Category Archives: Yoga

Practice Does Not Make Perfect

The kids’ toys have invaded every room of my house and it’s making me little crazy. Right now, there are three rooms in desperate need of painting, a brigade of dandelions invading my garden, and stacks of papers that have built up over a dreary, rainy season. I sigh heavily each time I look at them. For the last week I have been slightly obsessed with getting my home organized. Call it Spring cleaning, or whatever, but it has suddenly become of paramount importance that each these issues be rectified and a semblance of order restored to my living space before I can think of doing anything else.

In the last week I have been on a singular mission to create a playroom in a spare bedroom and reclaim my living room as “adult space.” I have made trips to IKEA, Target and Goodwill for donations. I have searched for more than an hour online for the just-so-perfect-paper-organizing-charging-station (which I have yet to find). If I’m being honest, I can think of hardly anything else until this project is complete. I know when I get so focused on one task that there is something larger, deeper at play, and this new zeal for cleaning and purging is no exception.

For four months I have been walking a razor’s edge. I’ve been balancing knives on a high wire and holding my breath 1000 feet under water. I’ve felt the heaviness of the unknown resting on my chest while dragging the past behind me strapped to my neck like a noose. It has been a long, hard winter for all the relationships in my life.

But today, like the tulips and daffodils that are pushing their yellow petals toward the sun from under previously frozen ground (a miracle each time) there has been a transition toward the light in my own life. Some friends have emerged as life preservers. Some family relations have been clarified, deconstructed, ready to build anew, perhaps in a healthier way. Most importantly, my marriage has shifted onto more solid ground and it too is rebuilding with a stronger foundation than ever before. At this moment everything feels like a miracle, from the flowers to my faith.

It’s been awhile since I’ve felt this assured about the future and my sole motivation to organize my home is my way of trying to hold onto that feeling; gain control of it, slap a fresh coat of paint on it and force it to stick around for a while. I believe this much is true.

I have learned a great deal about myself and relationships in the past four months by means of therapy, reading and introspection. In the midst of it, I have swung from one side of the sanity pendulum to the other sometimes in the very same day. I know more about who I am, a knowledge that came at a high price. I have confronted my anger, my anxiety, my ideas about marriage and family, motherhood and faith. My convictions have never been stronger or more flexible and neither has my body as a direct result of deepening my yoga practice. All of these are good things that have helped me grow, and yet, my compulsions remain.

life is a practiceThis is the lesson standing out to me on this clear, crisp Spring day–that like my yoga practice, life is never mastered. Life is a continuing practice because there is no such thing as perfection. Perfection is an illusion we portray to keep the deeper, larger things at arm’s length; to avoid eye-contact with the ugliness and unexpectedness that lays on the periphery of every thing we hold close.

As deep as my tendencies for obsessions and compulsions run, somewhere else deep lies the knowledge that there is no promise of ever getting it right, of having it all, of writing the perfect blog post, bending into the epitomous expression of downward dog or even another clear, crisp Spring day.

Even though I want to finish this post so that I can paint trim, I will remind myself in the midst of it that there is no such thing as the just-so-perfect-paper-organizing-charging-station (believed me, I’ve looked) or seemless, knick-free walls that do not hold with them the immediate threat of a toddler’s permanent marker adornments… or relationships without the promise of future disappointments.

My recent quest to organize my house is about me, once again, fighting this reality. In the light of this more hopeful, brighter place in my life, I am already starting to fear of the unknown, the chaotic, the foreboding season I just left, one that I know will come again because… such is life. My need to categorize my papers is me trying to hold onto something instead of slipping into the flow of life, of letting everything be perfect the way it is and trusting that everything is already as it should be… a miracle.

But the good news is that life is a practice, and part of that practice is reminding myself again and again that there is no such thing as the perfectly organized playroom and clutterless countertops. They do not exist.

If I have learned anything over the last four months, it is that life is unpredictable and precarious and the only thing we have is the present moment, whatever that beautiful mess might be, and miraculously that it is always enough. I know now that there is no such things as the perfect marriage, the perfect mother, the perfect life… that we are all just practicing at doing our best each day. Something we should learn to be more forgiving with, for, to, of.

I have changed the way I think about these things, and that new thought takes practice too. Instead of saying I am a writer, I say, I practice writing; same goes for yoga. I also practice being wife, a mother and a daughter. I practice patience and gratitude and staying present. Always practicing, never perfecting because I have also learned you can never master anything in life. (Much to my love-of-lists-and-checked-boxes dismay.)

But perhaps with diligence of effort, commitment to the cause, and a willingness to be vulnerable and take risks, I’ll get better at all of them? Maybe?

I don’t believe happiness, serenity and forgiveness comes naturally for anyone. Life is difficult and testing for even the most enlightened and faithful among us. But I believe the more we commit to practicing gratitude, being present, forgiving and loving thy neighbor, the less harsh the winters may seem.

My tendencies are for control and perfection and certainty, but today, on this rainy, shiny, Spring-filled day, with its Chartreuse leaves twisting in the wind and bright tulips unfurling to the sunshine, I know that practice does not make perfect, but I am CERTAIN it will make good enough.

Because there is no such thing as a garden without weeds, relationships without falter, children without messes… and would we ever want it any other way?

The Beauty of Surrender

Today, I went to a second yoga session on my trip to Nicaragua. It will likely be my last here as we leave for home in a couple of days. It has been an illuminating, exciting and utterly exhausting trip. Caring for two toddlers is a lot of work in perfect conditions with all the tools in place like diaper pales, level sidewalks and regulatory high chairs with seat belts. All things for which I have a new appreciation. Doing all of the same day-to-day tasks here in the remote Third World without these luxuries has been a challenge for sure. A challenge that has stretched my coping abilities to their max.

