Embodied communication – using body wisdom to support difficult conversations

Dealing with disagreement

It’s an interesting and turbulent time here in the UK and further afield, politically speaking. I’ve found myself having lively debates at the pub, emotionally charged conversations with family members, colleagues and acquaintances, and difficult interactions with people who hold fundamentally different views and values to my own. This has led me to think about how we might connect with the wisdom our bodies have to offer in order to support us with sensitive, challenging and potentially triggering conversations. How might we tune in to signs and signals of potential overwhelm, re-regulate our nervous systems during and after a charged interaction, and stay grounded enough to actively listen and speak from a thoughtful place?

I have had an embodiment practice of some kind in my life for many years. I know what works for me when I need support, and I help others to connect with their bodies and to communicate from as calm and grounded a state as possible. And yet, I don’t mind admitting that there are some times when all of this awareness temporarily goes out of the proverbial window, and I find myself reacting from a place of emotional impulsivity, waiting impatiently to speak instead of listening and finding myself in a state of hyperarousal. The reason I got into embodiment work and found it so transformative is that I have a highly sensitive Autonomic Nervous System,  and I tend to feel things intensely on a physical and an emotional level. Recently, I found myself in one of these situations, as I found myself hooked into a discussion where someone expressed views that I found distressing. The sudden and unexpected feeling of being unsafe had me holding my breath, feeling a little dissociated and ‘spaced out’, and then moving into a state of preparation to fight it out. I did my best to maintain a level of diplomacy and to try to listen to what the other person had to say, though no doubt on some level, they will have sensed a disconnect between my attempts to maintain a calm, curious and measured approach and whatever signs of stress were visible in spite of my efforts. In the end, this wasn’t the right time and place to delve further into a sensitive, contentious topic, and we left the discussion feeling unresolved. I was aware of carrying some of the tension created by the situation into the rest of my day, and had to make a conscious effort to decompress later. I’d like to give myself some grace and consider that this might have been the best I could do under the circumstances. But what could a really good version of this conversation look like, and what else could I have done to use an embodied approach to support myself in this situation?

Re-regulating our nervous systems and listening to our bodies

Firstly, it’s worth considering the environment in which a difficult conversation is taking place. Are there distractions and external stressors? Can you and the others involved in the discussion give each other your full attention? Is there some level of privacy and a sense of containment offered by the space (particularly if you are sharing deeply personal experiences, feelings and views)? Personally, my neurotype means that I am easily distracted and stressed by conversations in busy, noisy environments – putting a lot of energy into blocking out conversations happening at the next table in the pub doesn’t leave a huge amount of capacity to keep myself grounded and regulated. If stress levels begin to escalate during a conversation, it can be helpful to check in with how your body is feeling, and notice if anything external is contributing to any sense of discomfort. You might consider suggesting that the conversation is moved to a space that offers a sense of containment and calm, or rescheduled to a time when you’re able to focus more easily.

In our fast-paced, dopamine-fuelled world, it’s easy to forget that it’s okay to slow down. But when a difficult conversation begins to feel stressful and escalate into a place of conflict and distress, hitting the brakes can offer an opportunity to check in with ourselves, breathe and consider what might help us to begin to build bridges instead of putting up walls. A simple way to slow down is to pause and consciously notice what your breath is doing. Do you feel it high in your chest, shallow, fast, or are you holding your breath and bracing for impact? Taking a moment to send the breath lower into the body (in other words, ‘belly breathing’, which engages your diaphragm) can instantly help to re-regulate your nervous system and let you think more clearly.  Related to this, getting comfortable with moments of silence can help – we don’t need to respond to another person’s point straight away, and we’re not communicating at our best if we’ve been waiting to get our tuppence-worth in, rather than listening to what’s being said. Taking a moment to ponder and consider our response can help to slow down a potentially escalating conversation, and also offers a chance to check in with and adjust what’s going on in our bodies. When I unexpectedly found myself in the aforementioned difficult conversation, I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was holding my breath and physically bracing against the psychological impact of the other person’s words. But I was also aware that time to continue the discussion was limited, and it seemed as if I couldn’t possibly slow down for long enough to take a breath and consider my response. Of course, this wasn’t true, and if nothing else, taking a moment to ground myself would have allowed me to walk away from the situation feeling calmer.

