My Perceptual Reality

Originally published on Medium December 10, 2017

Join me on my journey to accepting the reality of a painful spine injury and how I used my mind to rid suffering.

I remember lying down in the forest gazing up at the mildly cloudy San Francisco sky. Vibrant patches of blue poked through the Presidio canopy. The ground on my back was hard and uneven. Bear was cold and ready to go home. But I couldn’t get up. I needed just a little bit more time, more strength to be able to make the walk back. Looking back, I am reaffirmed that the mind is a powerful driving force, and what it believes becomes its perceptual reality.

On Sunday April 3, 2016, my body’s back finally had enough. It had been put through such strain and abuse for many years with no support from the abdominal muscles. Rather than engaging my core when walking, lifting, twisting, pushing, sitting, or any other activity that isn’t laying down, I let my back take the brunt of the work. To make matters a little trickier, when my body’s skeletal structure was still developing at a younger age, I likely fell on my butt really hard or did something strange during my brief experiment with gymnastics to fracture the pars along my L5 vertebra. So when I was volunteering with my firm planting trees and initially felt the twinge in my low back that Thursday prior but proceeded to carry-on normal life the next few days, including walking 5 miles a day, carrying full baskets of laundry up and down three flights of stairs and down the block, carrying 40 pounds of groceries on my body several blocks (and then back up those three flights of stairs), and then going on a hike in the Presidio where I needed to bend down to lift my small 10 pound dog Bear over a tree log every 200 feet…yes. My back had had enough.

But I didn’t know all of this at the time. While I was laying there in the forest, I didn’t know if the pain I felt was as bad as I thought it was. That’s how I was able to get far enough into the woods where the shooting pains in each step felt like they were electrocuting my whole body, and I had no choice but to listen and slowly crawl down onto the ground. It didn’t feel like a cognizant decision. It’s what had to be done.

Two hours later I managed to pull myself up and start the walk home with Bear. We had only ventured about a mile and half from the apartment, but with each step it hurt more and more. Finally we made it home, but Bear had been recovering from a back injury for four months and needed to be carried up and down the stairs. So I bent down, picked him up, and did not see any other choice but to take us up the three flights of stairs and into the apartment. I’m telling you. The mind if a powerful driving force.

After an ER visit, a few doctors, some tests, and drugs, I was back home and facing a two week bedrest sentence. I started doing research on the giant words the doctors fed to me. “Spondylolisthesis… spondylysis… Okay… probably sounds much more complicated that it is. I’m sure I’ll be better in no time. I give it two weeks.” I truly thought it would be two weeks, and I’d be back to the way I was. I thought that so much so that I didn’t tell anyone about what was going on. I certainly didn’t ask for help. I couldn’t walk, and yet, I didn’t think it would be a time important enough to ask for help, maybe tell my mom it’d be great if she could come visit, because I couldn’t feed myself. I drive this truth home, because it is only now after almost two years that I have learned that we need each other. We humans need our tribes. We are social creatures, and we’re better together.

So after two weeks, things were not feeling normal. I was starting to be able to make movements without making shrieking noises, but I also stopped taking any pharmaceutical pain medication after the third day. Even after two shoulder surgeries, two softball-sized cysts near my ovaries and their subsequent surgeries for removal, I had never in my life experienced pain like this. It was as if my pain level before only ever reached a 6. I didn’t know true pain until I knew what it was like to make uncontrollable shrieking noises without mind consent. It was so painful, I thought I was making it up.

I didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing so I teetered for the first six months between denial and not fully understanding the impact of my injury. But before we jump ahead, let’s go back to the first week after bedrest where I get to begin physical therapy and my journey to slowing down.

The trek across the city to get to physical therapy was atrocious. To put it in perspective, it took me three months to be able to sit for 10 minutes without being in excruciating pain… and that was week three. But I ventured to see June weekly, and she was my only interaction other than my roommates for the rest of my stay in San Francisco. I was on a 20–20–20 schedule for months: lay down for 20 minutes, walk for 20 minutes (which most times was about two blocks and back), and do an activity for 20 minutes (i.e. sitting, making food, playing with Bear…). Hard to hang out with friends or be a social 25-year-old with that type of regime, not to mention the pain. Waking up and going to sleep with screaming pain can be exhausting.

So what exactly was/is wrong with my body’s back? Those two little pieces that hold together parts of the vertebra (pars) essentially broke so when I was feeling all that pain and not stopping the first few days, I was pushing my vertebra (L5) over the one beneath it (sacrum, or S1). Yes, ouch. The sciatic nerve was further agitated by the fluid from the ruptured disc between L5 and S1 and a protruding disk between L4 and L5. Sometimes people can go their whole lives without feeling symptoms of broken pars (known as spondylosis) and some who have a vertebrae slip (spondylolisthesis) may not have ever had spondylosis or disc issues. I had all three, but even so that wasn’t truly understood by me until after a year of having the injury and having multiple doctors and websites break down what was happening. Many times you have to be your own advocate to get the answers needed beyond the easy prescription pad — especially when it comes to back problems.

