Talk about the 1990 Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) has surfaced since the recent death of President Bush who, despite opposition from his staff, signed the ADA into legislation. The civil rights law, prohibiting discrimination against persons with disabilities, moved forward because of the disability advocates who marched, sat, spoke and fought for it in the first place. Still, nearly three decades later, people living with disabilities know the struggle still exists. 

I recently caught up via email with a local friend I hadn't seen in weeks. "I assume you're doing well, since you're going to Arizona this weekend," she wrote. A reasonable assumption, but not quite on point. Things have been hard--really hard--since a recent RSD/CRPS spread which, for now, I'll sum up with own my initial response: Are you kidding me?!! Despite my body's turmoil, I wanted to attend to a part of my life separate from the pain, so I made the choice to travel. 

We find the cheapest flight available, which means changing planes in LA and no checked luggage, but it's doable. We head down south to visit family in Arizona, family that is unable to come our way due to their own medical issues. After the first of two short flights, we de-board (my wife, of course, carrying the physical load). Just outside the terminal gate we learn where to go for our transfer, down the short walkway and to the shuttle, easy peasy. Upon arrival, we breathe easy knowing our second plane gate is just ahead. 

We walk through the doorway to…what?!! A sense of confusion; imprisonment. Nothing but a huge flight of stairs leading up to our gate; no elevator or escalator in this closed-off space. Just a ridiculous amount of stairs, loads of people who seem to be skipping upward, and our own dropped jaws. Still, I keep looking ahead like it's an open fridge and I'm waiting for something other than yogurt and condiments to appear.

​Feeling like the world is becoming less and less accessible to me, I realize I have a choice...climb the stairs with the body I inhabit, or miss our connecting flight. Despite the inevitable flare-up it will cause, I choose the stairs. I want nothing more than than a bed right now. What I don't want is to hang out at the airport in severe pain, surrounded by uncomfortable chairs and human beings. 

So, up the stairs we go, and with each step I'm aware that if somebody hadn't offered to carry our bags, this wouldn't be an option for us. (My wife's loaded arms are usually fine, but we're not about to add stairs into the mix.) More so, I'm aware that this "choice" wouldn't even exist for many people with disabilities, and it's entirely possible that I--that any of us--will be included in this minority subgroup one day. And lastly, I'm aware of these thoughts going through my mind:

We should have paid the sixty dollars to check our bags.
Then, No! We have the right to make the choice we did. Our system worked for us; it worked until we ran into a societal barrier.

Should I have gotten a wheelchair? I usually take mine (or use one at the airport).  
Then, again, No! As a whole, society fails to recognize that a significant mobility problem does not necessarily equate to wheelchair use. Disability has a range of presentations that require accommodation and need to be taken into consideration. 

Should I have asked if there are any stairs I'll need to use? 
No! Information should have been given to us. The fact that there were stairs and no nearby elevators should have been noted, and alternatives should have been offered upon the scheduling of the flight or--at the very least--at the location itself.

​People with disabilities frequently run into these obstacles, and some are so subtle (yet impactful), able-bodied folks usually don't notice. My recent experience (one of too many to count) highlights the importance of understanding disability as a societal--versus a personal--problem. 

Sure, I can't lift a suitcase (these days I can't even unzip one without spell-binding pain), and daily living activities (like getting dressed) are increasingly hard, which is undeniably concerning. This means I have a personal responsibility to figure out how to make things work for me. So, I deal with my feelings about it (we should all make space for that); I do some problem-solving and seek out resources; that's on me. (Well, me and my bank account; being disabled is expensive.)

Once out in the world, however, my body and I are in a relationship with the structures of society. I may be in a ridiculous amount of pain, but I'm only disabled when an extremely heavy door at a public facility lacks an automatic opening. I'm disabled when the pharmacist forgets to put the "easy-open" lid on my medicine bottles, or when the City Council doesn't make the connection between disability and transportation needs. 

When in my wheelchair, I'm disabled if the aisles in a store are too narrow for me to get through. Other days, I'm disabled when I sit in doctor's offices, classrooms, or public venues which have only plastic or metal chairs, or chairs that have no back or arm support. These are all physical barriers and with them, I'm disabled. Without them I'm enabled, like everyone else, to engage in activities.

In the comfort of our home, within the context of my meaningful relationships, and in my own psycho-spiritual world, disability is personal. Deeply personal. Out there in the world, however, it's a societal problem, one that requires both access and attitudinal adjustments. 