Responding to warning signs for stress

Are you aware of your body’s equivalent of warning lights on the car dashboard, alerting you to a need for something to shift before you find yourself in an inconvenient or dangerous situation? There may be some experiences that many of us will share in common in terms of early warning signs of stress or trauma triggers (such as changes to our breathing patterns), but each person and body is so different, that it’s useful to spend some time getting to know your own patterns. Often, our bodies react to a situation well before our conscious minds have a chance to process and interpret what’s going on and how to respond. Some of my own warning signs now feel so glaringly obvious to me that I sometimes wonder whether people around me notice them too (for the most part, I’m pretty sure they don’t). Developing a sense of what our bodies might be trying to tell us can save a lot of time and energy, particularly in stressful situations where we might lose our ability to think and express ourselves as clearly as we can when we’re calm. The next step in the process of connecting to this part of our body wisdom is considering what we might need when the ‘warning light’ we’ve identified is illuminated. Is it trying to tell us to take a break, to ground ourselves, to re-energise, to leave the situation entirely, or something else? Developing this awareness and slowing down to tune into our bodies can really help to strengthen connections with others and improve communication, as well as reducing the stress often associated with conflict and difficult conversations.

What are our bodies communicating?

It can also be interesting to consider what we’re communicating with our bodies – much has been made of body language, and I’m sometimes a little skeptical about the idea of consciously trying to manipulate what we want to convey through careful use of body positioning and movement. But, as previously mentioned, people are often skilled (whether consciously or subconsciously) at picking up incongruence or mismatched words, actions and signs of emotional states. So if body language, words and the slightly harder-to-pin-down ‘feeling in the room’ seem to be at odds, we might experience a general sense that something isn’t quite right. As such, I’m advocating for an approach based on authentic, honest communication. But we can nevertheless use our bodies to help us change our psychological and physical state, and to convey the message we want to get across without being inauthentic. Sort of a ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ approach, but I don’t consider it to be ‘faking’, so much as embodying the state we’re aiming for, and noticing any shifts that happen in our emotions and communication as a result. For example, coming into a conversation that we feel nervous about having, perhaps with an uneven power dynamic or with a person who we think might not take us seriously. It might help to engage supportive muscles in our lower body and to feel a sense of having a solid base, as well as considering how we take up space in the room. I’m not suggesting the full ‘power stance’ option favoured by key players at the Tory conference a few years ago (I still remember the memes that circulated off the back of a slew of pictures of MPs in identical power poses). But sending subtle signals to ourselves through our physical state and how we position ourselves can help to shift our emotional state and the relationship dynamics in the room. This isn’t about getting ‘one up’ on another person or playing games, but it can be a useful experiment to consider how we are reinforcing or undermining what we want to communicate through what we’re doing with our bodies. With all that said, it feels important to offer nuance – this isn’t about being constantly aware and ‘in control’ of what we’re doing, or about shaming different ways of being in a body and taking up space. Before I understood my neurodivergent identity, I remember being hugely shamed at a leadership programme by a fellow participant who told me that she couldn’t take me seriously as a leader because I ‘moved around too much’ and ‘talked with [my] hands excessively’. For a while, I considered how I might be able to shift my way of being in order to convey a bit more gravitas. And there are some situations, like giving a formal presentation, where I might be more conscious of slowing down and stepping into my power in a more physical way. But otherwise, I came to realise that I don’t need to change who I am and how I move in order to be ‘taken seriously’ – that was the other person’s issue, not mine.

Decompressing after difficult conversations

Finally, let’s explore what happens after a difficult interaction. How might we decompress and let go after a situation that’s caused us stress and filled us with adrenaline? Maybe you already have a practice around this, whether it’s talking to a trusted contact to process what happened, going for a walk, or making a cup of tea. If there are residual feelings of tension, it’s worth considering how you might let them go, and whether there are physical ways of doing this. A good start might be to notice what your breath is doing, and whether you’re holding it. Breathing exercises can offer a mini reset, a bit like switching yourself off and back on again. You might feel like you need to move your body, in order to let go of the tension and ‘shake off’ anything you’re left with that you don’t want to carry through your day. Or you might feel spaced out and disconnected, and need something that offers a sense of grounding and containment, like using your arms to ‘give yourself a hug’ (or getting one from someone else, if you enjoy that). You might have words or sounds that need to be released in some way, whether through talking, journalling, singing, or screaming into a pillow. Decompression looks different for each person, but it can be a good way of drawing a line under an interaction, and releasing anything you don’t need before moving on to the next task or interaction. I’d suggest taking a few minutes to note down what you find helpful after a stressful situation, so that you have a list to refer to when you’re feeling too stressed to recall what you need in the moment.

If you’d like more information and support with embodied communication, please feel free to contact me.

Celebrating Neurodiversity

Being diagnosed with ADHD well into adulthood is a fascinating experience and one I’m glad I had. My understanding of what ADHD is has changed a lot over the years. I was vaguely aware of the concept during my school career - it was something ‘naughty boys’ had and manifested in an inability to sit still, disruptive behaviour in class and bad grades. This didn’t apply very neatly to me, so it didn’t occur to anyone as a possibility, as far as I’m aware. I was easily distracted and chatty (a word I’m sure was used exclusively to describe girls), but not ‘badly behaved’. I was brilliant when I put my mind to it, if I do say so myself! The issue seemed to be whether or not I wanted to put my mind to it. I did well at school and university, except in anything too mathematical, but I learned to do well by the seat of my pants. To use creativity and caffeine to pull me through year after year of slightly left-field essays finished at 4am. To sound like I’d read a book after skimming through it on the bus. I eventually learned better study skills and time management capabilities but it was an adrenaline-filled journey getting to the stage of ‘reasonably sensible adult’. 