I’ve yelled at my children more than I would like. I’ve been short with my husband for no reason. I have been too tired to enjoy some of the fun things because there’s just so much damn work to be done everyday. I’m not proud of it, but even on vacation surrounded by immense beauty I can be pissed off.

I needed yoga today to bring me back to myself. To remind me of the important things.

The wind was whipping my hair in the open-air studio. My dingy, borrowed mat flipped up on the edges from time to time. The pigeons congregated and cooed somewhere above me while the sounds of small-town Nicaragua swirled around me in cries, hollers, motors and horns. Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” was part of the soundtrack to the practice and somewhere around “…with every breath we drew a hallelujah” I let it all go and I sank into the beautiful space of surrender.

Surrender is beautiful, isn’t it? When we fall on our knees and crumple from the strain of life? When we’re brave enough to admit that we don’t have it all together, that we struggle, that we need help, that even on vacation in paradise we can get pissed off? When we stretch out our arms or join our hands in prayer asking, often begging for love, for peace, for a moment of grace in a hectic world–it is nothing short of a beauty-filled miracle. It’s something that doesn’t come naturally to a controlling, anxiety-ridden, yeller… like me.

But it came. It came with the strength of a thousand wind storms.

I was in the zone, or in yoga speak, ”on my edge” in every pose. My leg went up in wheel. I held crow. I got closer to a head stand than ever before and I stretched farther and deeper than usual… I chatuaronga’d the shit out of that mat. The hour and a half felt like mere moments in time. I was in my breath. I was humbled yet confident; filled with a strong weakness that transformed me from one inhalation to the next. I have been in many yoga classes in the last 10 years but this one will stay with me forever. It shifted me–left an indelible impression on my soul.

The teacher said, “Every breath brings an opportunity for change.” Like a gong this struck a chord deep inside. She is right. With every breath, I can change. With every minute, I can be better– I can come back to myself and all I have to do is surrender… “with every breath a hallelujah.”

Let Go And Trust the Direction of the Wind

There are so many lessons to be learned when traveling to foreign countries, in particular, developing countries. I wrote last week about traveling for the first time as the mother of (and with) young children to Nicaragua. I am still here in Nicaragua as I type this and there is still profound perspective around every unbaby-proofed corner.

Nicaraguan Baby

The second lesson that is hitting me hard is this: Let go and go with the wind.

The wind here blows in all directions, sometimes all at once. We were evicted from the place we planned to stay for the duration of our trip partly because of a veracious wind storm that ripped out a couple of window screens. The main reason we were evicted, was because the owner didn’t understand (nor could he tolerate) children. Although for months he led us to believe otherwise. After my daughter wet the bed (which we’d later discover was because of a UTI) along with other realitively minor infractions considering the environment, like not shutting the windows properly to prevent his curtains from be whipped by the wind, he let us know that we were no longer welcome on the 4th day of our 14-day trip. We were understandably upset by this development as my husband spent months planning our trip and corresponding with the owner to insure the safety and proper environment for our young family. Without notice, at 7am one morning, we were suddenly without lodging in a third world country with two small children and lots of luggage.

We railed against the situation and the owner. We vented and called him names and I wrote a review for his place of business and then edited it a dozen times. We were mad for being blind-sided. We were mad because our much-anticipated vacation wasn’t turning out as we’d hoped.

Luckily, there was space available at an excellent resort community that had great amenities including air-conditioning. We didn’t choose this location from the start because on the top of our checklist of accommodations, we wanted a stunning view, immediate beach access and someone to cook most (if not all) of meals. Although this place has a great view, it did not offer the other two things. This ordeal stole an entire day of our vacation by having to relocate and spend time shopping for food and necessities. Not a fun day with two cranky, sweaty, napless toddlers.  To add to the situation, the Nicaraguan woman we hired to help with our children during days up and quit in the middle of our shopping trip because she had problems at home. At some point later this day, I said to my husband in a moment of frustration: “I’m not having fun anymore!”

It was true. I was exhausted. Things weren’t looking good in the near-term future. All I wanted to do was rest and take a break from all the work and worry. In spite this, I picked up my frustrated, disappointed, tired-ass and took my kids to the pool.

Within 10 minutes of being there, I met the owner of the only yoga studio in the small town of San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua. Within 20 minutes of meeting her, our vacation would turn around significantly. The next morning, I went to my first yoga practice in two weeks at her studio. While there, on my mat, I would hear this lesson with crushing clarity: Let go and trust the wind.

I have said before that yoga is my church. It is where I check-in with myself. It is where I become the best version of me, and it is where I hear God speak, most clearly. As I sat there on my mat waiting to begin, I started to focus on my breath and become present. It was an open-air studio on the second floor and the breeze blew lightly through.

Yoga NicaraguaI lifted my gaze to watch a butterfly struggling against a sheer, black screen. It struggled, fluttering it’s yellow and black wings over and over again into a barrier it could not see. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew it around the screen into the exact direction it wanted to go. In that instant, I knew what I came to Nicaragua to learn more profoundly.

When life isn’t working out the way you planned; when you get kicked out your accommodations (in part because of a wind storm) and then find yourself on the streets of a third world country with two cranky toddlers, four bags of luggage and nowhere to go; trust, and follow the wind. Stop struggling against the Universe, stop arguing with reality, stop putting energy where there are no solutions or peace or love; stop fighting the obstacles in your path. Go with wind and trust that God will be there waiting to lift you around the screens you cannot see, toward the place where the Yoga teacher is waiting; to a better, brighter space where you can fly where you want to go without struggle.