It's been twenty-eight years since the enactment of the ADA. A lot has been accomplished, and we have much more to do. This is a minuscule peek into my world, but there are millions out there who are entitled to a better society. Let's prioritize the promotion of awareness and continue advocating for disability rights (aka civil rights) in big ways (think: politics) and small ways (think: talking to your local businesses, public entities, and your friends).

Every one of us eventually will--in one way or another--become disabled, even if only by the natural process of aging. For now, these are steps we can all take.

Whoa, I took what I thought would be a brief hiatus to focus on our move to Oregon earlier this year and—poof!—became a blogger-with-neglected-blog cliche. But, I’m here now on this crisp, clear morning and so are you, so…welcome, and thank you!

We’re here in the midst of holiday season. Gathering with loved ones, whether joyful or stressful (or a likely combination of both), can lead to an increase in pain. Inability to participate because of pain, as we all know, can be distressing and sometimes heartbreaking. So, it’s time more than ever to step up the self-care and attune to our bodies and our minds.

I’ve done an ultra-modified yoga-pilates-physical therapy fusion at home for years. My practice, born of necessity and desperation, is partly comprised of various techniques I’ve picked up over the years. The rest of it consists of a bunch of things my body just wants to do.

Lately, my body has been telling me to switch it up and—wouldn’t you know it?— I saw a flyer for an adaptive yoga class. My first class led to a flare-up, a painful “Told you so!” echoing from my limbs, reminding me to be more aware. Clearly, I would require adaptive adaptations, but with the thoughtful help of my two new teachers, I’d make it work.

When we got to a pose that was too painful to do in any form, one of the teachers suggested I imagine myself doing it. She explained to the class that we can benefit from simply preparing our bodies for the positions and visualizing them. So, I engaged my core, focused on my breath, and did the pose in mind only. In other words, I acted as if I was physically moving my body.
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The suggested modification reminded me of the impact visualization has had in my life for so many years, especially since pain from CRPS and a complex spine condition progressed. Those of us in pain act "as if...” for the benefit of others all the time (behaving as if we’re not in pain, for example). So, think of visualizing as a way to project an “as if...” image solely for yourself. If your leg is cold and hurting, imagine it’s swaddled in a soft, warm blanket. If a venue (or a person) is overly stimulating, take slow breaths and gaze at the ocean in your mind.

Visualization is an accessible method of relaxation we can all use in our daily lives, even during conversation. It can move us from feeling stressed to relaxed in a short time.

When it comes to pain, we can use visualization to “trick” our brains into thinking something more pleasurable is happening with our bodies. That’s why my mobility limitations can’t stop me from getting the mental benefits of dancing to ABBA like I did pre-disability. Aside from being useful for relaxation, imagining is a great distraction,  and vital in my personal pain management repertoire.

Also referred to as imagery, visualization is one of many mind-body practices. These are activities which make a positive connection between our thoughts or feelings and our body's physiology. The goal of a mind-body connection is similar to that of any healthy relationship; for each to have a desirable influence on the other.

One way to achieve this is to focus on our breathing. When we take slow, intentional belly breaths, we increase the amount of oxygen in our lungs and bloodstreams. This results in our hearts beating more slowly and with less effort. The body communicates to the brain, "Everything's fine, nothing here to worry about!” The brain then signals a decrease in the release of stress hormones, which lowers or eliminates anxiety.

With visualization, we start this process in our minds. A relaxing image, like floating on a raft, makes our brains tell our bodies to breathe more slowly, and the heart rate follows. As long as we maintain calm visions, our brains won't send signals to tense up and breathe shallowly (as we do when we're anxious). Our bodies will be tranquil, as though we're truly being rocked by gentle water.

Envision hugging somebody you love. (Go ahead, take a moment here.) Your brain tells your body you’re safe, then instructs the stress hormones to slow down. Your conscious mind is doing the thinking while your subconscious mind believes what you think and see. Both are at play here, so that hug is really powerful.

To further understand this, in 2004 Dr. Giorgio Ganis and colleagues assessed whether the brain processes visual imagery (what we imagine) and visual perception (what we see) in similar ways. Research participants performed visual tasks of each type. Using functional magnetic imaging (fMRI), researchers assessed brain activation for similarities and differences between the two activities.

They found that neural processing for imagery and perception mostly differed in the occipital (visual information) and temporal (meaning and memory) areas of the brain, but responded similarly in the frontal (personality and learning) and parietal (sensory information) regions. Overall, the study concluded that our brains function alike whether we imagine something or actually see it. Amazing, isn’t it?

Zakai, picking up on our election night anxiety.

