do I have 6 months of pain ahead of me?

My mantra for this month – I let go of these things I cannot accomplish to free me to do things I can.

Question for the month – What is being sacrificed?

The element that I noticed today is wind.

There was a little more about the accumulation of stuff in my study which I have left out. I recall writing this, the frustration of picking the ten of swords for this beautiful month of June, the very messy writing, and almost not wanting to put pen to paper. Writing about loss in a time of plenty, flowers, colour, birds, trees, green. A month that I love even though it is usually very busy.

And yet, now that I am here, so much is true. The pain is here, not like January when I was at my worst, different, coming and going, but still making itself felt, almost like a challenge, you cannot get rid of me that easily Sam. Cutting out the pain doesn’t work.

Reframing my mantra – I let go of these things, I cannot accomplish.

I am letting go of getting rid of pain. It’s a task similar to Sisyphus I have written about in the past. It only makes me sad and very tired, so in letting go of pain, I am letting go of sadness. I do think it will continue to be a Sisyphean task in the coming months.

The second bit is to free me to do things I can. Well, that is writing, I have also since May, reinvigorated this substack page, writing 7 posts already on my Pilgrimage of Sorts.

It is also sitting and observing the beauty of June. What has happened so far this year has led me to have time to pause, time to ponder, time to percolate and also time to promenade to new places. I deliberately use the word promenade, it fits June so well. A gentle stroll through June with my eye taking in the wonders of the world around me. Promenade, as I have to be mindful of my pace. Not too fast, not too slow, just right.

So back to Ten of Swords I picked for June – let’s look for the good bits as I am sure there are some. James Rickler in his tarot blog ends with

Finally, all those swords in the man’s back may indicate being stabbed in the back, but a creative interpretation is to see this as “the acupuncture card,” which presents a therapeutic suggestion when taken literally. Taken metaphorically, this may suggest the strategic application of minimal force to correct the flow of vital energy in a system.

I particularly like the last line, correcting the flow of vital energy. That’s exactly what the surgery was for.

Littlerabbittarot talks of the sun seen in the Rider Waite card.

A popular interpretation of this card is that it is a sunrise. A dawn of a new day just beginning to peak over the horizon. A sign of hope in the storm, that not all is lost, and not all is over. That this ending begets a new start. Something to reach for and hold on to.. Letting go and surrendering to the end of a difficult period. Getting the chance to rest or sleep.

As we hurtle towards Midsummer, the sun is what I am taking with me. The sun shines so brightly every day without fail, the longest day is just around the corner. A day when I fully intend to look for hope, let go of sadness and pain and keep hold of acceptance and joy.

And the wind I mentioned? As I write this with the window open, the curtains are billowing in the wind that has been present this week. A southerly wind that links with the fire element of summer. A southerly wind that reminds of direction and change.

A pilgrimage of sorts day 16

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

Road runner, road runner, going faster miles an hour

Who remembers Wile E. Coyote?

That pesky predator of the superfast road runner?

Each trick he played to capture the road runner left him in a bit of a pickle, to put it mildly.

Relying on Acme products to get the job done, he managed to inflict more and more damage on himself as the episode progressed.  Road Runner, in contrast, just ran and ran and ran with a beep-beep for effect.

The Coyote turned up as my pick of the day from the medicine woman oracle that I used with my good friend and colleague Gabriela on the 16th day of my recovery journey.

I have noticed that I am a little bit like Wile E. Coyote when it comes to pain.  I think up bigger and bigger problems as pain surfaces.  Do I now have sciatica on my right?  I am sure those pins and needles are progressing up my foot, are just two examples. Then I apply the Acme products to help defeat the pain. Too much walking, or more sitting, varying painkillers and an occasional phone call to the consultant nurse.

The way I am responding to pain is similar to the way a persecutor responds to a problem, and it is keeping my body on high alert. What I know as a somatic coach is when you are on high alert you waste a lot of energy, energy that can be best used in the healing process. One of my favourite coach teachers (Donna Zajonic) shares how a persecutor mindset shows up in the body.

‘Your jaw might clench, fists tighten, and your body leans forward.’ Just like Wile E. Coyote as he sits on the mountaintop viewing the roads. ‘Shoulders rise and your breath quickens.  Facial expressions may be angry, determined, or serious.  … The body is bracing for control, perhaps even a confrontation.  Your attention sharpens but narrow, looking for what’s wrong or who is to blame or how to take charge.’