From that moment on, our vacation got better and better. Since we were not beholden to this snake-oil salesman and his place, we were free to move about, wherever.  Because of this, we are now settled into a beautiful place on the most pristine white sand beach in Nicaragua called Coco which is just 45 minutes outside of San Juan Del Sur . Last night, we watched the most dramatic, stunning, outrageous sunset of our lives. Afterward, my little family of four walked on a the soft sand beach laughing, watching tiny crabs scurry about while the horizon over the ocean blazed on in fiery red-orange. My 3-year-old threw her arms out wide and exclaimed, “Everything is so beautiful!”

She was so right. It was beyond beautiful. I wanted to capture it with my new camera but no digital photograph would contain what we were feeling, seeing and experiencing as a family. We were alone, on a remote corner of the world looking into the dying light of day, gazing up at a crisp sliver of a moon and a sky beginning to dust itself with bright, glittering stars. It is a moment my husband and I will never forget and would never have had, had we held on to our disappointments and let that be our guide instead of being, “…Like a feather on the breath of God.’

128

Coco Beach Nicaragua

Playa El Coco, Nicaragua, January 2013

Rage Against Everything: My Secret Addiction to Anger

Fire Anger BuddhaThe first draft of this essay was written in early October. I stopped writing it because I did not fully understand what I was trying to say. It started as a revelation of one of my most shameful coping mechanisms. I stopped myself from going there because if I stripped myself of that armor, where would feel safe again?

The people I love will use this against me to hurt me. I know this, and it is my greatest fear which is why this essay has laid dormant for two months. But I’m ready. At least I think so. I’m ready to understand this part of me. I’m ready to open myself up to my family, friends and neighbors because I have come to understand that the only way forward is through.

I am addicted to anger and rage.

I have written, rather flippantly, that anger is my “signature emotion.” I wrote it that way because sometimes the truth is ugly and without the mask of humor, the shame is too hard to take. If you are one of two people in my life, an acquaintance, or my closest, dearest friend, the words “angry person” are not how you would describe me.  Even those here who have read my words on this blog understand that my nature is not a warring one. I do not go around picking fights in life, anymore. I write “anymore” because I did punch my best friend in the face once during a fight when I was 19 (sorry Kel) and the physical fights between me and my sister are unmentionable.

I have come far since the days when I urged to punch people in the face, though not far enough. Now, I have more wisdom, more compassion, more empathy and I try very hard to find the positive of all situations and people. But the operative word in that sentence is “try” and the implication in that sentence is… that I fail.

On the whole I am a happy, grateful, genuinely kind and sensitive person. I see the sameness in all faces and I will treat you with respect and compassion. When I am conscious, I see this life as something full of magic, wonderment and love. I smile at strangers and hum Christmas carols all day long. That is the whole of me. But it is not on the whole that my anger takes me. It takes me in the unconscious minute-by-minute moments. The times when I am tired, weary, in need of something and feeling unworthy of everything. When I feel out of control.

For example, if you stand between me and one of my basic needs (like sleep) or you are the perpetrator of a perceived injustice (a recent traffic camera ticket) or annoyance (my children’s incessant whining) or even if you are a drawstring that has pulled yourself inside the seam for the hundredth time while in the dryer; my chest quickly tightens, my lips purse, my teeth clench. If you have a soul I will burn my eyes into it with the laser sharp heat of seething hatred while saying awful, awful things under my breath. That is me being sarcastic again to hide the truth.

The truth is… anger is my friend. It’s an easy emotion for me to turn on like a warm furnace for whatever makes me feel cold and disconnected and if I’m being honest again, I feel that way more than I’d like. I curl up inside the heat of anger and I feel a whoosh of release when I open the furnace gates with a verbal or non-verbal tirade because frankly, it is the only thing I have known how to do for a very long time to release any uncomfortable pressure.

Anger is one of the reasons I no longer live in my hometown. My hometown is where all the seeds of my anger are buried like landmines and when I get close to them, my already volatile tendencies bring me to the edge of annihilation. I took a trip there not long ago and per usual, I came home licking my wounds from traps I stupidly walked into although I have long known where they lay just below the surface. I have Freudianized the origins of my anger and I can say definitively when they were planted but none of that matters anymore. That was yesterday and I don’t live there anymore.

Although I moved away from the landmine seeds, I still took away the germinated and maturing vines of anger that twist inside me now. I asked my husband if he thought I was an angry person and he said no, but that I get angry a lot. He should know. He lives here and bares witness to every moment of frustration that crosses my path in this stay-at-home-part-time working-going-back-to-school-writing-mother-of-two-toddlers. He sees it more often than most and it hurts him, and us, and I am coming to understand that my anger is my half of why my marriage isn’t better than it could be.

Recently, I have witnessed my three-year-old point a rigid finger at her younger brother and yell at him when he’s just being a typical toddler. When she gets frustrated she lets out a chest growl just like I do. It kills me. I’m sowing her anger seeds as I type this.

But aren’t there certain things in life that deserve our outrage? I’ve been thinking about conflict recently. The class I’m taking on literary fiction says that conflict is necessary and central to a story. Without conflict, there is no story. This is true of fiction, and I suppose, of life. But conflict is not the same as anger. Anger is a reaction to conflict; it’s nearly always my reaction and it has proven to be a poisonous weed. I’m sure I will feel anger or rage from time to time in my life, but too much of any one literary device strangles the overall narrative and my overuse of anger is a part of my story that needs revision.