I rejected the idea that pain pills were the best solution. It was more of a symptom cover-up. After all, my body was trying to tell me something; and if I dulled the communication, how could I hear it? Granted, there is a healthy level between pain management and being fully present with the pain, because this kind of injury is going to hurt, and if it’s not doing damage but is still tortuous, it can be unnecessarily challenging or near impossible to do the physical therapy needed to strengthen the muscles to help support the spine — and ultimately reach a lower level of pain both physically and mentally. That’s why I am a supporter of cannabis. It helped me stay here in this world, be with my pain, but also be able to acknowledge it was a body pain not a mind pain. I was able to experience the pain and befriend it, rather than sitting in a place of suffering.

One of my first challenges was to re-teach myself how to move, connect with my body in a way that can slow every single movement down and act on intention, totally aware and one with the body. I had to relearn how to walk and engage my back, and in order to do this I had to reach this incredibly slow speed that I had never knew existed. Having already developed a meditation practice really helped me adopt this mindset, and I was able to build and strengthen it with more and more patience. Plus, I couldn’t go anywhere so I had plenty of time to channel the mind-body energy connection.

One day in the next year, I would realize that this practice of slowing down and intentional mindfulness would continue for the rest of my life. There is no end result or final destination. Once I were to accept that my back and my abilities would never be the same, and that I was no longer the same person I was before the injury, I would be freed. Free from the false illusion of a never-changing reality, free from the constraints of likes or dislikes… I could accept that it was what it was and that was okay. Today, I’ve accepted an even more fluid reality in that I believe nothing and everything is what it seems and it is always changing from moment to moment. We cannot predict nor can we assume something will always be true therefore we must ask the right questions and ponder our chosen features of our reality. We must test and challenge our perceptual context to one that is intentional, acknowledging that what we choose to believe will be real.

Now clearly I’m not trying to say if you think your next door neighbor Sue is actually a cat then she will become a cat. There are measurable operating conditions that exist in this physical reality (like gravity, the laws of physics, the need for sunlight, water and appropriate atmospheric conditions, etc.). Credible, third-party verified and repeatedly tested and testable science is real. However, how we choose to perceive each evidential circumstance in these physical and nonphysical realms are each in our individual control. For example, say Rocky and Jude get off work at 5:25 p.m. and head toward the I-5 in Portland. They meet at a dead stop on the freeway ramp with cars stopped all around them. Rocky gets angry and throws a tantrum, because he hates traffic. Jude shrugs it off and puts on a podcast. At 6, Jude gets home, greets his family happily and they enjoy a nice meal together while Rocky storms into his home and grumpily complains to his family how terrible his day was. They both sat in the same traffic, got home at 6, and saw their families. Each had a choice how they could react.

In another scenario, I could retreat into my mind and find there are energy fields that can be tapped into. I have the choice to look onward and gauge it critically or I could shrug it off and believe there is nothing more than what I can feel and touch from this body’s sensory perception. It’s my choice. It’s my reality. It’s my story.

“When we go slower, we are more patient and when we are more patient we have a choice in how we respond. — Eknath Easwaran

In November 2016, I decided I wanted to move to Portland. I felt alone in San Francisco, was tired of playing landlord, and wanted to find a place where the culture was just as strong as the drive to create a more regenerative and holistic future for all inhabitants of this Earth. I still could only go several blocks from my apartment, and I felt trapped within a square mile radius. Despite my limitations, I decided it would be possible for me to move to a new state where I didn’t know anyone. My physical therapist said it would be okay if I started pilates so long as I was careful not to do some of the moves that involved bending or twisting. It seemed like a good plan to start in Portland once I got there in December.

I arrived in Portland December 3, thanks to three members of my tribe who ventured out from their corners of the U.S. to help. It was the start of a very hard winter, with snow and ice unprecedented for the area. Once they left and I settled in, weeks turned into months and it got fairly lonely even with the pilates classes a couple times a week. The pain was not ceasing, and I had forgotten what it even felt like to live a life without feeling every single challenged move.

In March 2017 I needed to find answers. It had been a year, and the previous doctors and physical therapist had told me a year for sure and it would be better or else I’d need to look into surgical options. After another MRI showed a new tear on one of the discs, I felt trampled. I had been moving so slow and so carefully (minus one fall, maybe one push too far) for a year. What was I doing wrong?