During my MSc, my main area of study looked at how young people educated outside of mainstream school due to ‘social, emotional and behavioural difficulties’ self-identified. More specifically, how young men and young women* internalised different messages about their struggles. Most of these young people had ADHD. Safe to say, at this point I had no idea how close to home my studies were. I was then of the belief that ADHD diagnostic criteria were far too blunt an instrument, that it was over-diagnosed and that we were pathologising children for not fitting into an education system that was not designed to meet all learners’ needs.  I still believe there’s some truth in that last point, but learning more about ADHD as a neurological difference in the years leading up to my diagnosis made my views on the rest a little more nuanced. 

It feels more positive, here in 2020, to be discussing Neurodiversity as a term to describe, for example, ADHD, Autism Spectrum Disorders and Dyslexia. The word is celebratory, with ‘diversity’ seen as something to be achieved and delighted in. An acknowledgement of all the different ways that brains can work and that this contributes to the many different skills and traits that make up a well-rounded society. Of course, they are still described as ‘disorders’ and still, in many cases require treatment, be it medical or psycho-educational. I’ve been reframing the language of ‘disorder’ for myself by looking at some of the traits and tendencies that can present challenges, and how they so often seem to have a ‘mirror’ trait that is an advantage (like the struggle to think clearly through a task in ordered steps, vs. the creative thinking that gave me the edge in those 4am essays). Still, a society that, just like the school system I remember, is not designed with Neurodiversity in mind can be an exhausting place to navigate.

I have found that body work, be it singing and humming, breath work, yoga or more active forms of meditation are hugely helpful in terms of bringing me back to focus and clearing my busy head. I’d previously put times when I was especially distractable, fidgety or struggling to regulate my emotions down to other causes - did I have anxiety? Was this unprocessed trauma? This is by no means black and white - having a diagnosis doesn’t mean that every road leads back to ADHD. And while it’s true that feeling anxious, stressed, over-tired or otherwise ‘out of whack’ is likely to exacerbate symptoms, I hadn’t realised that there was an underlying cause. But even before I knew the terminology or the layperson neurobiology, I knew what resources worked well for me. Although at first, I struggled to settle into a routine with using them, the more I did it, the more progress I saw. Training as a practitioner gave me even more opportunities to sing, breathe and get in touch with my body. This time of crisis that we’re living through really intensifies the challenges we already face, meaning that it’s more important than ever to stay on top of self-care and connect with our bodies, as well as to stay out of shame when we have a less ‘functional’ day.

A relatively high percentage of the people I’ve worked with over the years have been Neurodiverse in some way. This, along with my own experience, has led me to get really interested in finding out what links and overlapping traits might exist between, for example, ADHD, trauma and attachment (watch this space!). Academic interest aside, it’s been a privilege to be on this adventure together - using my skills and clients’ expertise in their own lives combined to figure out what works best for each amazingly unique person.

*I was quite unaware of the concept of non-binary gender identities at this point! 

Beyond the silver linings

It’s almost four months into the Covid-19 crisis and, in the UK, we’re four weeks into lockdown. At this point, I feel things edging past the initial stages of fear, moments of optimism and finding creative and comforting ways to amuse ourselves and nest. A month of lockdown means that a ‘new normal’ is emerging, along with questions about what habits, rituals, skills and emotions will be carried into the post-pandemic world.

Having written previously about a need to find space for the hopes and fears, joys and despairs present in our current situation, I have now seen first-hand examples of all of these. Things that I will never forget because they were so bleak and impossibly sad, and things I won’t forget because they were perfect examples of how we’ve evolved to seek connection and cooperation, to create and adapt. I wonder how this will be preserved in both my own and our collective memory. What will stick? What will we look back on in disbelief? What will be filtered out for denying our established world view?

As we experience a collective trauma, I’m struck by the different ways that we all attempt to make sense of insane situations. This attempt is a go-to trauma response: ‘if I can just find the bigger meaning, I can move on’. In a world-changing event reminding us that we can’t escape from our biological nature, there isn’t always a neat box or an accessible ‘why’ to help us process the trauma. I stand by my determination for this crisis to lead to a collective re-think of how we want to organise society; and yet, this feels a bit glib in the face of the stark reality of the loss, grief, fear and isolation that is being experienced by so many right now. The best I can hope for in that regard is that our actions now are helpful to ourselves and others wherever possible, and that most of the big learning will come with hindsight and be turned into action. It’s been said so often already, but the old ‘business as usual’ is no longer a possibility, whether we’d like it to be or not.