I read a book recently by Byron Katie, a leading spiritual teacher on the subject of acceptance and breaking the cycle of destructive thinking. She has a method of learning how to accept life for what it is and stop creating your own conflict with stories inside your head. A phrase from that book keeps reverberating inside my brain,

“We suffer when we argue with what is.” ~Byron Katie

My learned coping mechanism for suffering and for all that I cannot control is anger– shown either overtly, or covertly. Because of my aptitude for resisting what is–I am now suffering and I am paying the price along with those I suffocate with my anger vines.

All of these themes converged for me a couple of weeks ago when I went back to the yoga mat after an eight month hiatus. I love yoga. It is my church, where I am my most holy, divine self. I was willfully depriving myself of this and I’m not entirely sure why. I do this a lot, withhold pleasurable things as punishment for imaginary infractions; I’m the judge, jury and executioner of my own life. I don’t admit this cycle of punishment out loud. Instead, I blame other things, like time and money, but I know those aren’t the reasons I stopped going to yoga.

The reason I stopped going was because I couldn’t handle the emotions that were coming up for me while I practiced. I got confused. I had many more questions than I was prepared to answer and like so many of us do when facing difficult emotions, I simply made excuses; created distractions.

On that first day back I went up into a wheel pose. A wheel pose begins by lying on your back and raising onto your hands and feet into a back bend while your soft belly exposed to the sky. It’s difficult. It requires a flexibility and strength I do not believe I possess and it leaves me feeling weak and vulnerable. It’s a pose that sends immediate pangs of frustration and anger through my body because of my lack of strength to hold it. These moments, they happen frequently whether in yoga or emptying the dishwasher.

Prior to this yoga session I set the intention of peace. At the time, I was just becoming aware of my anger and I wanted to squelch these tendencies for a mere hour and a half to find the much-needed peace that’s missing from my minute-to-minute life. When I got up into the back bend, or wheel pose… I started to cry. I do not pretend to know the complexities of chakras and such, but my deepest self tells me it had something to do with surrender. I had fought mightily against these urges the whole class and in a most vulnerable, weak position, I surrendered. I stopped fighting for a moment, I let it be… and the tears came.

Letting things be is hard for me and in Yoga, you must let go of everything. This is why I walked away eight months ago. Eight months ago I had a six-month-old, a two-year-old, and dreams I didn’t know what to do with. I didn’t feel like I could let go of anything. How could I let any of these precious balls drop? No, letting go is not what I do. I force, I push, I strive, I worry, I attempt control. All of those adjectives carry with them a certain weight of aggression, and aggression has no place on a Yoga mat. The yoga mat is for surrender. So I walked away.

When the class was over the lady next to me turned and said, “You were such a calm and relaxed yogi to practice next to. Thank you.” I didn’t know what to make of that then, and I still don’t. I laughed at the irony. I was struggling mightily to suppress the anger so either I succeeded, or I’m really good at hiding.

Either way, I don’t want to struggle and I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to have to suppress anything, either. I don’t want to be friends with rage. I want to step out of my anger armor. I want to choose a different solution and for me, that means accepting what is, surrendering to the moment, letting it be, stop hiding and be vulnerable and yes… weak.

“Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you’d chosen it.” ~Eckhart Tolle

This is so much easier said than done for an habitual control-freak like me, but this is why I’m writing this, to be free. Now, when I feel my body responding in anger, the above statement is my mantra.

I know there will always be conflict. Stories are made of conflict and life is made of stories. But it’s time to find a better way to live mine and as the poet Robert Frost so wisely says, “The best way out is always through.”

So here I am. An angered, shameful, broken, human being trying to understand a better way to live… and to love.

.

God, Grace, and a Wretch Like Me

MountainPose

Grace.

It was the word the yoga instructor asked us to think about moments before starting our 90 minute practice on Thanksgiving morning. It was the 12th annual Thanksgiving morning practice at my favorite yoga studio. The class is free, but donations are accepted to benefit a nonprofit organization and this year it was Yoga Behind Bar. It’s a charity that teaches yoga and meditation to an incarcerated population. A representative spoke on their behalf about the amazing work they do and how teenage girls in particular are benefiting the most from their efforts.

I sat in the back of a police car twice when I was teenage girl. The first was for under-aged drinking and the second was for trespassing. Not my finest moments, but neither was most of my teenage years. The years from 14 to 19 are my “lost years.” Back then I struggled mightily with depression, anxiety and impulsive, reckless behavior. I spent all those years hating myself for no particular reason, and then spent at least that many more hating myself for the things I did while I was hating myself.

How I wish someone taught me yoga as a teenager.

The word Grace, it unfurled in my mind like my mat under my feet. The first thing I thought was Redemption, followed closely by Forgiveness. But for the Grace of God go I.

I met God for the first time when I was 16. In my early life, religion was a concept that no one told me I should seek, and yet, I found it anyway. Perhaps more accurately, it found me. I started going to Wednesday night youth group at a local Presbyterian church when I was nine not because of my parents, but because my best friend who was going. For four years the two of us attended weekly classes, sang in the children’s choir once a month, and went to week-long camps in the summer. But a Christian, I was not.

In high school I attended Christian-based Young Life meetings. I even hosted one at my parent’s house. This had less to do with Jesus and more to do with socializing. When I was 16 I raised money to attend a week-long, overnight, YL camp in Colorado; also for the socializing. It was at this camp, perched on a roof top high above a blacked out canyon and under a Colorado starry sky, where I met God for the first time.

