A seed for sea change

lunargirl27

I am not doing well, I think as I try to work on my latest writing project. I rewrite a line I liked yesterday but now seems inadequate. It’s worse. I delete the whole thing, then go back and put back what I had taken out.  A few minutes earlier I was lying on my yoga mat half curled around my dog, both of us sun basking, tears slipping from my eyes onto the floor. I thought, I am not doing well today. Then my wisened self replaced “today” with “this moment.” But now a little time has passed, a dust of melancholy has settled around me and I have forgotten all about the sun.

Left unchecked, the closed circuit of my emotional pain will fuel more negative thinking. The truth is, I’ve been crushing it, as a friend of mine says (I dearly love him for this). I’ve been pushing myself way, way, WAY outside of my comfort zone. Offering virtual yoga classes (and acclimating myself to my video reflection), sending out group emails (which I still don’t really have the hang of), and writing on here.

I am struggling right now, yes. The fact that this feeling of despair has come on so strong so fast shows me it’s a very old, well worn mind-body pattern. A familiar companion. Shallow breathing, tension in my neck, tightness in my shoulders, and a clenched fist in my chest. All this proceeded (and then accompanied by) wildly irrational thinking: I’m such a pain in the ass, a piece of shit, what do I think I’m doing, how could I have asked for that it’s totally unreasonable whodoIthinkIamwritingasif whatihavetosayisworthsomething. You get the gist.

Where on earth did this come from? I wrote an email requesting that a monthly payment be postponed for thirty days- very reasonable given my situation (which I don’t need to go into). The reply was would 14 days work? My usual response would be to kowtow. Thank you so much, I know I should have asked sooner, etc., etc. But today I did something different. Necessity is the mother of invention (in this case new behavior). I pushed little. I thanked this person for the timely response and then asked if postponing payment for 30 days was possible.

And then all hell broke loose.

I wrote this email response minutes before I signed on for a webinar with my favorite yoga teacher/psychologist. I had already talked to my best friend about the details of this situation. But as soon as I hit “send” on the email, walked over to my computer and signed into zoom, I felt my center of gravity drop. That’s not quite right but I’ll keep going anyway. What I really felt was that all that internal spaciousness I had just momentarily had, to feel whatever was going on within, head, heart, body, watch it turn shape shifter and pass; all gone. My insides had collapsed into a dense heap, one organ throwing itself onto another, to protect their tender viscera from being torn to bits. Now every feeling I had, and every thought (I am a terrible human being) had no where to go. This feeling was stuck in me, and I so was stuck in this feeling.

It’s all well and good to practice mindfulness (it’s in italics because I hate that word right now) when I’m feeling awesome, or even okay. Mild discomfort, I can manage that too. But a deep wound like this one: I can’t let myself be a burden because then I won’t be loved and if I’m not loved I will die. Well, mindfulness here in this clusterf**** of emotions is an entirely different story.

My teacher today spoke of choosing a value (in my head I chose kindness and love towards myself) and practice embodying it. So what would that look like right now? I’m annoyed at those words even as I write them. Then I remind myself I am SO over getting stuck in these old emotional mires. Also, it’s a bit different when working with pain whose web runs this deep. A fear, really, whose pain then staked its claim in my tiny baby self. Sooo… just because I’m not staying on my yoga mat and crying my eyes out doesn’t mean I’m not doing the work. I’m not running yet. I’m not covering over the extreme discomfort by doing that last load of laundry I’ve had my eye on for three days now. A laundry doing that would lead to an overhaul of the entire apartment. And I’m not eating a second lunch. I am very, very close to turning on the tv, but I haven’t even done that yet either. I even went for a walk with my dog. It was around two long blocks and felt tortuous at the time, but I knew I was doing something good for myself.

The response I get to this email doesn’t really matter, does it?  This feels like a new realization. Another insight today is the depth of my grief. Those tears on the yoga mat were about being terrified I wouldn’t be loved. I’m so scared, I’m so scared I thought over and over again before all those other thoughts of “not being okay” came up. When I was a little girl, it was easier to feel inadequate than to feel that my mother didn’t love me for who I was. Now I’m forty-one and I don’t have to rely on someone else’s love to feel safe, to feel I am loved. Because I am finally (FINALLY) loving myself. Consequently, I know, I am loved. Sometimes, or maybe most times.

Am I still anxious about getting a response? Oh yes. I would rather never get one, but that’s not rational. And if that happened my anxiety would just land somewhere else. That’s how it works.

So. I made it here to the page, exceedingly grumpy, but present anyway. As of this moment I am a little less grumpy. And I don’t feel like my insides are standing on the edge of a building toeing the edge. Actually, it feels roomy in there. What will I do now?I think I’m going to go ahead and turn on that TV. Because sometimes distraction is a very effective tool.

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Published by lunargirl27

I am a writer and an artist, a teacher and a swing dancer (and a lover of all dancing); a woman who loves to dig in the dirt, talk to the flowers and sleep with the trees. I am an eternal student. Though I consider myself an introvert, my passion is finding true connection with others. I have lived with life-long chronic illness, and continue to struggle both with physical health issues, and bouts of depression and anxiety, sometimes debilitating. I am still reconciling my past with its effect on my present; learning to love the little girl who is still me, the one who carries our trauma. And I am finally, FINALLY, starting to know what loving myself actually feels like (less like an article in a self-help magazine, more like a loving expansiveness of self and a union with others. I don't like that description at all, but for now I'll let it be. This will kill my perfectionist). I'm here because I want to share my experience, strength, and hope. Not because I want to save or fix you, but because I hope you will see a reflection of your own strength and ability to heal in my words. The bad news is that no one will do this hard, at times painful, self-exploratory work for you. It's a humbling process. The good news is that you are capable of seeking help, and you deserve the love, support, and understanding that will help you heal. I acknowledge here, my privilege of having access to emotional support resources. I know I am one of the lucky ones. Though we cannot see each other, I know a little piece of you, just as you know a little piece of me. Our stories may be different, but we understand a shared pain. Though the specifics belong to each of us alone, our healing comes from also being able to see the similarities. This is how we break out of our isolation. And even if none of this helps you, maybe something here will lead you to a path that can offer you some hope and healing. Reach out anytime, I would love to hear from you.

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