Listen instead:
Implicit in the idea of healing from something is the idea of moving to something else. From a broken wrist to a mended one; from an ulcerated stomach lining to a smooth one; from a C-section to an intact core; from a traumatized self to an integrated self.
We’ll talk another day about what in tarnation healing actually is, the differences between healing and a cure, how healing is simultaneously a birthright and a demand, how it’s both sporadic and the work of a lifetime.
For now, suffice to say that healing has different modes and meanings.
Throughout those variations runs a central, powerful common thread: Healing is some of the most serious work a body/mind/spirit can do. So why is this post called “The Critical Importance of Playfulness in Healing”?
Because here’s the reality: not all serious things are heavy all the time. In fact, many of them aren’t even heavy much of the time.
Furthermore and finally, for something as serious as healing to be successful, a little lightness is required. If this sounds counterintuitive to you, you’re not alone. Please, allow me to peel back a few layers and explore the critical importance of playfulness whenever we endeavor to heal.
Playfulness: Healing’s Ruby Slippers
Hang with me here, because this might sound a wee bit counter-culture. There are lots of ways to understand our experiences, lives, and world — and, contrary to what various, extreme self-referential interests would have you believe, different does not mean wrong, stupid, or bad. (At least, not necessarily. I won’t dishonor reality by implying different is never wrong, stupid, or bad.)
One of the many ways to understand disease is to see it as a departure from homeostasis in a way that causes disruptive problems. Thus, in illness and disease, there’s a certain departure from integration — a shifting from the natural state of the self.
Similarly, then, healing is a return to homeostasis and a reintegration of the self. Healing is a type of coming back home — except that the house will be a little different this time. Perhaps a room will be added, or a hole patched, or that sagging porch will be gone.
The point is, there are lots of ways to heal. Many paths lead home. And the best news is, like Dorothy, you have the ruby slippers.
Lo, these many years ago when we were in acupuncture school — a four-year (summers included!) combination of Survivor and family Double Dare — part of our training was a two-year internship in the college clinic. This clinic provided low-cost Chinese medicine to area residents, and as a function of that, served some very ill people.
Some of these people didn’t get much better. Maybe they stabilized, maybe they even worsened. Some of these people got much better. As in, much much better — in a way that we might not have predicted from the outset.
I remember being surprised when seemingly simple processes were recalcitrant, while gnarlier patterns just — POOF! — disentangled. That doesn’t surprise me anymore. One of the single most important predictors of outcomes, I’ve found, is how a person is oriented to their imagination.
Oh, That Overwrought Einstein Quote
Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ve all probably heard that Einstein quote, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” Am I really going to dredge it back up?1
Yes, friends, I am. And allow me to be clear that imagination in this context is not the same as pretending.
Pretending is an anti-healing quagmire when it combines with its nearby neighbor, denial. More on that another day, but for now let us walk briskly away from imagination as pretending.
Rather, we’ll take the view of imagination as a playful, creative interaction with reality— as curiosity combined with a loosely-held, ever-evolving vision. This is a mighty fine line, and I mean that in the literal and colloquial senses. It’s a thin and nuanced balance; once you learn to see it, you may be inclined to wolf whistle.
In terms of healing, this curious, nimble, imaginative frame of mind is like a booster for whatever treatment you’re undergoing. It allows you the freedom to own your healing process in a couple of ways.2
Firstly, scientific, technical knowledge about the condition happening to you is not required. You can pursue that knowledge if it’s helpful to you, but it may not be.
When you allow yourself to truly have the experiential knowledge about the condition happening to you, you’re engaging with healing in a very real way. That’s when you learn to read the language of what’s happening and of what you need. And maybe that’s what healing is: becoming fluent.
Secondly, the playfulness of imagination creates an opening for change. Because there are many paths home, it’s important both to pick a path to focus on and to abandon a path that isn’t working. That requires a good deal of flexibility and discernment.
Both flexibility and discernment are centered when we engage our imaginations. Visualizing yourself whole and healed is a powerful way to become whole and healed. But trying to visualize each turn you must take to reach that destination is powerfully distracting and even destructive.
The truth is, reality changes. A responsive, adaptive approach to healing helps us change, too, so we’re meeting reality as it changes. If we don’t do that, we’re meeting our denials and projections instead.
Countdowns, Games, and How to Play
As promised above, I’ve peeled back some layers. Now let’s pop ’em back into place and zoom out for a minute into the practical application of these ideas.
If you’ve ever been a child, which I’m fairly certain you have, you’ll have some recollection of playing. The example we like to give is of a (terribly cute) child we once knew playing in a large cardboard box in our living room. At first, the box was a spaceship. A great deal of the child’s energy went into the preparations required for flight. She needed to instruct her crew, load supplies, do lots and lots of checking, and any other number of Important Tasks simply beyond my comprehension.
She bustled and hustled and enjoyed herself immensely. Once everything was properly arranged, she climbed aboard and then jubilantly counted down to lift-off. Then something interesting happened. As soon as she shouted BLAST OFF, the game changed. The box ceased to be a spaceship; it was now a car.
The game wasn’t really about being in outer space. It was about preparing for space travel as if she could fly. She knew she couldn’t fly, and that reality robbed her of nothing. She was still happy to play until she bumped up against something that she couldn’t change.
So she changed with it. She changed the spaceship into a car, and then the car changed into something else. When the reality of gravity and cardboard boxes entered in, she was able to shift into another direction of play.
That cardboard box became many things in the weeks that followed, until it lost its shine for her. Then she moved onto magic wands.
Now, I’m not telling you to delude yourself into healing. But I am suggesting that suspending a little bit of disbelief can be a very healing approach. Accept that you don’t know every future twist and turn of your situation. Suspend the future. Explore it right now, whatever it is. Ask yourself, can I take care of this need, and can it be fun? Can it be like a snow day that cancels my plans and lets me rest?
This kind of playfulness allows you to meet your changing needs as they arise, rather than becoming overwhelmed and frozen. When we project into the future about things we don’t know as if we do know them, we miss the boat. And the spaceship. And the car. And the way home.
by Mary Beth Huwe
These writings are an exploration of what it means to be human – to be sick, to be well, and to heal – viewed through the lens of classical Chinese medicine. My words aren’t medical advice, and these essays don’t constitute a practitioner-client relationship. They also aren’t meant to be the final word on… well, anything. Rather, I hope they are the beginning of a conversation you have with someone in your life. Thanks for reading!
Footnotes
- I would also like to dredge up this J.B.S. Haldane quote. ↩︎
- Probably more, but I’m a mere mortal here, just doing my best. ↩︎