Per my modus operandi, being where the party was, was objective numero uno in my life; so were the fun activities listed on the brochure such as repelling, rafting and horseback riding. That’s the deal with these things. They attract you with fun and then slip in the Jesus-talk at the end for which you must sit quietly and tolerate.

Each night after dinner we came together and the main preacher dude stood up to tell us all we needed to know about being saved. I was skeptical, but also superstitious and naive so I listened, restlessly. At 16 I hadn’t made up my mind on all things existential and I had yet to find proof of a God. However, if you asked me then I would have said OF COURSE Jesus is my personal savior… you know, just in case the rapture was coming anytime soon or I be perceived as a social opportunist with no intention of saving my soul from eternal damnation.

One night the preacher dude said something that penetrated deep into the thick self-righteousness of my adolescent brain. He said (paraphrased), “The only thing you have to do to have a relationship with God is ask. It’s that simple. Ask and thou shalt receive.” Oh really?!? replied my snarky, skeptical, brooding 16-year-old-self. I took his bold assertion and made it my personal test of God. That night I’d ask. I ask as honestly and bravely as I knew how. I’d ask just like the preacher dude said I should ask and God had better bring it or I’m taking one step closer toward eternal damnation. At least that’s what I remember thinking.

Each night after the Jesus talk was over we were sent out into the darkened camp to find a quiet place to reflect and/or pray on what we heard. I usually headed for the small concrete slab in the middle of camp designated for the under-aged smokers; us sinners on the accelerated path to hell. But on that particular night, I chose to climb on top of a building that sat on the edge of a cliff side. The cliff dropped off into a large gulch with mountains stretching up either side like sentinels to a cave. The stars dusted the sky like perfectly spilt glitter. I looked down into this deep, black v-shaped gulch and up into this bright, celestial sky and I asked, quietly. Then I listened, openly.

My whole body responded in a way that I have never forgotten. An abnormal peace washed over me–abnormal because at that time in my life peaceful feelings were rare if not completely unknown. It felt like a tuning fork struck the deepest part of me and resonated with a pitch-perfect sound of Universal Truth. I understood, without thinking, that this feeling was real, and it was a hint of the Truth I’ve been seeking my whole, young life. I also understood, without thinking, that on a deep, intuitive level I was loved; that I would always be loved and watched over; that even in my darkest hours, I would never be alone.

What I felt in that moment is what I call God.

It is only in hindsight that I can interpret what happened that night. Now, I can see that the divine combination of the intention of my question, the stillness of Earth and mind along with the openness of my listening heart is what allowed me to not only hear God speak–but to understand what God was saying. I sobbed. I knew I was changed forever.  It would take years before I truly understood how, and years before I would feel it again.

I feel it now each time I go to yoga.

In this special Thanksgiving Day class we sang Amazing Grace. Grace. The one thing I have been offered so many times no matter how much I have failed. That thought and the cacophony of our voices together in that yoga studio overwhelmed me. The tears, just two of them, came so quick they did not linger on my lashes, but leapt from each eye and fell straight to my mat. My mat. My church. My holy place. My rooftop perched high on a cliff side below a starry sky.

It has taken years to realize that I have been given, and forgiven, so much in my life not because I asked for it–but because I learned to open up and listen. I have come to realize that the answers to all my questions lie in the silence of my open heart. It is that voice that I am still learning to follow.

Silence: how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.

A Letter to Myself

letter

I heard something that resonated with me. “We teach what we most need to learn ourselves.” ~Oprah

Then I came across a letter I wrote to a friend who was going through a difficult, transformative time in her life. I read it again today, and through this new prism, I realized that it could be (and should be) a letter to myself.

I’m posting it here and addressing it, instead, to myself to serve as a reminder of what I already know to be true. But it’s more than that. When I read it again addressed to myself, I realized that I don’t show myself the same depth of love and compassion that I showed my friend and there is definitely something wrong with that. When turning the object of the letter around, I felt that deep self-love that I should always feel, but sadly, don’t.  It was a transformative, eye-opening moment.

So this is also a reminder to show myself the same kind of love that I so willingly give to the other people in my life.

Dear Me,

I think about you everyday, more than once or twice, but many, many times. I know you’re hurting and because of that, I am hurting for you. What is happening to you right now is something that happens to us all. You are experiencing it through the prism of postpartum depression, I experienced through the prism of losing my job, income, stability and identity. All pain is the same it just looks different on different people. I came out the other side a stronger, better person and so will you. Please believe me when I say that.

It hurts, I know. It’s scary, I know that, too. These are growing pains because you are growing right now inside your Soul. God want you to grow and right now is your time. He’s not doing it out of anger, God is never angry. He’s doing it because he loves you and wants you to have the best that life can offer, but before that can happen, you have to grow deeper inside yourself. You have to shed some of the beliefs about yourself and life that aren’t working for you anymore. He wants you to do this and then blossom into the peaceful and contented life you’ve always dreamed of having. A life that is the truest, fullest expression of who you were always meant to be… and already are.

He also wants you to know who he really is.

God is light. He is the life force behind everything in this world and He is inside of you right now. You are not separate from Him, and He is not separate from you. You never have been and you never will be separate. God is Love and you happen to be one of the most loving and kind people I know so believe it or not, you are already intimate with the true nature of God. That love, that compassion you feel inside you for other people IS you, and it is also God. That is the one big truth and He wants you to know it. He wants you to know that the life force inside of you is also Him, and it is always Love.

