I had the immense privilege of attending a workshop with the venerable Bonnie Bainbridge Cohen last weekend at the University of San Diego. For those of you who are not familiar with her work, for over fifty years, Bonnie has been at the forefront of the mind-body movement. With the detail and finesse of a hybrid between a medical professor and a dance teacher, she teaches embodied anatomy, guiding students to a deeper connection to our neurology and physiology through mindful movement.
This particular workshop, "weaving and tonifying our central core," addressed how our "core" is more far-reaching - both in space (anatomically) and in time (from embryological origin) - than is often understood. We explored the dynamic interweaving of the structures of the diaphragm/s, vis-a-vis Bonnie's hypothesis that the diaphragm's crura extend both lower and higher than most western anatomical texts attest. And we explored the effect that this hypothesis has upon peripheral joints through movement, novel schematic paradigms (largely of an embryological bent), and touch. As a result of this new information, I am slowly exploring motions for new awareness and connectivity - both personally and in my clients, motions that are so commonplace to pilates instructors, like knee folds, squats, and leg circles. I am finding that both Bonnie's emphasis upon the diaphragm's crura and her explanations of its embryological origins radically affect how I conceive of and initiate motion, which has far-reaching implications upon how I teach movement, but also upon how I conceive of musical expression - both as a musician and teacher, and even upon how I move through the world. Personally, this has been a lot to take in. While I have known of Bonnie's work for several years, to study with her in person led to much greater depth of understanding, physically and intellectually. It honestly feels more like the very beginnings of understanding. My previous confidence in my anatomical knowledge seems almost liminal. And, while that's scary to admit, it's also ok. For, as I mentioned in my previous post, being unsettled makes us more deeply aware and attuned. And that's a great thing. copyright © cicely nelson 2016
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I'd heard of Glennon Doyle Melton but not really followed her, as I didn't really consider myself her target demographic. But she's recently published a memoir which is getting a lot of press and I'm realizing all of humanity is this wonderful woman's demographic. I caught a caption that enticed me to watch most of the above interview (recommend!). The caption was something to the effect of pain and reactiveness being a sort of "hot potato" that we are eternally shunting off to somewhere or someone else. That we so rarely sit with feelings before we react, deny, or suppress, and thus end up kind of backed up and blocked. I sometimes catch myself and my students (both music and Pilates/Yoga) holding our breath, which results in constricted lungs and diaphragm and increased physical tension in general. And, in the context of GDM's hot potato metaphor, it is clear that this is the somatic (bodily manifestation) effect of shunting off not just pain, anxiety, and shame, but even simple moment-to-moment awareness and presence. It's so easy to get ensnared in doing, going, and getting throughout our days, thinking of our next task or reflecting on a past conversation, even in moments where we truly can pause. It's often in these moments - washing the dishes, for instance - that I realize my mind is still going a mile-a-minute, planning, rehashing, and the physical effect is that my breath is shallow and thus that I am not truly inhabiting my body, in which this lack of awareness manifests as tension and/or counter-productive movement patterns. This somatic signal of breath awareness can be not only a canary in the mine of our emotional life, but also an anchor. By heeding our breath more often, and holding the hot potato, we can be more present both physically, emotionally, and spiritually, which allows our bodies and minds to heal and remain healthy. At the very least, our bodies will be less constricted, which has pretty profound implications for mental and physical health and conditioning. Thank you, Glennon, you have a new fan! copyright © cicely nelson 2016 Teaching both bodywork and music are deeply rewarding. But because they are professions that call us to give so very much of our hearts, minds, and bodies, it can be hard to "leave the studio," as such, and burn out can definitely be an issue with which teachers of all degrees of experience contend. I'll be the first to admit that I've learned this the hard way. As a young teacher, I was often "on call" for my students, thought about them extensively during my off hours, and, without really even noticing that I had done so, often put their needs before my own.
