Dipping my toes in

yoga beautywalk Sandra Butel Fiji McAlpine 8 limbs of yoga Eastern Townships family chalet swimming cold autumn buddhism spirituality — *The last days of summer* Photo by Sandra Butel

I am Sandra Butel and this is my beautywalk.

My beautywalk is my perfectly imperfect human voyage. I set off first in this direction and then in that one, unsure of precisely where I am going to end up and determined to keep moving one foot in front of the other with as much softness and love for as long as I am able.

Safe spaces

I have been delving into some of my past experiences lately with a somatic therapist who specializes in trauma work. Aside from the many, many tears that I have had running down my cheeks and filling up my nostrils (more on that in another blog perhaps), there have been some other pieces of my personal puzzle that have clicked into place during our short time together.

We have been working on identifying and connecting to those very personal spaces or activities where I feel safe enough to relax and let down my defenses. The swiftness with which I answer the query each time it is posed creates some surprise for both the therapist and myself. There is no doubt in my mind that swimming in the pond at my in-laws' chalet, riding my bike and making puzzles all offer me a place of repose when things get overly intense inside my heart and mind. I can visualize each of these vividly in my mind and the recalling of one or another of these experiences never fails to bring some sense of ease and contentment to my body. How comforting it is for me to know that these experiences are there for me whenever I need them and all I have to do is find a quiet space and imagine myself engaged in their exploration.

A charming chalet

The in-laws pond visualization is particularly vivid, so much so that my heart begins to ache to visit it again in real life. I speak this out loud to my partner, including my own bittersweet realizations about the swiftly coming arrival of the end of summer, and he is quick to concur that we should accept his sister’s already proffered generous invitation to spend a little time there in September. We gather side by side with my laptop on our grey blue couch that many years ago sparkled with newness as the only piece of furniture we have ever bought brand new and that is now showing increasing signs of aging. We google car rentals, having made the decision to be car-less when we moved to Montreal in the spring. The yellowing leaves call to us through the open windows to step outside and take in their beauty before it is too late. We hem and haw, sure that we are not prepared to make the right decision, our stress levels mounting until we are left with a distinct need for a pause for reflection. It takes a few tries but finally we have a rental car booked, our bags packed and plans to take a Lyft at a discount to pick up the car on Tuesday morning.

The drive goes by quickly, as it often does when I am not behind the wheel, my head nodding from time to time as I drift between sleep and awake to the breathtaking views all around me. A song that has comforted me from yoga class to yoga class, from city to city and teacher to teacher fills up the space between Francis and I as I call up Garth Stevenson’s The Southern Sea and play it on my phone. The deep sounds of double bass and cello and the memories of time spent on my yoga mat in focus, stretching my comfort zones and my various bodily articulations adds ease to this deeply connected relationship that is only second in length to that which I have with myself.

The arrival at the chalet is accented with oohs and aahs from both of our faces. We notice a new fence and the latest flowers in bloom; the many coloured hydrangeas, one hanging basket of pink geraniums and the deep yellow and black of the black (or is it brown) eyed Susans that make their presence known here and there amongst the trees and the thick carpeting of the freshly cut green grass. We both comment on how lucky we are to be able to come here and we pause in recognition of the generosity and hard work that has made this escape from the city possible for us both. We count our many blessings and we vow again to make sure to offer back whatever kindness we can to these people who have opened their second home up to us and to so many others besides.

I gaze towards the pond, down the gradual slope from the light coloured country style house’s latest iteration, to the dark emerald green surface that lies below. My brother-in-law's yellow canoe is tied to the wooden platform with the laddered steps, its brightness hopefully reflected in the surface of the still water below. It calls to me and I know that soon I will find myself at its edge, making my way slowly into its depths once again. But first there is eating yummy food, reading books, drinking our favourite grapefruit flavoured San Pellegrino, and a short nap on the comfy couch surrounded by windows that bring the view from out to in.