You have been my teacher so many times in this life so let me be yours right now. You already have everything inside of you to start to feel better. You don’t need pills, you don’t need a change in hormones, you don’t need more time or energy. You just need to stop the thoughts and learn to control them instead of them controlling you. (Easier said than done, right?)

It takes practice. It takes diligent, thoughtful, mindful practice to stop the habits you have created in your mind. The first step is learning to quiet your mind. It is hard and takes tons and tons of practice because the mind is like a looping tape recorder. You’ve played the same tape so many times it’s a habit (one that you’re addicted to) and you need to press eject on the tape recorder to stop the habit and the addiction. You need to quiet the mind. Yoga can teach you how to do that. Because you are NOT your thoughts. You are not what you think. Fear is only a byproduct of your thoughts and it is NOT real.

What you are is light. What you are is Love, what you ARE is connected to everything else that is in this world. You are not separate from everything that is living and you are not separate from God. We are all connected through this life force, this energy. You need to open your mind and your heart into the possibility that it is the truth.

Right now, put your right hand on your heart. Feel it’s beat, it’s rhythm. Your heart is your guide in this world, not your head. Your heart is the organ that feels and has intuition and compassion and is connected to everything else, NOT your head. Your head just gets in the way and is a horrible interpreter. Listen, LITERALLY, listen to your heart. Your heart will tell you what is true. Your heartbeat will calm you, will bring you back to the present moment. If you can learn to quiet your mind, your heart will give you the instructions on what to do next. That is your innate intuition that guides you. When you don’t know what to do next or you are scared put your hand on your heart and listen for a couple of minutes. It quiets the mind and focuses you back on the present moment.

I want you to know that I love you like I love my own children. Not because I think you’re a child, but because I can’t imagine loving anything more than I love them and that’s how much I love you. It will be better. Open your heart to the possibility that this is a growth spurt and when it’s over, you’ll be happier and more at peace with your life than ever before.

I Love You So Much,

Me

Therapy

dancer

I’m late. What’s new? I’m late to everything these days. I haven’t slept well in months (thanks to a certain non-sleeping baby) and yet, I look like I just rolled out of bed. Then again, I always look like that these days. I can’t think about that now. I have to go, I have to do this. So what if it’s been a long time? I’ll be alright. Right?

Shit, I’m nervous.

I pull into the parking garage of a swanky downtown high-rise. All the cars I can see are either Mercedes, BMW, Lexus or Jaguar. It dawns on me that I forgot to brush my teeth today. I search, in vain, for gum.

I ride up the elevator from the parking garage and emerge into a glass atrium. I find the appropriate suite and check in at the front desk. I fill out some paperwork and they tell me where to go. The whole place is dimly lit (thank god) maybe no one will notice the bags under my eyes. The decor is minimalist with blocks of muted colors and lots of right angles. I feel out-of-place like a small-town tourist gawking at Tiffany’s on 5th Avenue. Maybe this was a mistake.

I wind around a long, u-shaped corridor. The ceilings are high with hanging, pendent lights making little spotlights on the ground every ten feet. The feeling is ominous like I’m going to my doom. Maybe I am? At the end of the corridor there is a set of tall, heavy, black doors. The entrance to hell? I still have a chance to turn around. I open them. I’m blasted with a heat that feels like I stepped too close to a camp fire… or hell. There’s no turning back now. My pride is taking over in the face of all these people in the room and now I must take a seat.

The room is even darker (thank god again). Maybe no one will notice my bumpy, frizzy ponytail or my underarm flab. It’s a long, rectangular space with a wall of windows facing another wall of mirrors. The floor and ceiling are black. We are on the 3rd floor looking out onto a courtyard. There are Christmas lights on the trees, how festive. There is another set of double doors at the other end of the room. There is an empty space in the middle where no one is sitting. I’m late, I can’t be choosy, I hustle to it and set down my mat, water and hand towel. I notice that everyone else has a full-size towel. That’s a bad sign.

The instructor walks in. She is the tiniest Asian woman I’ve ever seen which is saying a lot considering I live in a town that’s nearly 40% Asian. Her booming, drill sergeant voice is incongruent with her size. “Who’s new here tonight?” She asks while looking at me. I nonchalantly scan the room for raised hands. One fit, older woman with gray hair and toned arms sitting kitty-corner to me raises her hand and smiles. I don’t do either. The little Asian instructor gives me a knowing look and it isn’t nice. I look away.

Look little lady, I’m just here so that I’m not at my house where a gang of super-dependent human beings live. I’d like to be left alone to find some zen and I don’t need your help to do that so thanks, but no thanks. Is what I’m thinking.

We start with deep breathing exercises. The sticky, hot air burns like bad whiskey going down. I’m shocked at how hard it is to inhale fully. I know it’s 105 degrees, but damn, it feels like 1005. I’m worried that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew and we haven’t even really started. I am barely four months postpartum and I haven’t worked up to this sort of thing yet. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t be here right now. Damn, I should have brought more water.

“Breathe with your whole body.” She says. Ha! I’m trying to just breathe with my lungs. I think.

Right away they start in with some full-body, pretzel-twist bullshit that’s supposed to look like this:

I look in the mirror to check my form. I look like I’m sitting in an imaginary chair hugging myself with my ankle on my knee. The instructor says, “sit deeper, go deeper, push yourself.” She adds. “And don’t forget to breathe.” I want to hurt her. I’m sure I could, I’m probably three times her size.

