How I Worked on my Mental to Improve my Physical (pt. 2)
Part 2: How I Worked on my Mental to Improve my Physical
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Disclaimer: this is a long and personal story. Many of you know parts of it; very few know the whole thing. I'm not putting this out to start a pity party, I've done enough of that on my own. This is the story of my life, for better or worse, since 2017, and I feel it is important context to understand where I'm at and why I'm doing what I'm doing. Additionally, I'll discuss my own mental health in part 2, and I believe that the more stories like this are shared, the more people will feel comfortable addressing their own mental health.
I've separated this post into 2 parts. Part 1 – "My feet are fucked up" – might be considered a bit of a "downer", but it provides background on what you're about to read. Part 2 will sum up part 1 and delve into my journey over the past couple years, leading to this trip.
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I have neuropathy in both my feet. Small fiber peripheral neuropathy (SFPN) to be specific. Well, maybe. My latest doctors are questioning this diagnosis, and want to try a few things to pinpoint the issue. To be honest, I am sick of the constant barrage of doctor visits, tests, procedures, and treatments. That’s part of the reason I decided to do this trip. A small part, but a part nonetheless.
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| Roscoe at my apartment, winter 2020 |
On top of all this, the strangest thing happened! The world was hit with a pandemic that brought society to a halt. In a fucked up way, this actually evened the playing field for me. Suddenly everyone was struggling with isolation.
I moved home to be with my family for a few months; we even got a puppy to keep us company! Look how cute the lil’ bugger is. We often joke that we all would have driven each other crazy if not for Roscoe. And behind every joke there’s a hint of truth ;)
Despite living at home, my mental health was declining rapidly as I came to terms with my SFPN. Would I have this for my whole life? Would I never be able to see my favorite band, explore nature’s wonders, or travel to places I have always wanted to go? These were but some of the questions circling around my head and sending me down a path I didn't want to go down.
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| Me and Roscoe on the hammock, spring 2020 |
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I had always resisted therapy. There is the weird stigma, no doubt, but I also felt I didn’t need it. I didn’t have depression, I didn’t suffer from much anxiety, I didn't have any addictions (unless you count the internet). In my own twisted logic, I thought that I shouldn't be taking mental health resources from people who need it more, people who have “real problems”. After making the decision to find a therapist that suited what I was looking for, I now realize how backwards my thinking was. Everyone has problems, and they are all “real problems”. Wanting to harm yourself shouldn’t be the bar for addressing your own mental health.
And that’s what I did in the spring of 2020. Well, I actually tried that winter, but the therapist I got placed with was – how should I put this – not right for me. She spent half the session complaining about the CTA and telling me she “sensed great sadness” in me. It was an odd experience, to say the least. It took a while to try again, but I’m so glad I did.
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| 2021: the summer of 'stache |
At first, I didn't even feel like I was making progress, and there were the persistent medical frustrations that set back my progress. I’m not sure I can even pinpoint a “turning point”, but it was sometime in early 2021 (6-8 months after I started therapy). COVID-19 felt like it was turning a corner (lol at that), Trump was out of office, I even started to enjoy socializing again with my new “rules” to help my feet and support from my friends. I realized that I was doing myself no favors by hiding my neuropathy and physical limitations like they were something to be ashamed of (there's toxic masculinity for ya). I started making an effort to stay in better touch and be more open with others close to me, and I guess the internet now. I still have work to do, but I’m proud of the progress I’ve made.
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| 2021: the summer of 'stache |
But wait, you may be asking, didn’t I say I'd never be able to hike again?? Well, yes, I did say that, and that was something that gave me great anxiety when I was planning this trip. How much would I actually be able to explore these parks, and what level of hiking would be too much? The answers to these questions would prove to be ever-changing, and in fact, new questions and answers would crop up as I got my trip going.
That said, here is what I've learned the first month of this trip. This is mostly a note/reminder to myself, which I can look back on and make sure I'm adhering to my own rules. But if you're curious, feel free to have a look.
1. Know your limits, but don’t be afraid to push them (a little)
What's my limit? Well, that changes depending on a number of factors. Some of these factors I know – how much sleep did I get, how much activity did I do the previous night, what's the weather like, will the hike be on gravel, a paved path, or dirt? Some still seem totally random, and my pain fluctuates with these unkown factors as well.