So that’s where I was when I researched a surgeon outside of my network to get his opinion. I was hoping he’d say it wasn’t surgical and that would be that. Alas, he saw the broken pars and said he could operate, removing the troubled disc and replacing it with a synthetic one. I went back to my healthcare network to speak with a surgeon there and got his take. He was blunt and open, and I couldn’t have been more grateful. He, too, said it was surgical. He also said I could have a 50% chance of feeling relief if I had the spinal fusion and disc replacement done. 50 percent. Flipping a coin to see whether I should have my back muscle sliced open and rods and screws put into my spine and then spend a week in the hospital and start the whole year over again for a 50 percent chance it may feel better. It’s worth noting that the surgery would also not take me back to my old self. It would only prevent it from getting worse, which if it did get worse without the surgery, I would have to have the operation anyway.

Any other options? Go back to the non-surgical physical therapy route, and give it everything I’ve got. Okay. One last solid attempt to get out of this reality. I set a date for August 2, 2017 to have the surgery. I had five more months to fix it. I began acupuncture once a week to combat the inflammation. I met with a chronic pain and illness meetup group a couple times to share experiences. I began seeing a therapist to discuss the woes of my mental sorrow. My physiatrist said given the opposing injuries between the two discs and the slipped vertebra and subsequent complexity that I should find a personal trainer qualified to handle back injuries near me. He said if I did the research, he would speak with them and vet them to make sure they could handle my case. That’s when I found Whole Body Fitness, and more importantly, that’s where I found James.

It was nearing the end of March when I entered the studio located on SE Burnside in Portland for my free consultation with James. I was defeated. A shell of who I once was. Spiritually strong and connected with the world but physically and mentally anguished. I was exhausted and scrambling to find hope for a life without severe chronic pain.

He saw my pain, saw my defeat and told me he was going to help me get out of this. He told me that my body wants to heal. It wants to achieve homeostasis. And if given the proper exercise and nutrition, it will. I cried. For the first time in months, I felt hope again.

The first three months were about movement and posture. We started from the beginning — but this time it was about learning movement for real-life scenarios rather than fabricated movements that only take place in a gym-setting. He taught me nutrition, and we quickly realized I wasn’t getting near enough protein in my vegan diet. I started food journaling and making protein smoothies every day.

The next couple months we stepped up the training even further, and I found myself going on short hikes and being able to sit for longer periods of time, and even made friends that I got to hang out with in a public place. It was then the second to last week of July that I not only sat in a car for 45 minutes, but I drove the vehicle and reached a destination in the Columbia River Gorge at 7 a.m. where I proceeded to hike 10 miles up a 2,200 foot climb to reach a peak that looked over the river. As I sat there, I thought about my journey, and I thought, if I can do this, there is no reason for me to have back surgery. And that was it. Decision made.

I come back to the mind as a powerful driving force. After I knew I was injured and accepted the severity of the damage, I was challenged harder than ever to stay positive, to not perceive my body as broken and fragile. Some days I was better at this than others, but the practice of mindfulness allowed me to eventually face such moments and question the emotions I was feeling.

At one point, I decided I wanted to think like a dog. A dog doesn’t know he is hurt. He just makes accommodations for the limping leg. He doesn’t dwell in the pain and create a reality of suffering. I wanted to adapt to my new conditions rather than fighting for a different truth, seeking pity or feeling sorry for myself. I even asked my family to treat me like a dog and pretend like they couldn’t see me struggling to walk or coiling in pain. I’d get through it — whatever that meant — and I was okay.

Now, we enter December 2017 where I have reached a place where I have more pain-free days than pain-ridden days. I see and accept my physical constraints and will always be cautious, but I don’t embody a personality of defeat. I feel strong despite my limitations. And in the past few months, I have not only ridden more than 30 miles on my bicycle in a single day, taken a 45-minute bus ride to then perform a solid workout immediately following, and been on an airplane for three hours, I have also created the ability to use my body in ways like this:

Dancing has always been a passionate release for me — connecting mind with body and losing myself in the music. When I get to moving, it feels as if I enter a new field of energy, a heightened level of experience in this thing called life.

A year ago, I had no idea if I would ever be able to move like this again. But today, I look around and within… and boy, I believe I am incredibly wealthy. I am a firm believer that the energy you put out through intentional or non-intentional thoughts, emotions and actions is the energy you will be met with. Practicing a compassionate life leads to generating compassion in your surroundings. Practicing a life filled with anguish, walking around asleep and passively reactive will be the energy returned as well.

This all happened for me for a reason. I needed to slow down. I needed to perceive my reality in a different way. My injury and setbacks since have given me the opportunity to do so.

Three days after my proposed surgery was to be scheduled in August, Bear had reached his end for this life. He was my best friend, my little man and companion for 11 years. My entire adult life was spent sleeping next to and caring for this little, furry man. I have no doubt in my mind that he wouldn’t have left me if he knew I wasn’t ready. Had I needed the surgery, Bear would still have been here today, watching me and loving on me as I went through recovery. But he knew I would be okay.