Can’t you just see that old coyote in this description?

What I know is that like the road runner, the pain will just come and run when it needs to run and that inflammation will run itself out in the end.  What I need to do is – relax my jaw, soften my gaze, widen my perspective and sit back.

Since my last update, I have had the 8 staples out, which was much less painful than I anticipated. I now know exactly what a pinboard feels like when numerous staples are removed. I was buoyed by the nurses oohing and ahhing over the healing of the wound and the neatness of the staple application which meant a very straight line – a bit like the road runner maps of the cartoons.

Eight is a great number to have in this scar as it has significance in Eastern cultures as a number with meaning. A symbol of luck in Buddhist thinking, associated with the lotus flower that has eight petals. The lotus is a flower that is borne in the mud and rises up to the sun. Coincidentally, I saw this flower last Sunday in my friend’s garden.

It has a connection with the infinity symbol and is often related to the ongoing energy and flow of life. The message of the number 8 is to stay confident and look for balance.

So there is an art at the moment to take some of the confidence of Wile E. Coyote who never gives up in his attempt to snare the road runner AND find a way of making a friend of pain.  Recognising, acknowledging, accompanying and letting it run its course.

In writing this piece, I have found myself smiling. I even spent 20 minutes watching an old episode of Looney Tunes, which took me back to being a small child watching these cartoons which usually appeared just before dinner time.

Part of the teachings of the Coyote archetype is ‘don’t take the situation too seriously, cultivate humour and the message will be revealed to you.’  To ‘reconnect with the ability to laugh at yourself, and bring things down to a lower key. Show a little weirdness to get through disorder and contrary winds.’

So laughter is the key to getting through the next few weeks. I’ll be relying on some of my friends to help me out here. Jokes ready, please.

Next stop for me – look for the levity, leave the ACME products to the past and look closely for the humour in every situation.

Every pilgrim needs a companion

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

Day 13

All good pilgrimages have companions, even those who travel alone.

On the way when walking you will meet other travellers. You are joined by birds on the wing, the flitting butterflies, moths, bees and other flying insects. Along the way you will meet trees and the flowers that adorn the path. And there is every living thing underfoot. To the quiet lizards sunning themselves on warm rocks to the moles, voles and earthworms below.

On this pilgrimage of sorts, I have had many good companions along the way.

Some have sent a message via social media to check in with me.  With questions of How are you? And How is your back? Longer conversations on the phone, supporting and cautioning impatience. Sending good wishes for a speedy recovery.

Some due to their geographical proximity, have visited, traversing the path, bearing gifts of flowers, plants, seedlings and one bringing a bonsai forest so that I can imagine myself under the redwoods once again in Santa Cruz.  Each spending time chatting, checking in regularly, and noticing the tiredness that can overwhelm me before making their way off, a bit richer from our meandering conversations about books, writing, creating and more.

The flowers in my garden chat in various tones as I venture forth each day.  Look at me, see me shine. And the trees on my walk remind me to stand straight, no bending, as I pick up the pace day by day.

And some of my companions have been consistently by my side from start to finish. Tiggy, my golden shadow, rests her head on my lap as I sit. My lovely boys whose cooking skills have improved tenfold in a fortnight. To my darling Carl, my constant companion.

Carl

You care so much

Your calm and cool head

Let me sit for a second longer

With pain and new twinges

Carl

You celebrate so much

Your cheery outlook

Take me into the future

On new paths, new places

Carl

You contribute so much

Your choice to support

Gives me space to

Contemplate, as I walk with you, always

Pilgrimage of sorts day 8

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

What goes up, must come down

When there is an up there is inevitably a down.

What I had not anticipated was how low the down would be and so quickly.

Starting last night, my back felt like it was having a proper shout. Every muscle ached from the upper to the lower back. Rooted in the shower, I let the water drum into my shoulder muscles which felt tight and restricted.

My dreams were anxious, a range of scenarios that included being in the wrong place at the wrong time, toilets overflowing, mopping up the resulting mess, my husband having a secret love affair, and more. Now if my father were alive, he would have made me put a bet on a horse after dreaming about poo. He always believed that these dreams meant money. I instead think that it is a symbol of transition, or simply movement, or one kind or another!

Those troubled dreams entered my nervous system and I woke up on day eight with a thumping headache and pain in my back which was an anxious pain, not a real pain.