I’m suddenly hyper-aware that rivulets of water are cascading down my back, a sensation I normally only feel in the shower…when I’m naked… and yet I’m not… I’m in public… in a room full of similarly wet people. It feels surreal, like walls you can see through. Speaking of walls, I’m trying as little as possible to look into the wall of mirrors in front of me.  I can tell that my naturally curly hair is somewhere between Richard Pryor circa 1978 and Richard Simmons circa now. I look. It’s worse, it’s Carrot Top. I also happen to notice that grandma has barely broken a sweat.

Oh no, it’s that mother-effing dancer pose. I used to be able to do that one. It’s supposed to look something like this:

I get up into it well enough. I’m there for a second but I’m so focused on keeping a grip on my ankle, that feels like I just slathered it in Crisco, that I fall right out. “The secret is to push just as hard as you pull.” She says. “If you do both with equal effort, you will not fall.”

Fine. I try it again. This time I don’t focus on my ankle, I reach and kick in equal measures and I don’t fall. Hm? She was right. It worked. Equal measures.

We’re now 7, 8, hell, maybe 15 poses in? I don’t know. I’m in a fair amount of discomfort which has caused me to lose all concept of time. Pain and heat will do that to you. I want to leave so bad. The heat is claustrophobic. If I were by the door, I would definitely leave.

Toe stand. Seriously? You’ve got to be kidding me? I’m supposed to do what?

I look in the stupid mirror. I look exactly like that twisty pretzel thing from earlier. She walks in front of me. I try to pretend like I’m focused. I stare straight ahead and try to maintain what little balance I have. I check out grandma again. Son-of-a-bitch, her’s looks better than mine. The second I think that, I fall. My little Asian nemesis leans into me and says, “The moment you take the focus off yourself and place it on other people, you will fall.”

When I try it again, focused only on what I can do. It still doesn’t look right, but I don’t fall.

The room has reached a temperature that I’m sure should set off some type of alarm because I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust into flames at any moment. Apparently, I’m not the only one. The mini drill sergeant goes to one door and opens it letting a rush of cool air in that I can faintly feel. Then she crosses the room to the other set of doors and opens them. I suddenly realize why no one was sitting in the middle of the room. It’s hotter than Hades in the middle.

Okay, now you’ve just lost your damn mind if you think that’s happening:

You want me wrists to turn how? Ow! Ow! Oh my god if I didn’t have carpel tunnel when I got here, I do now! “Don’t forget to breathe.” She says. How can I breathe when I’m crushing my lungs and my face is planted into my mat? Isn’t that like the OPPOSITE of breathing?

“Yoga is like life.” She says in a shrill, demanding voice. “You have to learn to breathe through the pain and discomfort. Always, breathing”

We’ve got to be at the end now. I don’t think I can do another pose. I can’t feel anything except the burning of my skin and the heavy wetness of my clothes. She utters that magic word, the reason why I even do this shit in the first place… the one word I’ve been waiting to hear for 90 excruciating minutes.

Savasana.

Now THAT I can do. I melt into my mat. Now I can feel my entire body breathing, or maybe it’s heaving? It takes a few minutes, but the pace finally slows. It’s quiet. Aw, how I’ve missed quiet. I’m relaxed, gooey, warm and peaceful like waking from a good dream. A smile crosses my face.

I did it. I did the whole thing and I didn’t leave. I’m alright. Hm? I wonder what else I can do?

I’m nearly the last one to get up. I gather my things and walk toward the door. I make my way down the same, intimidating, utilitarian corridor from whence I came. I’m even more disheveled now but this time I hold my head high. I OWN this corridor. This corridor is my bitch!

The little Asian woman looks at me as I leave and says without much of an expression, “Thank you for coming. I hope you come back soon.”

“Definitely.” I say as I reach for the door. But before I open it I turn and say, “And thanks, you were a big help.”

She smiles and holds her hands in prayer over her heart and says, “Namaste.”

Namaste, indeed.

Hush Little Baby Don’t Say a Word…

I didn’t want to publish this post. When I started writing it, it quickly turned into Bitchfest 2011 scheduled to perform in a venue for one. I didn’t want to publish it because I wanted to maintain a positive vibe here and write about all sorts of enlightening things, not the darkness of my personal hell. Then I decided, fuck it, it’s my blog so I’m going to publish it anyway. That’s pretty enlightened of me, right?

I’m finding that unless you are also currently the primary caregiver of multiple, small, non-sleeping children, 24 hours a day, that empathy is hard to come by. I mean, wasn’t I supposed to know this shit was hard? No one has a baby thinking it’s going to be all designer onesies and chubby ankles, right? And didn’t I consciously go and have a second one KNOWING exactly what I was in for?  Furthermore, haven’t mother’s been taking care of infants since, like the DAWN OF TIME and with far less gadgetry? So what the hell are you bitching about you spoiled, first-world, crazy woman?!

Unfortunately, knowing that my problems aren’t life-threatening or world-ending doesn’t make me any less frustrated. Similarly, knowing that it’s only temporary, helps to ease that frustration for about five minutes until the overwhelming, blurry-eyed weariness sets in again. So, if maybe I can break it down on a biological level, people can understand why I spend most of my days trying not to hit things.

First:

A mother, particularly a breastfeeding mother, is biologically, physically and chemically responsive to her baby’s cry. A nursing mom, (myself included in the early weeks), may express breast milk when they hear their baby cry. It makes sense that there is a strong symbiotic relationship between mother and child, you know, so we feed them and don’t leave them to marinate in their own fluids. In fact, I was told by my pediatrician that “colicky” infants (like the kind I make) might just be ahead of the evolutionary curve. Ever hear the saying, the squeaky wheel gets the grease? Well, the crying infant gets the boob.

