As for my flat feet, SI gave me arches. I never had a severe flat foot, but enough that when I was a 4 year old, I had have these orthodics put into my shoes that they called cookies. Of course, I had to open the shoe to see whether it was a chocolate chip or Oreo and was very disappointed to find out that the “cookie” was just a bunch of stuffing. My mom was just plain mad.

Anyway, I went through life with almost completely flat feet. I would look at my footprint around the pool and be disappointed that there was no graceful curve to it, embarrassed that it looked “fat.”  Then, about the time I turned 30, I went through two ten series, and since then, I’ve had arches in my feet. I still am shocked seeing the impression my foot makes when I get out of the pool.

My foot hardly ever cramps up any more, and I no longer wear orthodics. I can also finally hike without pain as well as walk on narrow paths on the side of a cliff without any terror as to whether I’ll fall. Before, I wouldn’t hike those trails out of my fears that I now see were related to my poor balance, which improved greatly. How much that has to do with my arches or whether it is more related to my freed sacrum is beyond me. All I know is, I’m happy that I have options I didn’t feel I had before.

That said, I wouldn’t promise anyone that I could give them arches. I definitely believe it could happen, but I wouldn’t say that there is a formula to make it happen. SI is a journey that unwinds the body to work better in gravity. That means something different for everyone. For me, it meant a straighter spine (I “grew” an inch), a sacrum that wasn’t frozen into stillness, and arches in my feet, among some other things. For others, it can mean feeling they are in their bodies for the first time, or are able to dance, or they can embrace a sense of power, beauty, strength  . . . the doors are open.

I say check out a session or two with someone you like if you’re curious about getting arches in your feet. If you like the work, go for it. Even if you don’t get the arches that you want, you will probably get relief, and some other good surprises, as well.

How wonderful that the snow is gone and the birds are singing and my yard is turning into a beautiful field of dandelions, crabgrass, and bindweed! I realized today that I should have been out there Sunday pulling weeds while the ground was still soft from all that moisture we got. Two and a half days of precipitation–it was like living back East.

But, unfortunately, the ground is already drying, turning into that cracked, arid rock that has pained me in so many ways. Why is it that this hard, Colorado clay clings to the roots of the weeds, yet seems to spit out the plants I want to keep? In the past, it has resisted the strength of my arms until they were literally writhing in pain. Often I’ve wondered, why do I fight it?

I’ve given up on the dandelions. They’ve strategized against me by sprouting their flowers so close to the ground I can hardly pinch them off. That was after I strained my body trying to pull them up by the roots and resorted to–this organic gal is ashamed to say–chemical weed killer. I suppose it was instant karma to go against my beliefs like that, but this gal needs her arms to make a living! 

So, what is it that I look for when I select plants to pull and those to keep? Am I looking for perfection, or is the journey about getting my hands in the dirt and expanding on what’s already there? Or am I trying to create something new?

Working with a human body in Structural Integration brings up similar questions. Who am I to decide what patterns someone needs to let go of? Why is it that I can help relieve pain in one shoulder but find it intractable in another?  Yes, of course, I can say that all bodies are different and there are no pat solutions, no formulae that will heal everything. But how does that help anyone?

Then I have to ask: Is the journey with our bodies about avoiding pain or about listening to that pain as if to a trusted friend?

What is your body telling you? Is there pain? Is the pain there to tell you that you need to rest, or is it trying to draw your attention to how you can shift your body, your life, or a perspective to accommodate a new way of being in the world?

Dandelions are medicinal. Is their prevalence in my yard trying to tell me that I need their healing powers? Or is the message to dig them out, and by doing so, get dirt under my nails to remind me of the power and abundance of mother nature?  Or maybe I’m supposed to take a moment to enjoy the incredible beauty and vitality found in every flower. Maybe each season simply brings a new lesson.

One year I used weeding as a lesson in discernment; I was giving myself permission to be selective, to weed out things I no longer had use for in my life. Another year, I pulled the roots and dried them. (Please do your own research before trying this; I am NOT suggesting this as a remedy. And definitely don’t use plants in areas that have been poisoned.) Another year, I reveled in nature’s abundance. I felt that by following nature, I had no need to rid my yard of part of its ecology, and subsequently, by not weeding, I had no pain. Granted, I didn’t like the ugly stalks left after the poofs flew with the wind, yet I found it very satisfying to know I’d helped to feed countless bees and deer.

There is a journey in everything we go through and nothing happens in a vacuum. What is the best way to make the most of our lives? Do we give ourselves the time to explore?

I don’t have the answers. I am certainly one to be frustrated and even downright angry when I feel I’ve learned my lesson, changed my swim stroke, adjusted the seat on my bike, stopped playing cello, and yet still feel the pain. I want to throw my head back and shout at the universe, I got the lesson. Can we move on now? Please! But then I have to look at the possibilities. Maybe I need to consult with someone else or do another adjustment or not be so serious about my activity. Or maybe I simply need to accept what is. With no blame. There is no fault. I’m not saying I want anyone to live with pain. But sometimes I wonder if sometimes we have to, as part of the process of this experience we call life.

This year, I don’t know what I’ll do with my yard. The thing is, even though the dirt is hard as rock, nothing is in stone. I can change my approach, I can do nothing, or I can weed.  Or try something else. Some things I will be sure to do: Observe. Communicate. Live. Explore. 

To find out when I’m down there, either follow the link on this blog in the lower right column, or you can follow me directly at http://twitter.com/debbiemihal.

One habit that gets me every winter is my denial of how the cold affects me. I keep my heat turned down and forget to dress appropriately. I’m pretty sure this is a result of a stubbornness born in my teenage years. However, whether it comes from my refusal to listen to my mother’s pleas to wear a hat or from the teenage obsession that if I’m cold, I’ll burn more calories, I’ll never know. I do remember wearing shorts to run in icy, forty- degree weather, as if it were some rite of passage. I also stubbornly refused to wear anything but cotton back then. How I managed not only to survive but thrive is beyond me. Whatever the reason, I acted (and still act) as if I’m impervious to the cold.

The truth, however, is that I am not. Actually, this year, I realized that I need to move to some place where it doesn’t snow. Until then, I need to learn to dress warmer, especially if I’m not turning up the thermostat. I need to do this not only to avoid catching the flu, but to improve my posture.

When I’m cold, I fold myself forward. I pull my arms closer to my chest, round my shoulders, and hunch over. My neck becomes rigid because by the time I’m hunkered down, movement seems to be equated with getting colder rather than generating heat. And I get rigid. I freeze, literally. My muscles contract to brace against the temperature. Then I start to ache. Not from the flu, but from my own stubbornness. 

Maybe you’re like me when it comes to the cold. Rather than accentuate holding patterns that were born in childish reactions to the world, take a look at your stiffness and see if there is anything you can do to change a mindless habit. Such as throw on a sweater. It could save you time and money.

Are the Benefits of Structural Integration Limited to Artists and Athletes?

Absolutely not. However you use your body, holding patterns in the tissue are the result of many things, such as emotional circumstances, exertion, and repetitive motion. They can even be unconsciously mimicked from those with whom we live or have lived. Structural Integration can benefit anyone looking to find release from chronic stress.