The bed sucked me in and would not let me leave, my partner, exited early to go to the gym, and I was still there at 9.30 when he returned. No painkillers, no breakfast, which made the slump even worse.

For those of you who experience these highs and lows regularly, you may see parallels with your own experience.

Forcing myself out of bed and down, I could barely make a cup of tea, before calling the doctor to get more tablets.

And then I felt the pain in my shin. That same ache that I have had for many months. My anxiety had cracked the door open and allowed the pain to creep back in. A pain that delighted in the misery it found in my body. This was a comfy spot, a known spot, a place for it to settle in. The frustrated tears were just enough to push that pain out although I can sense their toes still in the doorway, wanting for a sneaky opportunity to come back in.

Distraction was my next ploy.

I listened to the next episode of my current favourite podcast – Strangers on a Bench, where two strangers have a conversation about what is happening right now in their life. The revelations that come in these short conversations remind me of the many wonderful and interesting stories that we all hold in our hearts. The joyful music and curiosity in both the interviewer’s and interviewee’s voices lessened the anxiety.

Yellow tee shirt on, face washed, teeth brushed and hair tamed. Let’s see how this day progresses.

Well, it ended better than it started. Like the rolling waves of pain that come and go, so do our negative emotions but for me, the swells are larger now, which means more time has to be spent on the downs.

I had two visitors today who lifted my spirits and sent me on the swell-up. Emmy, who shared her indomitable spirit, recovering from soft tissue damage that she received after taking up jogging. Emmy is 70 and the most inspirational people you can ever meet. We shared lunch enjoying the simple pleasures of soup, bread, and cheese plus a little ice cream. She walked with me around the block where we were both taken by the dedication of an army of ants as they traversed the trunk of a hornbeam, entering the leaf canopy and exiting, stopping from time to time to share a message or two from their journey.

Later, Liz arrived and we made a plan to start our very own book club of two starting with Is the River Alive by Robert McFarlane. We both had the pleasure of listening to him speak at the Royal Geographical Society at the launch of the book in early May. We decided then that we would hold off reading the book until my recuperation period. By next week, we will have read the introduction and will share our responses as all good book club readers do in a week.

Another walk ensued, this time the red poppies that had caught my eye earlier were admired once again. Tissue paper petals that will be gone very soon, but in the time that they are here are joyful to see. A symbol for me of resilience, as they grow in the verges and fields and poor soil. The dark painterly lines reminding of a river delta as it meets the ocean.

The height of the swell had subsided by the time I went to sleep, there were still niggles remaining, but as I slept I took resilience, perseverance, and curiosity to bed with me.

A pilgrimage of sorts

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

Day 7 – one whole week done

Well today is a special day, as I am one whole week done post surgery and despite feeling a bit tired I am very happy to be reaching this milestone.

Milestones are great markers aren’t they?

They tell us how far we have come and how far we have to go.

They tell us to take a rest and stop and reflect on what’s happened.

My one week milestone has a lot to offer me.

A week when I have more than managed the pain.

A week when my lovely family rallied around and supported me so much.

A week when my vases have been full to overflowing with flowers, flowers and more flowers.

A week when friends and family have visited and called to remind me that I mean something to them.

As I sit on this milestone, I am drawn to what is going on in my body right now.

I can feel a tiredness in my lower back which has come about due to a slightly longer walk than is necessary at this time.

What is that pain telling me? Do less and more often. Shorter walks, three times a day rather than one long walk.

I have a tightness around the wound. This is normal, a reminder that the skin is healing and everything underneath the epidermis too, which I cannot see but can still feel.

I have pins and needles in my toes.

This is normal too. After being flattened for months, nigh on years this nerve is going to take longer than a week to remember the shape it wants to be.

Patience and time – the two most powerful warriors in the recovery journey.

I need to keep them by my side.

The flowers I mentioned above have been so useful and helpful this past week too.

As it is peony season, many blooms have made it into my home.

Some opened straight away, some remained curled up, tightly holding their petals for one more week. Whether open or closed, each peony bloom has shared a key element with me.

Energy.

Their energy which erupts at this time of the year is essential to the healing process too.

I’m enjoying dipping into the book Light Rains Sometimes fall by Lev Parikian who describes a British year through Japan’s 72 seasons. By sheer coincidence this week was marked as Peonies bloom at last. This is what they write –

‘The unleashing of the peonies’ energy is the most dramatic change of this season. One minute they were tight as a furled umbrella, the next they were out in all their flumpfed-up glory, somehow pulling off the twin trick of majesty and camp outrageousness. They won’t be around for long, but they more than make their presence felt while they are.’