Resisting what is

I put on my two piece mismatched bathing suit, one purchased at one thrift store and the other at another and I make my way barefooted, a towel over my arm, down the dead leaf covered steps to the softness and slightly damp texture of the grass below. I pass by Francis, who is seated on a bench overlooking the water, his metronome and his mandolin bringing music to our ears, nodding in recognition and smiling as I go. I step down the 3 stone steps, treading lightly as I slow, making sure that my aging body has enough time to make the slope. I touch the metal handles of the ladder and dip my right foot in, expecting a coolness from all the other times I have stepped in. It is colder than I remember and I draw my foot back out before steeling myself for a double dip with both feet up to the shin.

I am shot back through time and space into a vividly uncomfortable memory of feeling water this cold on my legs. I had injured my knee playing floor hockey, having let the taunts of a younger, male opponent push me beyond what my body was ready to do. As I cried out with the pain there was a little extra there. A recognition that, again in my effort to prove I was as good as any boy, I had brought this on myself. I had pushed beyond my limits, ignored what my body was telling me and now there would be consequences. An ice filled tub of water was one of the effects in the old cause and effect game. I remember putting on the overly large shorts that the physiotherapist kept on hand for just these occasions and bracing myself for the bone numbing cold that was awaiting me.

I am frozen in place at the top of the 4 runged ladder, my heart beating more quickly and my legs burning with the ache of the frigid temperatures of the liquid around them. Resistance is with me and I feel such disappointment at the possibility that I will not get my body into one of my favourite positions, floating in this particular body of water all on my own. I pause for a moment, mind racing and look around for someone to blame. (Oh, the human brain is such a stinker.) I hear the tick tick of the metronome and the same notes being played again and again. It has to be because of Francis that I cannot make myself go in. If only he would stop, I would be able to concentrate and would have the ease and strength to push aside the shivers and move my body down and down until covered in water all the way to my chin.

I shake my head, knowing that my reticence has nothing to do with the happenings around me and that this, like so many other things in my life, is all about the strength of my resolve within. I take a deep breath, which always seems to be helpful whenever I am facing a wall of resistance. I tell myself that I will not regret it once I am in and that summer is almost over and if I don’t go in now I will have missed my last swim.

I continue like this, stepping from one rung to the next to the next, facing towards the water until I hit the last rung. I then climb up the steps to the top again and turn around to descend one step at a time, my back towards the water this time around. It is cold. Cold like ice and after a few ups and downs like this I let my body fall forward so that my chest and arms and back are covered by the flow of water within.

Shock hits my system and I fight the sensation and tell myself that I have to get out of here as quickly as I can. Lots of blunder and noise and Francis stops his picking to watch me, intrigued by the goings on in front of him. I am out of the water, almost before I am in, climbing up the steps as fast as I can and juggling all sorts of thoughts about how this safe space has become so bitter that I will have to find another place to swim. This is not what I wanted it to be and I am in full on resistance mode now.

Licking my wounds

I wrap myself in a towel and find a seat near the house, licking my wounds as I get up my nerve to try again. I search my mind for solutions, knowing there has to be some way I can trick my body and mind to make my way back in. I tell myself that the cold is just a story that I have told myself and surely I have not already had my last swim of 2025. I think of Wim Hof and tell myself that this is an opportunity to really focus my attention and be with the sensations as they are; not adding more, not taking away any. Just being with what is, knowing full well that I have been in cold water before and that this is not going to kill me. In fact, it is likely going to give my body and mind a huge boost and be worth it in the end.

I rely on the potency of the personal stories that have developed over the years of being one of the few amongst my family and friends to find a way to go into the water, no matter how cold it is. There are memories of being a little girl and going into the close to zero degree water near Uranium City in Northern Saskatchewan with a few older boy relatives who dared to plunge in. There are stories of every time we came to the cabin in previous years and of me being the only one who had the wherewithal to brave the wilderness and get myself in. The last time we were here in the summer time the water was much warmer and then even Francis spent a long time in the water with me. I spent hours cleaning out the algae that had accumulated on the surface of the water in the sweltering heat of summer. I treaded water and directed the green stringy slime towards my sister in law who raked it up onto the shore. There was such a sense of accomplishment and hours spent moving my body in the water on my own, the strength of my arms and legs and the relative warmth of the pond water making this task a breeze.

