For years, I didn’t talk about my surgery. I didn’t talk about the years of pain leading up to it, the feeling of my body turning against me, the crushing pressure that increased every few days as my sternum rotated, my xiphoid punctured my lung, and my ribs threatened to collapse into my pericardium and heart. I didn’t talk about how, for two and a half years, it felt like an invisible tourniquet was being tightened around me, and I had no control over stopping it.
After the surgery, I buried it all. I moved forward. Or at least, I tried to.
But as time went on, my body reminded me that I couldn’t just leave it behind. I started to realize that without intentional movement, I was heading down a path that would limit me in ways I wasn’t willing to accept. Specialists confirmed what I was beginning to suspect—I needed to take movement seriously if I wanted to maintain my mobility and strength long-term.
That realization hit me hard.
I started running. It was a struggle. For over a year, I hated it. I ran because I had to, not because I wanted to.
Then, something changed.
Turning Movement Into Gratitude
At some point, I began to shift my focus. Instead of running to escape the past, I started running toward something new—a new way of relating to my body.
On my long runs, I started talking to my body—not in frustration, but in gratitude.
To my heart: Thank you for every beat, for pumping tirelessly, whether I am running or sleeping. Thank you for nourishing my body, for keeping me going, for never stopping!
To my lungs: Thank you for expanding and contracting with every breath, for adapting as I push my limits, for providing the oxygen that fuels me.
To my liver: Thank you for constantly detoxifying, filtering, and keeping me in balance.
To my pelvis: Thank you for your strength, for your ability to support me, stabilize me, and help me move forward.
To my feet: Thank you for carrying me mile after mile, absorbing the impact of every step, and adapting to whatever terrain I ask you to take on.
When I hit mile 23 of my first marathon, I remember thinking, "one step at a time, one foot in front of the other." It wasn’t about another 3.2 miles—it was about each individual step to get me through the "wall" of mile 23. My feet had carried me that far, and they would carry me the rest of the way.
I did this with every part of my body—whatever I was called to acknowledge that day.
And something shifted.
The more gratitude I expressed, the better I felt. My pain stopped. My running changed. I became faster. I became stronger. I became happier.
I wasn’t just moving anymore—I was connecting.
The Body Is Brilliant. The Body Is Adaptive.
I still practice this, even though I’m no longer a runner. I still talk to my body. I still move with intention, strenth train with intention, and I still thank it.
Because no matter what challenges we face, the body is always trying to help us. The body is adaptive. The body is brilliant.
Even in pain, even in trauma, the body is searching for ways to protect, support, and heal us.
And sometimes, all we need to do is acknowledge that.
Gratitude and the Voice
Just as my body needed intentional movement to heal and adapt, my voice required the same care. For years, I focused on what wasn’t working—tension, fatigue, the limitations I felt after surgery. I pushed through, thinking I could force my way back to vocal freedom. But just like running, vocal progress isn’t about brute force—it’s about building a relationship with the body through awareness and gratitude.
So, I started applying the same practice I used on my runs to my voice.
To my breath: Thank you for supporting my voice, for expanding and contracting, for giving life to my sound.
To my larynx: Thank you for your resilience, for adapting to every demand I place on you, for allowing me to express myself.
To my resonant spaces: Thank you for amplifying my voice, for shifting and adjusting as I sing.
Instead of getting stuck in what wasn’t working, I began to acknowledge what was. And just like in running, the more gratitude I expressed, the more things started to change. My voice felt freer. My body worked with me instead of against me. I wasn’t just singing anymore—I was connecting.
Singers are athletes, and we need to trust our bodies. And sometimes, that starts with simply saying thank you.
Try This Practice Yourself
If this resonates with you, I encourage you to try it. You don’t need to run a marathon. You can do this while walking, stretching, sitting, or simply breathing.
- Pick one body part today and thank it. Speak to it as if it were a trusted friend.
- Notice how your breath, movement, and emotions shift as you focus on gratitude.
- Over time, expand this practice. See what happens when you speak to your body with appreciation rather than frustration.
The body is always listening. The body is always adapting.
And when we start to acknowledge that, everything changes.
With deep gratitude…until next time,
Christine
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