I am sharing a few photos of these energetic treasures, in bud, in bloom and in death. Each milestone is perfect.

Pilgrimage Day 5

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

I put the hairdryer down and let out a sigh, not just of relief but a proper exhale which was my nervous system doing a bit of a reset. Drying my hair is an effective self soothing behaviour for me and one which I learnt as a child and now continue as an adult.

For those of you who don’t know what a self soothing activity is, it is one which is used to regulate our emotional state. This one allows for sensory stimulation through the repetitive combing of my hair as well as the noise and the heat from the hairdryer.

The first time washing my hair post surgery was needed. That sigh released tension that I had been holding in my body, tension that had already come out in the form of tears.

For those of you who know me well, you will recognise that my hair is important to me. I have worn it various ways, short, very short, curly, long, bobbed, with a fringe and without. From my early days of queuing in the bathroom to get a cutthroat razor hairstyle, styled by my Dad, I have enjoyed getting my hair cut. My hair is thick, really thick which my Dad enjoyed showing me when he used the thinning scissors for a long time, without denting the thickness of my hair. Hairdressing was one of the many jobs my Dad turned his hand to when I was a young person. I didn’t visit a hairdresser until my teenage years and the resulting relationships with Ken, Janine, Sophie and now Ceira have been closer than some of my family members!

So part of my recovery is making sure I can keep my hair clean and tidy. If that sounds vain, I promise it isn’t, it’s not vanity, it’s bringing me back to a sense of self. When my fringe sits right, all is right in the world.

My hair has its own personality. When I am down and frustrated the curls come weaving out daring others to look at me and turn to stone. Like medusa snakes they have come in use over the years. They can stop people in their tracks, they can start a conversation and they can silence.

One or two snakes seen in my fringe can be playful, give me a devil may care attitude, when the whole head is snake-like, then people need to tread carefully around me.

As a young child we had our hair washed once a week and now as an adult I try to do the same. I do not have any patience for more than that unless I am presenting or speaking to a large group of people and a blow dry helps get me in the zone.

With five children plus her own hair, hair washing day was a real chore for my mum, perhaps another reason why I limit the time on this task. Lining us up at the sink, each of us had our hair washed one by one, sometimes my older sisters helping out. I don’t remember much hair drying, it was drip dry then.

My mum however was different. When her hair was so long that she could sit on it, I have clear memories of standing on her chair behind her and combing her hair out, helping her dry it. When she got fed up with the time it took to dry, she cut it short and then Saturday afternoon became mum’s hairdressing day. Putting her hair in rollers, with setting lotion she would sit underneath the salon type hair dryer we had in the home for at least an hour. This was a time when she allowed herself time, reading her magazines and painting her nails. The noise of the dryer was calming, it was a time when we would be put in front of a Saturday afternoon film so that she could keep an eye that we were not up to mischief.

How does all of this relate to my recovery?

Time for self care of course.

Time to take time to just be with the simple things.

Time to indulge in a self soothing activity.

Time to focus on one thing and one thing only.

Oh the other sigh came from my partner Carl who was sighing with relief that he didn’t have to turn his hand and take on the role of hairdresser for the morning! As his sympathetic nervous system relaxed, mine joined his as well as we co-regulated with a smile.

Pilgrimage of sorts

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

2.30am and the pain was getting intense. I had woken up several times in the night but didn’t want to make a fuss. A shadow part of me that had surfaced time and time again in the past was in the room. ‘Don’t make a fuss, you will be alright, don’t bring attention to yourself, it will be fine.’

Luckily the more reasonable adult part of me took over from this cautionary voice and I finally pressed the buzzer to alert a nurse. She arrived within seconds, knocking gently and then entering the room. Asking me if I was okay, I told her about the intense pain from my right knee. When she looked, I could see it had blown up like a small balloon, the circulation cut off. The stockings had been put on (by me) to help alleviate the challenge of DVT, but had put unnecessary pressure on the back of my knee, as I thought they were over the knee socks – they were not. I felt so silly but also relieved when she quickly peeled it back and immediately got the circulation back into my leg, my knee deflating as quickly as it had been blown up.

That shadow voice – not bring attention is one I know well as it periodically raises its head in my working and personal life. Where it comes from is the challenge of being the 5th child in a family where time was scant in terms of attention. There was an unspoken rule that you just got on with things, ‘stiff upper lip and all that’.