Turning towards

So here I am at this particular moment, with the temperature of the water being exactly what it is, and I am damned if I am going to let it stop me. I remember all the times I have practiced the wisdom of turning towards something that I have been resisting. I walk back to the water’s edge, nodding my head at Francis who is there still making music with his fingertips and do my little dance of down 4 steps facing forward, up 4 steps facing forward, turn around and down 4 steps facing backwards up 4 steps facing backwards until I push myself the last foot until I drop down face first drop into the water. This time I focus my attention clearly on the sensations where the water touches my body; the burning of my feet as they kick, the shock of cold on my shoulders as the water washes over as I rotate my arms forward and back. It is not as bad as the first time and I congratulate myself on my focusing abilities all while shuddering each time the icy water touches upon what my mother called my wings. I tell myself that this is about accepting what is and I focus all of my attention on what this feels like. I am able to make my way further than I did the first time, taking a dozen strokes or more before turning around and making my way back up the steps again.

I take the towel and lay it out on the sun filled grassy space on the other side of the rock and weed covered country driveway, where we gathered with our family members in April of 2024 for the total eclipse of the sun. I notice that to the right and left of me are small headed yellow dandelions who must have hidden away when the lawnmower passed and popped up when its job was done. I notice that the blood flow has increased dramatically to the surface of all of my skin. Warmth floods my arms and legs and runs up the sides of my torso, my body’s way of saving me from the winter temperatures that have pressed against my body as I swim. Dragonflies zig and zag around me and the heat of the sun does its best to dry up the water droplets that gather one by one onto the soft dry towel beneath me.

I am buzzing with activity, my body is alive and full of sensation, my brain is congratulating me on my defeat of the unpleasant bodily exclamations that would keep a lesser being from enjoying the pleasure of a late summer swim. The raise in temperature from where I was to where I am now is like the shift from summer to winter. Shivers come and go and eventually it is necessary to put on layers of clothes and get under some covers until they calm again.

From my perch on the couch under the weight of a white comforter, I wonder what my next voyage into the icy depths will teach me about myself. I wonder how this learning will allow me to fully embrace what is being offered by letting go of the fear and resistance that hold me back from living my life fully. A full night’s sleep, some more reading, some food, some time spent chatting comfortably with the man who shares my life and I am ready to try again.

Wisdom of yoga

The sun is hidden a bit today behind some clouds and the warmth is not as present as it was yesterday. Still I am ready for another watery adventure, facing up to extreme differences from warm to cold and back again. I pause for another session of the 8 limbs of yoga with the delightful and ever insightful Fiji McAlpine who leads us into the fifth limb of yoga, Pratyahara, which is all about disconnecting from outside experiences or pressures and connecting to the stillness that lies deep within. Pratyahara is most commonly known as the withdrawing of the senses but as Fiji explains it can more easily be understood as finding and practicing our ability to let go of the attachment we have to our preferences. Oh yes, my preference would definitely be for the temperature of the water to be at least 15 degrees higher or for my body to not balk at my spirit’s desire to find myself immersed within.

I raise my hand tentatively, noticing that my computer mimics my motion with the graphic of a raised yellow hand, and ask Fiji about this process of focusing away from the bodily sensations. I tell more about my first and second experiences in the unpleasantly and surprisingly cold water of the day before and question this new idea that I could pull my attention away from the unpleasant sensations instead of giving myself fully over to them. She nods her head in agreement at my confusion and explains that being with the sensations is one part of the process of accepting what is actually going on. She adds that if we focus our attention only on the painful or uncomfortable places, we end up giving them so much more power to pull us off our equilibrium. “Our thoughts, our sensations in our bodies, the feeling tone of emotions are all fluctuations - they go up, they go down - what do they do to us when they go up and down - if we catch on to them - they hook into you and they pull you up or they pull you down.”

She goes on to quote a neurosurgeon who indicated that in about 50% of the time in instances of chronic pain caused by injury the pain signal in our brain goes on longer than the actual damage exists. We become so accustomed to that pain signal that we keep feeling the pain of an injury that no longer exists.

