Wake-Up Calls
This is the first in a series of blogs written from my firsthand experience with the power of mindfulness in moments of personal upheaval.
This past February, I received news no one ever wants to hear. I was diagnosed with invasive lobular carcinoma—the second most common type of breast cancer.
What I did in the moments immediately following the first time I heard those words confirmed two things: 1) I’m human. 2) Mindfulness works.
As I listened, the voice of the radiologist seemed to resonate from an echo chamber, as if I were having an out-of-body experience, trying to observe the situation with a shred of composure while my body automatically diverted me to a different plane.
Intellectually, rationally, I wanted to stay calm. “Okay, I have breast cancer,” I thought. “Now what?”
Physiologically, I was having an entirely different experience, over which I had no control. I felt heat rise in my body, and my heartbeat seemed to drown out everything else, getting louder and louder and louder.
Then, the doctor’s voice became quieter, clearer, and I recognized that I had slipped automatically into what, in mindfulness practice, we call observer mode. This is when we allow ourselves to become openly aware of our experience of the present moment—the sounds, the thoughts, the emotions, the physical sensations—without becoming overly attached to any one of them. In this instance, those were the paralyzing fear, heat in my hands and chest, restriction in my throat, my pounding heartbeat, and the doctor’s quiet, direct, warm voice.
Open awareness and leaning into the experience of each moment invites us to explore an intense emotion or a moment of reactivity without getting too carried away by it or “becoming” that emotion or thought. We can experience paralyzing fear, using open awareness and the anchor of the breath, without becoming paralyzed by fear ourselves.
After that moment, I experienced what I have come to recognize as a progressive series of wake-up calls—perhaps more accurately re-awakenings—that have brought me closer than ever to my mindfulness practice and to other behaviors that both emanate from and feed into living a mindful, purposeful life.
Before I knew
As I review my 18-month journey, which coincidentally has tracked alongside the COVID-19 pandemic, the first of those wake-up calls came well before my cancer diagnosis. In late 2019, I had gone in for my routine annual wellness check. I’d gained weight and my blood pressure was slightly elevated.
I knew why. I’d become less active, more sedentary. I’d allowed my previously fit self—as a former gymnast, marathoner, and triathlete—to fade into the background. Founding and nurturing Inseus, a company built on mindfulness, had ironically pulled me slightly off my holistic center. I’d become a bit complacent and uncomfortably closer to living on autopilot as a hard-working entrepreneur, rather than being fully present and aware moment to moment.
Of course, as an instructor, coach, and practitioner of mindfulness, I had actively continued to meditate, a foundational practice I teach others. However, to be perfectly candid, I let myself slip into a sort of rote, “check the box” meditation habit, instead of an open, aware, conscious meditation habit. I had also skimped on other forms of mindfulness practice, like regular physical movement, setting boundaries, noticing my daily intake of news, food and work, purposefully creating moments to pause, and connecting with nature. Reawakening to those—setting boundaries to create space, getting outdoors (even in the middle of a Michigan winter) for daily wooded walks and cross-country skiing, and playing tennis with my husband and daughters—were helping me rediscover a great joy in living.
The day life changed forever
That’s when life intervened with another wake-up call—the cancer diagnosis. With the ongoing battery of tests, doctors visits, and, perhaps worst of all, the waiting, I leaned even more heavily into my extensive inventory of mindfulness techniques and practices.
I doubled down on the physical exercise that I had already begun and reassessed not only how I was exercising my mind and body, but how I was fueling them. I all but eliminated alcohol consumption, allowing myself only an occasional glass of wine. I experienced the amazing impact of a primarily plant-based and whole-food diet. I rediscovered reading good books, limited my social media and news intake, and reconnected with my community of friends and family that feel like home.
My husband and I changed where we shopped, relying much less on traditional supermarkets and more on what the local organic farmers around us in Michigan can supply. And naturally, we got to know our community and its people in new ways and gained an even greater appreciation for what it means to live more purposefully.
That led to yet another awakening. I discovered I was sleeping better, had more energy, and felt more hopeful and connected. I deepened my commitment to making this way of life permanent, all the while still very much engaged in navigating the diagnosis and treatment of my cancer.
The rest of the story
Cancer is different for every person who must face it, at every stage, from first awareness to resolution. My story is just that, one person’s experience.
I think that rings true for almost everyone who’s faced a life-altering experience—whether that’s illness, the loss of a loved one, or any other deeply personal crisis.
Though the details of each person’s experience are unique, we can, despite the differences, find universal lessons about the incomparable value of living in the now. I know I did.
There’s much more to my breast cancer story, and I intend to continue relating it in future installments of this series— the diagnosis, treatment, outcome, prognosis—as a springboard for sharing not only the universal lessons I’ve learned, but also the mindfulness practices, attitudes, and techniques I’ve used to stay in the moment, relevant, and productive.
As the story unfolds, I will tell you more about the tyranny of too much knowledge, the metastasis of fear, balancing trust and intuition, learning to exhale, why I don’t hate cancer, and much more. I hope you’ll come back to hear the rest of the story. And more importantly, I hope you’ll take away ideas and inspiration on how to enrich your life—whether in times of crisis and great sorrow or success and great joy, and all the infinite variations in between.
If you’d like to join me in exploring more deeply many of the mindfulness practices that I use daily, consider one of our upcoming online programs: our Search Inside Yourself Emotional Intelligence Training launches THIS Friday, September 10th, and our Mindful Self-Compassion Course begins September 21st.
Mindfully yours,
Ashley
Want to try shifting into observer mode as I did that day when I received the diagnosis from my doctor? Use the brief, guided Open Awareness Meditation below. This can be helpful in moments of reactivity by allowing you to explore each moment without getting attached or carried away by a particular emotion, thought, or sensation. This can also provide support as you experience difficult, challenging times and invites you to maintain a sense of perspective and equanimity navigating all of the pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral moments life serves up.