A Name For Your Brain
My friend talks to her anus
My friend didn’t want me to reveal her name for this essay so I will call her Nancy because any time hubby and I forget someone’s name it ends up being Nancy.
I need to preface this convo with a personal discovery. After 8 years of chronic back pain, I finally found relief. How, might you ask? Not with opiates, surgery, massage, weed, torture devices… No. By reading a book. Well, the book was recommended last year by my niece, but I wasn’t ready for the message. Then my health coach Anna Maria suggested it. This book by Dr. John Sarno called The Divided Mind introduced me to the power of the mind-body healing connection. (I’ll let you know when I improve my thyroid, essential tremor and vajayjay issues. Hey, I’m open.) The subconscious controls 95% of our lives. Whatever you learned as a kid is still with you. That sneaky brain of ours protects us from feeling hurt, angry, sad, worried… by sending us pain somewhere in the body. Once we know the initial emotion, the inception, BAM, just have a chat with your brain. I explained all this to Nancy, telling her that I was able to hike 3 miles last week. Last year I could barely walk down our driveway.
Me—So I was wondering if you ever talk to your brain about your fatigue.
Nancy—No, but I talk to my anus.
Me—Really.
Nancy—Well, after diverticulitis I tell my anus not to squeeze. That’s what caused the problem. Squeezing.
Me—Did your anus listen? Take your advice?
Nancy—Not yet.
Me—Maybe if you name your anus. Like how some women names their boobs.
Nancy—Did you name your boobs?
Me—I tried once. It didn’t stick. Judy and Betty. I wanted a vintage feeling. I couldn’t do stripper names like Amber and Lola.
Nancy—My boobs were Lisa and Sherry—
Me—Nice to meet you.
Nancy-- Back when they were perky. I don’t address them anymore. They dropped out of sight.
Me—MIA boobs. I know I know. Names are important though.
Nancy—People love when you address them by their name.
Me—Except waiters.
Nancy—True. Like they’re threatened we might overuse their name, ask for extra napkins.
Me—And if waiter Troy isn’t around, I’ll slip over to the server station and grab those extra napkins.
Nancy—I once refilled my own water.
Me—It’s good to be independent, self-advocate. Maybe your anus needs validation.
Nancy—You think if I give it a name, it’ll find its voice?
Me—Sure? What about Sally?
Nancy—No. The anus is definitely male.
Me—Really. You don’t think a female can be an ass hole?
We laughed.
Nancy-- Bruce.
Me—Bruce is good. Brutus?
Nancy—It’s got to be one syllable. Blunt.
Me—Hank.
Nancy— (trying it out) “Stop squeezing, Hank.”
Me/Nancy—Nah.
Me—Bruce is better. Plus, it’s your body. Whatever feels right to you.
Nancy—Women don’t name their vaginas, do they?
Me—They’re nameless, original.
Nancy—They’re mysteries.
Me—A magical secret.
Nancy—Do you talk to any other body part, besides the brain?
Me—I once tried my hand. I have an essential tremor.
Nancy—What would you name your hand?
Me—Shakey? How unoriginal.
Nancy—Maybe something sturdy like Ed.
Me—Ooo, I like that. “Listen, Ed, I want to eat soup again without spilling, text like an adept teenager.” I once texted Jeff, “I need Jew underwear.” He said, “We have special underwear?”
Nancy—The N is right under the J. Anyone could have made that mistake.
Me—I’ll bet there’s Jew underwear for the holidays. A dreidel printed on the crotch.
Nancy—Menorah boxers. Sexy.
Me--Ed works. Ed the Brain. Brain-Ed.
Nancy—The brain controls everything, right?
Me—Hands, back, anus…
Nancy—You think your brain would be okay with Ed?
Me—I don’t know. Maybe not. The brain is like the vajayjay. Unique, powerful, all-knowing.
Nancy—You really hiked 3 miles?
Me—And half was uphill.
Nancy—I’ve got to read that book.
Me—He’s written a lot of books. Maybe he has one about the butt hole.
Nancy—Bruce the Butt hole. Bruce Almighty.
We groaned.
Nancy—Not a great movie.
Me—Where’s Jim Carrey been?
Nancy—Jim. Now that’s a name for an arm pit.
Me—Not to be confused with Gym, which are notoriously stinky. What about your fatigue? You’ve already tried everything else. Maybe Mr. Brain can help.
Nancy—I’ll give it a shot.
Me—”Give it a shot.” Where did that idiom come from? The wild west?
Nancy—Probably an old Norseman shooting an arrow.
Me—(really bad Norse accent) There is wild boar. I give it a shot.
Nancy—I have to put a pie in the oven and talk to my brain.
Me—Good luck.
Moral? This Sarno dude is not hogwash. And I’ve never washed a hog. Idiom “hogwash” has nothing to do with hogs or wash.
1. Do you talk to your brain?
2. Have you named a body part?
3. Have you ever tried Goat Yoga?
Thanks again for the reminder about Sarno's book. It's very cool you could hike recently! I love that.
I actually have named a body part but I will save that story to tell you in private😆. While I think the practice is likely quite useful it didn't seem to help me.
I work with people's bodies every day and find it fascinating how some folks don't seem to live IN their own body. It's as if they are separated from it or don't take ownership of it. Any practice that makes us pay attention to our body part in a non-complaining way, and give it some love, will be helpful. Maybe instead of naming it a different name it would help to call it more of a nickname that is part of you? Just a thought. Does Sarno talk about this in his book?
A wonderful article, thank you❤
Such fun and I'll give it a go.
I have occasional essential tremour in the head and left hand. I have divertilitis too. Thinking up names as we speak!