After spending days in a treehouse and hiking in the woods following his passing, I returned to our home to redefine what living meant to me. As I glided through the stages of grief, trying to make sense of my new reality, I began to feel a sense of peace and below it a fire began raging. A fire of passionate empowerment and oneness of existence. Once I was ready to be brave again, I would destroy social contexts, breakdown my preconceived notions, actively search and explore new ideas, concepts and values in life. I would intentionally choose the constructs of my mental reality. I would choose who I am, what I wanted to believe, and how I wanted to contribute to this physical reality and beyond.

Ultimately, all of my questions come back to love. The answer is always rooted in love. So that is what I have decided to become. I am love. All I have is love to give. I will be brave, because no one can take my love away from me. It is infinitely renewable, and it is my mind that controls this reality. And you know what? Your mind controls your reality, too. You can work with the operating conditions that exist here on Earth and in this planetary system. Address your limitations and see what is non-negotiable. Audit your life, and decide with intention what pieces you want to keep, to embody, to continually work toward and adapt into.

Do I live a pain-free life? No. But who does? We all have had our injuries, losses, setbacks and hurdles. How we decide to respond to these conditions is in our control. Pain is a part of life. Suffering does not have to be. Today, I am more spiritually and mindfully connected to my body and my place in this world than I ever have been before. Each twinge in my back is a signal that I am alive. And I must be careful, because my back has forever been changed and will always be susceptible to further damage. But I am so incredibly grateful for this journey. I now understand there are things I can’t control. While I will always try to be mindfully prepared and present in the moment, I will never again live in such fear.

What comes next is each day at a time. Since only death is certain and its timing uncertain, I will make each moment count. Each action intentional. Each thought and deed transpired from a place of love and compassion. That is my choice. That is my perceptual reality, and mine alone.

How beautiful and inspiring is it to be anything at all. To exist in this world, to breathe this air, to move and to love. To overcome arduous challenges and be reborn.

This is indeed a magical existence.

“Try to realize it’s all within yourself no one else can make you change, and to see you’re only very small and life flows on within you and without you. — George Harrison

A FINAL NOTE: GIVING THANKS

As I near the two year mark in 2018, I reflect on the extreme gratitude for those who have helped me in unexpected and the most loving of ways.

Thank you, Mom, for your endless love and support. You’ve been in my corner from the start, always believing in me and supporting my decisions — even when you don’t agree with them.

To my sister, Ashley, I am forever grateful to have you as my person. You are always with me, and I with you.

James, where do I begin? Without you I would have never been able to see out of the eyes I do today nor move my body with control, strength and ease had it not been for you guiding me and believing in me. You saw me when I was lonely and defeated, and you helped me to find the strength to be reborn.

To Tim, the boss man and comrade in communicating for a sustainable future, you’ve been the most supportive and understanding teammate I have ever had. Together we’ve been through so much the past four and a half years, and we have so much greatness ahead. I am incredibly grateful for you. Cheers to Life!

Laurel: Girl, I love you and your realness. Our adventures and mutual love and respect mean the world to me.

Stefan, my love, you have such a beautiful soul. I adore you, cuz.

Thank you Savanna for being my first real friend here in Portland, and for adopting me into your tribe! I love you, dear. And I love you Anna, Bella, and Jo. Thank you all for being such wonderful and supportive friends.

To Phillip: Bro, you’re my family, and I love you. Thank you for always being there.

Thank you to my Dad, Tina, Tio Sergio and Tia Lora, and Uncle Wayne. You all have been so incredible checking in on me and sending your love in the good and challenging times.

Gracias Mami Lucy por tu amor infinito que viene en la forma más pura.

Nicole, my oldest and best of friends, I will always be grateful to have you in my life — even from across the country! Years may go by, but we’ll always be us.

To Tamra, who helped me get home from the ER that night and up those three flights of stairs, thank you. I know we had a crazy falling out, but I will never forget that night or the love that underpinned our strange relationship.

Tara, you helped me see that I could be and do more. You have inspired me to take the world on and keep fighting the good fight — despite the obstacles that come into play.

Katie, girl, you are the sweetest friend I could ask for. Working with you has been such a gift, and our realness is the way it always ought to be.

To Alex and April, you two will be my spirit sisters forever.

Gracias Carlos Vives por darle al mundo el don de tu música.

And last but certainly not least, thank you to the late Eknath Easwaran, George Harrison, Mahatma Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Siddhārtha Gautama for laying the foundation for which my path could begin. The guidance you left behind helped me in more ways than I could illustrate with words. And for all the thought leaders and positive change agents alive today, thank you for being a constant inspiration and source of encouragement. We can truly make the world a better place, one filled with love and compassion, by working together.