The question we have to ask ourselves is,

How can we take back control of the fluctuations of our mind?

That leads me to the question of, given this new way of seeing the world, how I can approach the cold dip the next time round?

What deeper learning could this icy bath have to offer me?

Accepting what is

Fiji suggests focusing on my breath as I make my way into the frigid water and that is what I do. I do the same in and out, up and down, backwards and forwards thing and then drop into the water, my intention to focus on the in and out of my breath and away from the uncomfortable aching sensations that fill my bones and sinew as soon as my body is immersed within. I look around me, noticing that with the angle and brightness of the sun, the colour of the water is now an icy Caribbean style greeny blue, it is clear and clean,with the autumn coloured trees reflecting their age and beauty within. I notice the beating of my heart, which quickens with each stroke of my arms and kicking of my feet. I notice the kaleidoscope reflections that shift and change around me as I make my way to the collection of rocks in the middle of the pond. This time I am able to go much further and stay in the water for much longer than I did on my first two attempts.

I stand up on the slippery surface of one of the rocks, pulling my chest and back and arms out of the crushed ice temperature of the water. I stand there, knees slightly bent, arms held out and listen to the sound of the rushing water as it filters through and down the waterfall beyond the bend. I notice a few dragonflies, moving this way and that, catch sight of a fleck of red in the chair set into the shade on the other side of the water’s edge, and hear the high notes that are plucking at Francis’s heart strings as he goes.

I stand tall in my modified mountain pose, starting to dread the idea of lowering my nerve filled sensitive shoulders back into the water to make my way back, realizing as I do that I have no choice but to go back in. It isn’t time yet and I look around to see what else I can see, pulling my attention away from the stiffness creeping into my legs and feet from their ice bucket challenge below. There is a pale yellow caterpillar, the same kind I saw when I stood upon the shore. I watch it move its body, a little twist of its hind end and then a ripple that runs through it from front to back before it starts up again with a butt shimmy. I wonder how it does that and where the energy comes from to propel it forward. I wonder too if it is going to come right up to me or if it will turn away before we touch, one species to another, unsure but unafraid. It rolls itself up in a ball then, making me think of all the twists and stretches and arches up and down that I have been guided to on my yoga mat. Stretching and turning and rippling its spine in undulation and there I am, quiet and still, and ready to simply watch in appreciation, the cold water forgotten as my focus finds a point.

I lower my body slowly down, letting the cool touch softly on each inch of my already warmed up skin before pushing myself forward, the slimy substance on the rock’s surface giving me all the elan I need to drop in. I watch with gratitude and fascination as my arms make their warm forward and back and around and forward again, never losing sight of the heartfelt drawings tattooed on my skin. I move slowly, not in any rush to remove myself from this experience, sure and steady that I will make my way out of the water in due time and find a place in the sun to warm myself up once again.

I am Sandra Butel and this is my beautywalk. What’s yours?

Resources for Further Study and Personal Growth

If you are looking for a trauma therapist and you are in Montreal I would recommend checking out Angela Boismenu, trauma informed Naturotherapist.
I have learned so much already from Fiji McAlpine whether it is in her guidance in person at yoga retreats with Do Yoga With Me at beautiful places like Hollyhock and Mar de Jade or with sessions of one on one coaching or the workshops she offers, like the one I am taking right now, Living Limbs: Exploring the 8 Limbs of Yoga
I am here with my healing human heart and my brand new Professional Coach Certification (PCC) from the International Coaching Federation to be of assistance to you in your own journey of finding peace with what is and courage to change that which no longer serves you. I have over 500 hours of experience working with clients and am sure that the time we spend together will bring immense value to us both.

For a free consultation with me all you have to do is book yourself into my calendar. We will spend some time getting to know one another and by the end of the 60 minutes it will be clear if a coaching relationship with me is what is needed in your life right now. There is no pressure here to buy, simply an offer from someone who has been through a whole lot of challenges and come out the other side. A little stronger, a little more humble, a little more ready to lend an ear.

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