resting, healing

My back hurts most in January.

It's become a sort of tradition, the dull ache in my lower spine returning to ring in a new year.  It started this week eight years ago, and it comes and goes in waves each year.  It's a a thing I share my dad -- matching back injuries, the same blue eyes.  It's how I mark time -- 2010, 2012, 2015, the most painful years.  2017, my best one yet.

Three days into 2018, and I find myself alternating ice and heat packs, taking doses of ibuprofen, using a salve of cayenne and ginger -- tiny efforts, searching for big relief.  Sometimes it feels like we aren't the same, my back and me, like we're tangled in a battle of wills.  I've been here before.

This time feels different.  I'm learning to be a more gentle observer -- I find myself listening to my body and somehow hearing it respond.  It isn't broken; it's working through things, protecting itself, perhaps in need of a bit more rest than others.  I'm not lazy for saying no, for resting -- I'm healing.  And so, for now, we rest.