So with all of this in mind, how do we start to look beyond our much needed silver linings, the day to day practice of building routine, finding distractions and creating ‘safe enough’ nests for ourselves? How do we go about healing from a collective trauma? 

Part of my vision in setting up Live and Breathe involves developing the tools to build communities that foster social justice and direct, wholehearted communication. No small feat, but a vision is about dreaming big! Somewhere to start towards this is normalising vulnerability. Covid-19, it is said, ‘does not discriminate’ and is here to remind us all that there by the grace of God/the universe/insert your ‘big picture’ belief here… go we. While it’s true that a virus does not care about  who you are, it does affect some communities disproportionately. That’s an important point for another day. But health inequality aside, a pandemic is certainly one of those rare situations that forces us to stare down our vulnerability and our mortality, regardless of how wealthy, healthy, hardworking or virtuous we may be on the surface. I can feel the ripples of a sea change creeping in, as formal emails suddenly contain opening gambits like  ‘I hope that you and your loved ones are safe and well’ and Zoom calls involving ‘hardened’ business folks start with a wellbeing check-in. This chipping away at the facade of stoicism and invulnerability is how we start to grow and I hope it persists. Permission and encouragement, when required, to start a work meeting with ‘I’m having a shitty day, I’m using my resources and I’ll be ok, but here’s what I need from you’. The courage to get in touch with that old friend you haven’t seen for years and were worried about contacting again in case it was awkward. Using our experiences of having to give up our routines and re-learn how to work, socialise and live to enable us to be honest about when we don’t know the answer to something. Vulnerability is something I have struggled with showing for years. And I’ve done years of work on getting comfortable with it, though there’s still so much room for growth. So here’s an intervention if ever I’ve seen one - a horrific situation that exposes our common humanity and demands our vulnerability and compassion. 

When we’re feeling too vulnerable and too exposed to go analysing a crisis or thinking about what we can do to help, our job is to breathe, self-soothe (I recommend putting together a go-to collection of soothing sensory items in advance - fluffy blanket, hot chocolate, favourite smells, music, whatever works for you) and to find connection and support, even if it’s ‘just’ remotely watching Netflix with someone who cares about you. And when that difficult moment passes, our job is to find ways to name and express our feelings. I hope that this brave new world is brave enough to let us all admit that sometimes we’re vulnerable.

Breathing through a pandemic

These are strange, scary, illuminating times. My voracious love of dystopian, post-apocalyptic literature, films and TV did not prepare me for the reality of living through a life and world changing crisis like Covid-19. Like so many of us, I find my days drastically altered and have time on my hands with which to worry, reach out, create, reflect and breathe.

It strikes me that it’s important to neither succumb to despair, nor to allow ‘toxic positivity’ to take hold - there is room for the hope and fear, the heaviness and excitement at new prospects, the boredom and creativity. Most of us will have unexpected time on our hands and in this brave new world of staying indoors, a need to find ways to occupy ourselves. The pressure to learn a new language, write a novel, redecorate your home, grow vegetables and record an album in your living room may be lurking in the background, and a testament to the creativity and adaptability of humans. I fully support all of these endeavours - taking time to slow down, create, express and make your environment safe and comfortable is something I often encourage for myself and my clients! However… it’s okay if none of these things happen in the end. It’s okay if all you achieve today is to inhale and exhale.

As a busy professional with ADHD, I’ve sometimes found it challenging to consistently practice what I preach by keeping a long standing, daily self-care routine going. Don’t get me wrong, I am skilled at using my resources when needed to get to a place of calm, ‘unblock’ emotions and connect to my creativity. And at times, I’m also skilled at making excuses for being too busy to slow down and consciously breathe each day. This tragic global situation has a few silver linings that call us to do things differently, both in terms of the small choices each of us makes and on a bigger, collective level. I am out of excuses to keep running so fast, and this reminds me that breathing and connecting with my body is the basis for being creative, keeping perspective and connecting with my most adult self.

Beyond that, I am encouraged and moved to see that aforementioned adaptable human nature kick in as we play, sing and share thoughts with each other via video call, find creative ways to help our neighbours from a six foot distance, get in touch with long lost friends and feel grateful for connections with our loved ones. I’m more aware of my privilege than ever - for many, lockdown in unsafe circumstances and poverty lead to potentially more serious danger than the virus itself. There are some ways we can help indirectly if we are able to - by donating to projects working with the most vulnerable, by supporting small businesses, by looking out for each other and offering support. But this pandemic inescapably highlights a need for global change that gives people and planet a fighting chance of safety and wellbeing - for those fortunate enough to have time, space and capacity to breathe and reflect, there is an opportunity to focus on what we can do to contribute to a better post-pandemic world. We may be in this for a while though, so for now, inhale, exhale, slow down.