Body: the elephant in the room

When it comes to dying and death, bodies are often the elephant in the room, even before death. Examined, injected, monitored, wiped, ignored, hidden, feared. Beyond assessments of pain levels, the experience of being in an unwell body often don’t get talked about.

Yet our relationship with our body is a lifelong one. Whether we have considered it or not, how we inhabit our body and how others experience it forms huge part of our identity. To have that change, slowly or rapidly, steadily or in multiple ways, can be really unsettling and an experience we might want seen, heard, respected and cared for.

Working with conscious awareness of the body informs my practice as a Death Doula. My body has always been a big part of my identity, yet I have ignored its warnings, pushed it to the limit, been shut down by injury and learnt the hard way to listen deeply and carefully to it. I have learnt what kind of help from others actually helps my body, and how to make decisions that don’t involve handing responsibility for my body over to others. It is my belief that the dying process can be an opportunity to really get to know our bodies, allowing us to let them go on the best possible terms.

Pain and comfort

Pain during dying is a fear many of us have, and being pain free is often a first basic wish when thinking about end of life choices. Pain gets talked about and often gets addressed, as well as is possible. Yet what would it be like to shift our perspective from what we don’t want, to what we do want? This question will often take us out of a medicalised view of death, and return us to the lives we have created for ourselves.

We can aspire to more than simply pain relief.

We can ask ourselves ‘what is comfort for me?’, or even ‘what is pleasurable for me?’. That might be softness on our skin, the smell of our favourite food, a pet’s warmth, the calming colours and shapes of nature, our friends’ laughter, fresh air or being cosy. Grieving our pleasures as they leave us is a part of dying that can happen well in advance, but often the essence of comfort can be with us right to the end.

Safety and vulnerability

No person is an island. People respond differently to how my body looks than they do to how your body looks. Structural inequalities might be a source of lifelong fear, grief and anger for you if the colour, shape or movement of your body is outside of a certain definition. Or that pain might be coming new to you.

A friend’s mother, on her journey with arthritis, once told me that “we are only temporarily able bodied”. The strongest of us will become vulnerable and dependent. The most beautiful of us will change shape. Finding yourself in an unfamiliar and less powerful position in society can come as a shock, and be frightening.

Simply having the safe space to speak what is going on for you as you navigate the world, however that world perceives you and however that changes, can be a huge relief. It can also be reassuring to have vulnerabilities openly heard and responded to, and help get your wishes met.

Control and collaboration

If we listen, our bodies tell us an extraordinary amount about our needs as well as change and impermanence at all stages of our lives. As it happens, we are encouraged to not listen as if our lives depend on it. If you feel tired, have a coffee rather than a rest. If you feel energetic, calm down. If you feel angry, take yourself away. If you feel silly, behave yourself. If you feel sad, manage yourself to happiness. If you put on weight, lose it. If you are ill, remove symptoms fast. If your body ages, hide it.

Control of our bodies is highly prized in society. Being well, healthy, attractive and comfortable are wonderful states, as and when we experience them. But nothing is forever, and an encouragement to control our bodies into an impossible ideal with no space for gentleness around illness, disablement, age and distress is exhausting and stressful.

Dying is one space for being able to let go of that. To recognise that our bodies are to be collaborated with. They can help guide our choices and they enable our connection with the people, animals and places we love. They will be with us right until the end. They may be breaking down, causing us pain even. Whatever is happening for you in your body, having the space to share the experience can open up space to turn to our bodies with compassion.

When we listen to our bodies, we listen to ourselves, and we can begin to learn to let go.

Worth

We live in a world where our bodies are assessed for their worth based largely around what they do and how they look. How hard can they work. How long for. How much can they meet someone else’s needs. If we related to other people in the way we are taught to relate to our bodies, we might call that relationship exploitative at best, abusive at worst.

Facing the deterioration of our body, through injury, illness, age or dying can invite us to expand our sense of self worth. You are more than your allotment, your running, your clean house.

You are more than your best ever performance, your most impressive creation, and the greatest thing you do for the people around you.

You have worth simply in existing, and beyond.

Dying gives us a once in a lifetime chance to talk about all sorts of elephants that might have been in the room for a very long time. As always for me, contemplating our mortality from a less immediate place can connect us more deeply with our lives starting from right now.  What is comfort for you? What would safe vulnerability look like to you? How would collaborating with your body affect your choices? How does your worth go beyond what your body can do?