The opposite of the keep quiet voice is the one that takes action. The part of me that takes charge and calls for attention, waving the red flag and alerting people to see the problems and face the issue. Not caring that I might delay, change course or use time in a different way.

As the pain subsided in my right knee at that quiet time at 2.30a.m. in the morning, I sensed that my mum was standing by my side. I could feel her with me, an intense presence giving comfort, no words, just presence. The time before dusk and dawn are often referred to as thin places, a liminal space where some people believe that there is a door between this world and the next. She had stepped through to comfort me.

This beautiful poem by Joyce Rupp gives a clue to what might happen in a thin place.

Lead me in your love

Thin places

Where the door between this world

And the next door is cracked open

For a moment

And the light is not all on the other side

Thin places transform us

In thin places we become our

More essential selves.

These liminal spaces are places where we can be taken away from our normal roles, normal parts of self. They are a place where we can explore new ways of being with ourselves. A time when rules can be suspended and a chance for transformation to occur.

So what happened to me in that liminal space?

I allowed myself to cry.

The first tears that I allowed to fall post surgery.

Tears that acknowledged my fear.

Tears that allowed me to drop the brave exterior.

Tears that allowed for relief to be in the room.

They were healing tears.

I stayed awake for a few hours, putting down my book just before dawn at 4am. Ready to sleep knowing that on this journey some voices will be more helpful than others.

Pilgrimages take many forms

/ Samantha Jayasuriya / Leave a comment

The last line on a Facebook post I made recently where I announced to my network that I was soon to be undergoing back surgery.

Something that I have put off and shied away from for many years.

I have decided to write down my journey to surgery as it may, just may help any of you out there who might be facing issues with your body that you are truly convincing yourself that you can manage.

How long has this been going on for?

That is the first question that the consultants ask. I answer with two years or more recently a few months but in reality it has been ‘going on for’, forty years.

Yes, forty years. I remember clearly when my back had its first challenge, at college when I was doing a gymnastic section in my B.Ed. degree. In the middle of some move or another it locked and I was locked away for the rest of the summer, lying on my back trying not to move. Those were the days, when that is what you did when you put your back out. The days before we were told to keep moving and not let the muscles stiffen.

The ongoing issues with my back were like a wave, rising and falling at different points in my life. If I had kept a journal consistently back then, I would see that the back issues came with periods of stress in my life, whether that stress came from work or my personal relationships or personal issues. My back and posture impacted my knees leading to two arthroscopies along the way in my forties and early fifties. That stiffness in me, I know now stems from childhood trauma, an uncovering I have found through therapy and an exploration of self. That trauma is done, I cannot go back in time and change what happened to me, I can only work on myself now and that comes through acceptance.

Tomorrow, I am going to have a discectomy. Everyone has a view on back surgery, probably because we were told time and time again how precious our spines were and how we should look after it. I still have the caution in the voice of my mother ringing in my ears if we dared to be too joyful and energetic in our play when jumping on our bunk beds or across the garage roofs in the garden. The rhymes that would play out in our head as we skipped across the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack you will break your mother’s back.’

Our backs hold us firm and keep us upright.

Why have I used the word pilgrimage?

This time last year, I set out on part of the Camino de Santiago with a trusted guide and a group of women I did not know. At that point my back was in good order. I was ready to take this path. I had wanted to do this for some years but when the opportunity had been afforded to me in 2019 my back had gone into another spasm.

The path gave me everything I wanted, a richness of time, space and peace. A time to properly be with myself and my body, surrounded by nature that was so enriching.

This last week, I was due to walk another section of the path with my husband, retracing the steps of his own father who walked the Camino Frances many years ago. Sadly, that has now been postponed and maybe this is a path that he may have to take on his own in future years, for now it is out of reach for me.

What does pilgrimage mean to me?

Pilgrimage means facing up to something, working towards acceptance, a time for contemplation, a time for a journey and that journey for me is further self acceptance.

I believe that we are all on a pilgrimage, the pilgrimage of life. That journey is a mixture of highs and lows, but this pilgrimage is one that will look inward into as well as out to the next stage of my life.

So wish me well on my journey. I’ll be posting from time to time what is showing up on my path as I write about my recovery and what I find on my path. .

‘Buon Camino’, I heard time and time again last year, I am resurrecting those wishes of good luck as I pack my bag and get ready. .