The day after America’s collective night of insomnia, also known as election night, a sense of yearning accompanied my fatigue. I need community. I hadn’t heard of any groups meeting up, and had no energy to be proactive. I figured get-togethers would soon materialize and I could join in. For the time being, I was on my own, me and my dog. 

In the midst of nuzzles and mutual adoring gazes with Zakai (Hebrew for pure or innocent), I put on my psychotherapist hat. I gained some perspective on my thoughts and feelings, and meditated. That helped a bit, but my thoughts continued. How are marginalized populations coping? How are clients I’ve worked with navigating this atrocity? What about those who will lose insurance coverage? Who’s out there feeling a depth of fear and despair I can only imagine?

I shifted gears to focus on love. I relished in the joy and gratitude of being married to my beshert, the one with whom I’m meant to be. At the same time, I worried that the new body of government could take away equal rights for the LGBT community. Fundamental rights, by the way, that we had to fight so hard for—and still do.

When in doubt, turn to the literary world. I channelled my childhood friend Anne Frank (I still have the tattered paperback from grade school on my bookshelf). “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.” The inspiration and hope her words usually offer didn’t come. Instead, I thought of my ancestors and six million others who were tortured and killed under a cruel, divisive dictatorship. I was sickened by the similarities between Trump and Hitler; it was like reading about the Holocaust from a book that wouldn’t close.

I thought about our dear friends, Martha and Fran, who put their love, intelligence and community-mindedness into volunteering. They consistently make peaceful strides toward positive political outcomes around the country. I consulted with my dog, "Now, what? What do we do? Right, Zakai, we need the wisdom of Martha and Fran!" They were away, but I was comforted knowing we would commune soon enough. 

At some point, I moved onto my lifespan of nearly fifty years; certainly there would be wisdom from experience, right? Nope, no revelations, not this time.

I settled into my go-to place of solace. Writing. I spoke while the magic of voice recognition made my words appear on the screen. This is about all of us… I need to look into the eyes of like-minded people…be part of something bigger. Community. 

As I wiped tears from my keyboard, a message from our synagogue popped up. That very evening our congregation would have an impromptu post-election gathering to debrief. Well, okay then. That night, I was reminded about the meaning of community.

Here are five ways community helps me—and can, hopefully, help all of us—with the agony of post-election blues.

1.    Ritual

At last week’s gathering, we used a “talking stone” with the word courage engraved into it. The stone sat in the center of our circle next to the lit candles (another of our rituals), available for each of us to hold if we chose to express our thoughts. It felt safe to talk, cry or sit in silence. Like the stone, ritual gives us something solid to hold onto when life feels slippery. The predictability is a soothing act of mindfulness that eases grief and anxiety. It helps our souls engage in a process of renewal that nobody with any amount of power can take away.

2.    Bearing witness 

Along with last week’s circle and sharing dyads, the subtler moments made an impact on me. I looked into the eyes of people I love and others I hardly know, exchanging empathetic expressions and raised I can’t believe this is happening eyebrows. We saw one another. When we bear witness to someone’s pain or joy, often simply by being present, we extend acceptance and support at the deepest level.

3.    Distraction 

I’m a big believer in this one for all types of pain. While we need to act, we also must take time to distance ourselves from political madness so it doesn’t consume us. Community settings offer volunteer activities, a great way to re-channel our energy. Distraction, especially activities that involve helping others, interrupts anxiety and ruminating thoughts. It gives our brains a chance to rest and refocus. 
 
4.    Belonging

Community meets one of our most primal needs, to belong. It’s right up there with oxygen and food, and the election outcome has threatened this for many. We’ve heard diabolical ramblings pushing a “You don’t belong” agenda. If we don’t fear for our own sense of security, we do for that of others. The campaign’s hateful, xenophobic rhetoric has pushed our buttons. (Who in this world doesn’t know the feeling of exclusion?) So, we create community, a place where we can plant our feet on soothing, fertile soils. Even more-so, a place to make others feel welcome and free to grow. No walls.    

5.    Inspiration 

Just as our shared values, passions, goals or identities draw us to community, our differences can inspire personal growth. Unlike Trump’s image of society, a healthy community isn’t presumptive and exclusionary; it doesn’t advocate fear and hatred toward those who are dissimilar to us. Community brings us together, and the energy can ignite motivation to rally toward political change. If we’ve been solely outwardly-focused, community can also move us to an introspective place, a springboard toward inspiration.

​Whatever your communities are comprised of— support groups, co-workers, book lovers, sports teams, religious congregants, neighbors, political activists or countless other clusters—it's a good time to delve into them. It's a good time to remember we're not alone. 

In solidarity…

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