ON MINDFULNESS

As I mentioned in my last post, last autumn I did an 8-week introductory course on mindfulness (though I missed one session when I was in hospital). I've just got back from a week in Scotland seeing the healer again, and made use of the peace and tranquillity up there to reflect on some of the ideas and concepts I've found useful, and the patterns I'm trying to change, so I thought I'd say a bit about mindfulness here. I'm sure I've interpreted some of it in my own idiosyncratic ways, so my apologies for misrepresenting it to any readers who know a lot more about it than I do!

The definition of mindfulness that we were given was: intentionally focusing attention on the present moment (i.e. not the past or the future) without judgement. I was initially rather underwhelmed by that, as a great deal of the time the present moment feels so mundane, or dull, or simply waiting for something more interesting or important to take place.

The early stages seemed very abstract, especially as the technique we were taught first was to focus on the breath, as this is something which can only, by definition, be happening in the present moment. At first I found it difficult to see how tracking each in-breath and out-breath would ever help me to deal with the fear, resentment, sadness and envy of healthy people which having cancer has produced in me. After all, it couldn't give me a guarantee of what was going to happen - or rather, a guarantee that everything will turn out OK - which is what I wanted more than anything else (and still do, to be honest).

However, I began to see that the discipline of focusing on the current moment, and bringing back my attention to it every time it wanders, has given me more awareness of just how busy and all-consuming my thoughts are (as indeed is the case for pretty much everyone). I also came to see that the vast majority of my most distressing thoughts are concerned with what I'm afraid might happen in the future ("what if?"), or railing against what's happening in the present ("it shouldn't be like this"). It's much more rare that what's happening right now is unbearable in itself - mostly it's the meaning I put on it. So, for example, if my stomach's inflamed and making it hard to get to sleep, or I walk up a flight of stairs and feel out of breath, those experiences might be uncomfortable, but what makes them properly disturbing is the panicky fear about what this might indicate or lead to ("surely this symptom should have stopped by now? it can't still be the chemo, what if the cancer's spreading into the stomach?" or "I can't even walk upstairs now, what if this is the beginning of the end? I can't imagine ever being fit enough to go skiing again, it's so unfair, and what's the point in being alive if I can't do the things I love?"). The thoughts about the present moment are what produces the emotional loading, not the moment itself. 

Of course, those thoughts and feelings are entirely natural and understandable, which is where the non-judgement part was a revelation for me. In the past I'd try to deal with those kinds of thoughts by trying to talk myself out of of feeling how I felt - perhaps by reasoning with myself as to why it was illogical to feel that way, or making a plan of how to change how I felt. Mostly though I'm in the habit of being much more critical and stern, telling myself how much worse off other people are and how lucky I am in comparison, or that I'm being silly and ridiculous to jump to such conclusions, or that I mustn't allow those negative attitudes any headspace because I should be thinking positively at all times and never giving up hope of a miracle. So then I'd not only be scared, sad or angry, but also frustrated and down on myself as well - not a great combination! I haven't managed to stop those thought processes, but at least some of the time now I can recognise them and detach myself to some extent so that I don't get so caught up in them.

Before I started the course I guess I'd had some vague notion that practising mindfulness would turn me into a totally serene individual who was never thrown off balance by anything, who never felt strong emotions, who accepted whatever life throws at them without trying to change it, and who always saw the silver lining in everything, no matter how bad (and who would probably be extremely irritating!). It took me a while to realise, with a mixture of disappointment and relief, that that's not at all the case. Instead, as I understand it, it's about accepting that whatever's happening right now is what's happening right now, and that's OK. I can still decide to explore different ways of looking at it, or taking steps to change what I can, but I can separate out (at least some of the time) what's happening from my thoughts and feelings about it. To go back to the examples I used earlier, when I'm feeling physically under par I've found it very grounding not to judge myself for how my body's feeling, but instead to remind myself: "I'm feeling x y z discomfort, and some anxiety about it, and that's just how things are right now". The physical experience is still the same, but it removes a great deal of the fretting and angsting about it, and about what might (or might not) be going to happen in the future. And that definitely opens up the possibility of noticing other things in the here and now which might be more pleasant, rewarding or satisfying.

Another key thing - which I've known about intellectually for a long time but have only recently started trying to incorporate into my thinking - is the idea of impermanence: that everything, good and bad, inevitably changes. Trying to cling onto the pleasurable times, and protesting and railing against the unpleasant things, are equally misguided. I've found this really helpful for trying not to get caught up in nostalgia for my pre-cancer life: I can complain about it all I like, and feel hard done by and tragic, but it's a waste of time and energy because the reality is that my life has changed - as everyone's does throughout their lifespan - and this is how things are now. And now is all we have - it's the only time there ever is. I don't have to like it, but accepting that this is how it is stops me (at least some of the time) from metaphorically banging my head against a brick wall and saying like a spoilt child, "but I don't want it to be like this!" It would certainly be a much more peaceful existence if I could let go of fighting against reality...

Of course, I still struggle with all this. Often it's only after a period of feeling stressed, upset, anxious or resentful that I can even remember any of these perspectives. And I'm rubbish at finding / making the time to practice - I procrastinate hugely, and come up with all kinds of reasons why it's not convenient to do some meditation now.

So, in spite of hoping for some dramatic epiphany where the meaning of life would suddenly fall into place, it's been much more subtle - yet still interesting and useful. Like good therapy, it offers a way of learning to observe yourself without slipping into unhelpful judgement and self-criticism, and I believe that's the space where learning, and creating new patterns, can take place. At least, I hope so!