Our students don't so much learn from what we say as from who we are, so it is important to model the behavior - both as healthy humans and athletes and musicians - that we would like them to learn. Instead of trying so hard to please them in the moment, we may lead more effectively by modeling healthy boundaries and self care. I find the following three guidelines helpful. They sound stringent, but I've found, in following them, that I'm able to give more to my students and I feel much more positive and energetic about teaching and my own life in general: 1. No. Such a small word, and yet so impactful. I think I barely used it during my first few years of teaching. It's super important to know what's too much for you. I know we all want to help, but, on occasion, parents, kids, or clients ask more than we can give. On these occasions, a firm "no, I'm afraid I don't have time for that" not only makes you feel better because it's truthful, self-preserving, and empowering, but the parent/child/student learns to think twice before asking you to go above and beyond next time - which not only helps you out, but also models healthy behavior. 2. My work-your work. It's so often the case, especially with music, that children come unprepared to lessons. This is less an issue with bodywork, but occasionally one can find oneself with clients who will "phone it in." Setting your personal standards early on is crucial. For music students this means that students must understand from the outset that if they don't follow my guidelines and practice efficiently at home, they simply won't progress, and this will not be a functional student-teacher relationship. The guidelines are my responsibility. Enacting them is yours. An understanding of these responsibilities is paramount. With bodywork clients, I find this responsibility standard more subtle - it takes some time to truly tune in to our bodies. I notice that, especially with people who are not super body aware, this tuning in and assuming responsibility for one's corporeality can take some time. Moreover, the western healing paradigm is one that urges the client to hand their physiology over to the healer. In my opinion, and that of most in my profession, this paradigm is inherently flawed, and takes some unbraiding. But most of my clients get here naturally and joyfully. I often find with new bodywork clients that I must work on grounding my own energy more firmly during their exploratory weeks/months, and avoid rushing in and over-assisting them in this process of assuming responsibility for their physicality. 3. Off hours. This one's pretty basic. Now that we're all essentially on call 24/7, it takes will power to protect your off hours - and trust me, if you're going to be a teaching dynamo, you've got to make the most of those! Personally, I turn off alerts on my devices and try to only check them regularly during work hours. But I'm not great at this yet - especially because my current job does involve being on call. But most of my students now know to only contact me for true emergencies, so I am pretty quick to respond. See!? Boundaries as a win-win! copyright © cicely nelson 2016 Early on in my teaching career, when I was green and impressionable, a colleague somewhat imperiously advised me that I would do well to remember that Pilates and Yoga are customer service professions, and to make pleasing clients my priority. At the time, I could do little more than nod with a furrowed, but respectful brow. In the years that followed, two experiences contributed to me forming my own opinion on this subject. The first is that I certified as a Suzuki Music Teacher. Of course, there are differences between teaching a child and their parent how to be a violin-learning dream team and teaching an adult how to manage their body - but far less than one would think. In the Suzuki Method, the parent, teacher, and child are a trifecta - no one party alone carries all the responsibility, but all equally support one another. The teacher gently and supportively advises the parent how to practice the instrument with the child at home and the parent-child team follows the teacher's instruction, requesting help as needed. I began to see that this teaching model of honesty, cooperation, and pacing progress resonated with me and could potentially be applied to other disciplines. The second experience that liberated my teaching philosophy was a wonderful yoga teacher training bridge program that I was so fortunate to stumble upon in Vancouver in 2012 led by the ever-inspirational Shannon Cluff. She firmly iterated to us mentees repeatedly not to ape other teachers or cater to clients but to hold firm to the knowledge that our students would find us if we stick to our path of personal development and continuing education with steadfast conviction and discipline. I am a great teacher. While I am also opinionated as hell, I do try very hard to assess how much of my honesty a student can emotionally and intellectually handle. My most long-term students know that I'm excitable and committed and in my enthusiasm, can be demanding. But they stick around because they love me for it and they also know that I am continuously in search of greater clarity for all of us. copyright © cicely nelson 2016
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