Vol. 78: Upside down

My Grandfather broke his neck when he was a teenager. He spent the rest of his life disabled. He walked with two canes for decades, and by the time I was born, he was in a wheelchair. So much of the cultural narrative around disability purports that life ends where disability begins. Stories like Me Before You and it’s ilk portray a disabled life as meaningless, rather than creating spaces to invest in disabled freedom and joy while fighting ableism (to quote one of my favorite pieces by Laura Dorwart, “Don’t look at me like that, I want to say to the pitier. Just build a damn ramp.”). My Grandpa was a brilliant, resilient man: grouchy, loving, believed that Vernors fixed most ailments. He also faced barriers that I can’t comprehend or articulate as a man who spent decades disabled before the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed.

My second weekend of yoga teacher training, we studied the neck and spine. Normal anatomy - but I was overcome with emotion thinking about the importance of what we were studying, about what training may have been needed to prevent his accident. It feels complicated to talk about - it’s not like it was this tragic accident that ended his life - but it also irrevocably affected my Grandpa, his family, and all of us who came after.

My Grandpa met the love of his life, had three kids, and received multiple degrees from the University of Michigan, all while living as a disabled man. He met my grandma because he charged the golf cart he drove around campus at her building across the street. The roles of wife and caregiver are also frequently misunderstood. When he died in 2016 a month after their sixtieth wedding anniversary, she’d tell us, “I miss talking to him.”

The story of my Grandpa’s disability also created generational fear. As a kid, I tried gymnastics. I tried ballet. I didn’t stay with either for long. I believed I wasn’t flexible, and so I wasn’t. I grew up believing there were many things my family didn’t do - because what if we broke our neck? 

Last weekend, we studied inversions and our yoga teachers Jade and Michele were on something else. Jade started out class with us doing crow pose - touching elbows to armpits, slowly raising feet off the mat - fifteen minutes into practice. I wasn’t feeling it so I modified. Inversions in yoga are any pose where your head is below your heart. We did shoulder stands, we put our legs against the wall, we spread our legs wide across our mat and bent forward, dangling arms beneath us. By the end of class, I was upside down in so many different ways and I felt energized, alive.

At age ten, I played “crack the egg” on my friend Hannah’s trampoline - something I of course wasn’t supposed to do - and hurt my neck a few days before visiting my grandparents. It was some sort of internal bruised rib. My doctor parents examined me and told me it wasn’t serious, gave me ibuprofen for the pain, but the most important thing was that I did not mention that I’d hurt myself on a trampoline to my grandparents. My mom would have never heard the end of it.

Lately, I’ve been meditating on the concept of self-discipline. I hesitated for a long time to make it my word of the year because it felt reminiscent of grind culture, of pushing yourself past your limits to attain something that is forever out of reach, something society intentionally set up out of reach, to foster shame and let it fester. It has been freeing to grant myself permission to be. But I want to push myself a teeny bit further in my yoga practice. I want to do what’s good for me even when I could instead be lying on the couch watching five hours of sitcom reruns. I want to practice self-discipline so I can better understand my intuition - sometimes my body truly needs five hours of sitcoms, but sometimes my body is stuck in freeze mode and instead needs sunshine, connection, creativity.

First, Michele set up two stacks of three blocks. Another classmate teared up because of fear and I was reminded that I was not alone. But somehow, I felt very calm. I spent decades afraid and fear would not serve this situation. I volunteered, I went up, and put my hands flat on the floor, lowered my shoulders down on the blocks, and raised my legs up against the back wall. I wasn’t on my head because of the blocks - but I was doing a headstand, modifications and all.

Later in the day, I made it up without the blocks with the support of my classmates and teacher. They remembered my tears and emotion from anatomy, they knew my fears. They supported me throughout and they told me how proud they were.

I hesitated briefly sending the photo to my family group chat. I remember being a kid and feeling that so much was off limits for fear. When I sent it, my mom responded “Go Allison!”

I love this photo because I’m the strongest and bravest I’ve ever been. But even more than the photo above, I love the photos below of us celebrating each other, photos that showcase the joy of the day, the play, and most importantly, the support. Doing inversions at YTT was some of the most fun I’ve had in years.

I’m claiming it: 2024 is going to be the year that I reinvest in my newsletter, perhaps experiment around with different formats, and dedicate focus and attention in this space. I’ve been fiddling with this essay for the better part of two weeks, and in the spirit of both self-discipline and unlearning perfectionism, I want to lean into play and send it for you as is. Also, if 2024 is the year of my newsletter, I figure it’s best to actually send a newsletter in January… on the last day of the month.

Welcome to the Beehiiv Platform! Throughout the month of February, I’ll be building out my archive on the landing page here. Please make sure [email protected] is added to your contacts so you don’t miss it!