I have found that generally, 2 miles is my upper limit for a regular hike. And this is with plenty of breaks and ideally a soak in a river or lake. If I want to do 2 hikes in day, each can be around 1-1.5 miles, and separated by at least an hour or 2.
Still, I have done a couple much longer hikes (up to 4 miles). These require a lot of planning to make sure I can recover properly and I'm as well prepared as possible. One of these was the Cascade Canyon hike at Grand Teton National Park, which was about 3.5 miles and well worth it.
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| Cascade Canyon |
As much as I'd love to go all out and do some amazing-sounding 5-15 mile hikes, this just isn't in the cards for me right now. Perhaps later in life if this thing miraculously turns around, I can go back and see what I'm missing.
2. Keep up with the things that help.
For me, that's mainly yoga, physical therapy exercises, deep breathing, and some things included later in this list. While most of my yoga is focused on my back pain, it's all connected and anything I do to help one helps the other.
3. Find proper footwear (the answer may surprise you).
I brought 4 pairs of shoes with me. Running shoes – which had been my go-to for comfort – hiking boots, Tevas (sandals), and flip flops. I thought my hiking boots would be best for hiking, because well... it's in the name! But it turns out that my Tevas – with socks – have been the best option. Yeah, it looks a bit dorky, but I am a bit of a dork so I'll call it being ~authentic~. My boots provide support, but the soles are hard and uncomfortable. My running shoes are comfortable, but have very poor traction. I specifically bought the most cushioned Tevas I could find, and they've been wonderful. They have great cushioning for comfort and still provide pretty good support. Good enough for the short hikes I'm doing, at least.
4. Give yourself breaks, but keep moving. Motion is the lotion!
Breaks come in many forms for me, and they are all necessary. I take at least 1 break for every mile hiked, and rest days whenever my body tells me I need them.
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| Nature's ice bath |
5. Nature’s ice baths – rivers, creeks, lakes – work wonders!
This was a pleasant surprise that I found out in Grand Teton National Park. I found that dipping my feet into a river or stream revitalized my energy and decreased my pain. And the rivers I'm talking about are ice cold, usually flowing from a glacier or snowmelt. Oh, they feel so good.
6. Strange solutions yield significant results.
As I was driving my new (used) car before the trip, I noticed something annoying. My feet seemed to hurt every time I was driving for a while and resting them on the hard surface under the gas and brake pedals. I'm not sure why or how this idea came to me, but I remembered we had a foam mattress pad that my sister used to use for her dorm room bed. It was just collecting dust in storage, so I got the scissors out and went to work! I cut out a pad in the shape of the surface under the driver's seat, leaving space for the gas and brake pedals. I'm honestly shocked how much this has helped. Driving went from a bit of a pain to a nice recovery in doses.
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| Rest is a must! |
Yeah, if you've ever had alcohol you know that it interrupts your sleep cycle. For me, a drink or 2 is usually fine. But if I have a few, I'll fall asleep fairly easily, but it won't be good sleep. I'll usually wake up around 4 am, restless and knowing that the sleep I just got didn't do much for me. Then it will take me a while to fall back asleep, and after this point is when I get my good sleep. There's research to back this up too.
Easy way to avoid this: don't get drunk! This hasn't been difficult. After all, it's just me most of the time on this trip.
And the power of a good night's sleep cannot be understated. The next day, I'll have more energy (obv), my feet and back will feel better, I'll be in a better mood, and I usually will do more stuff that day.
8. Mental health – it all comes full circle!
Lastly, but most certainly not least, keep focusing on mental health, whatever that means to you. For me, it means journaling, practicing gratitude, talking with friends and family, getting enough sleep, reading, listening to music and podcasts, and even writing these blog posts.
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It's taken me a long time to get a handle on my neuropathy, and it's been exhausting. Although my condition is still present and will be for a number of years, I finally feel that I know how to manage my symptoms and not let it get in the way of living my life. On this trip I've learned new strategies that seem to be helping even further. Hell, this blog post has been another cathartic step towards not letting it weigh me down.
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Phew - this was a heavy post, wasn't it? Don't worry, my next post will be light and fun; I'm excited to share it. It will be my "Old Band Obsessions: Still Slappage™ Power Rankings", and I'm not sure if that post or this one will be more revealing!
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