As for my personal experience, I can feel every nerve ending in my body tingle when my son cries. It feels similar to grabbing a live electrical wire, which I’ve done while changing light fixtures. I am particularly sensitive when I’m lying prostrate, sound asleep at 3 o’clock in the morning. The moment he lets out his first whimper, a jolt of electric energy courses through my limbs that pops my eyes like the jump cut of every zombie movie ever made. If I have to listen to him cry for more than five minutes (which happens a couple of times a night) all that electric energy starts to make me nauseous. It actually sucks worse than I can make it sound because you have to factor in the emotional aspect of this equation which is just too sad to mention.

Second:

You can die from sleep deprivation people. Literally, like, die. There’s a reason they use it as a means of torture, because it’s effective. It’s actually most effective when you let someone fall asleep for just a little while and then keep waking them up, again and again which happens to be exactly what my son does. Personally, I’d rather be water-boarded. Studies have shown that a sleep deprived person is more impaired than someone over the legal limit of intoxication. Speaking of intoxication, chronic sleep deprivation feels similar to a really shitty hangover; a perpetual, all-I-want-to-do-is-eat-greasy-food-and-sleep, kind of hangover. Chronic sleep deprivation (I’m going on four months people) can make a relatively sane, rationale person, do insane, impulsive things like destroy Diaper Genies and hallucinate.

A month after my daughter was born, my husband and I went to Lowe’s. I stopped to read a magazine at the checkout counter and when I looked up, they were gone. I shit-you-not within ten minutes I had the store manager locking the front doors and calling a Code Adam. Turns out they were in the gardening section. THAT is what sleep deprivation will do to you.

I bet I can guess what you’re thinking? “So how are you able to spend so much time writing silly shit on the Internet if you’re SO sleep deprived? Shouldn’t you be sleeping RIGHT NOW if you’re so tired?”

You’re probably right, I should. But honestly, writing, yoga and caffeine are the only things GIVING me energy right now. Because what I know for sure is that when you’re doing what you love, what you were born to do, it fills you up with all the things you need to go on in the face of adversity. So I keep typing. I have to keep typing or I will probably get myself banned from every large box store in the Puget Sound region.

Well, well, will you lookey there? I actually did write something enlightening. Yeah me.

Now Playing at Bitchfest 2011: Hush Little Baby Don’t Say a Word…(so Mommy can type a few thousand of them and feel sane again.)

Sneaky Hate Spiral- Part II

Remember that Sneaky Hate Spiral from the other day? Remember how I thought I was at the bottom of it? Well, I wasn’t, but good news! now I am.

Last night my son cried until 3:30am, just like he did the night before that, and the night before that. Only today, my daughter woke up an hour earlier and well, I had a temporary break from sanity that involved the destruction of a Diaper Genie and a metal chair falling on my head. The rest of that story is far too scary and pathetic to share in this forum so I’ll leave it there, but the point is… I haven’t learned a damn thing people! Now I’m not only mad that I haven’t learned anything, I am mad that I am mad! So naturally, I went about violently hitting and throwing things. Sounds like a reasonable response right?

Okay *throws hands up in the air*  I give up Universe. I am official crying uncle on this lesson. I have obviously missed the point so I’ll ask you again.. What in the hell-fire-and-damnation am I supposed to be learning now? (And if you even mention the word “acceptance” I’m going to shove this (now useless) Diaper Genie refill up your a**.)

I decided that I clearly was not in the right frame of mind to listen to this answer so I chose a life line, and phoned a friend.

Three months ago, when I was still soft and squishy and aching from childbirth, I bought a Groupon. This Groupon was for an 8 class introductory course to Vinyasa Yoga. I’ve done Vinyasa before, hell, I’ve done the P90X Vinyasa tons of times and if you’ve ever done that, you will forever fear the words, ”now crane.” I didn’t really need to be introduced to it, but I thought that after my long pregnancy/ childbirth hiatus, that easing gently back into practice would be good for me. The classes at this studio fill up fast and I had to sign up way in advance. The first class started last Tuesday. When I signed up, I thought that three months into life with a newborn, things would be calmer, and by calmer, I mean the exact opposite of what they are now.

My first sun salutation was joy rising. My first downward dog felt like upward everything. I breathed. I became present. I promised to do no harm and I was reminded that the light in me sees the light in you…Namaste.

It was what I needed right now and the Universe gave that to me. Thank you Universe. But like the ungrateful child that I am, can you PLEASE fix this crying-baby-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing because I’ve done broke my Diaper Genie and those are like $35?

Did I mention that the friend I phoned is a yoga instructor? Ah, it’s all coming together now.

My wise yogi-friend helped me realize that acceptance and non-resistance was only half the lesson. The other half, is about energy. I can sit in my son’s dark room night after night and accept it all I want, but that isn’t going to prevent me from eventually getting frustrated, or sad, or angry. Those are natural human emotions; emotions that also deserve my acceptance.

My learned method for releasing heavy emotions (or negative energy) has been to scream and hit things, because if I’m truly honest, anger is my signature emotion. It is what I turn to almost every time a situation has exceeded my capacity to cope. I needed not only to accept my situation but also accept the emotions that I was feeling should they arise AND I needed to take that emotional energy and redirect it away from my fists and into something else. Perhaps a sun salutation? I immediately knew she was right. I needed relearn how to release that energy in a way that didn’t breed more negativity.

And there you have it folks… another A-ha moment for the books. Now I just need to go apologize to my husband, my children and the Diaper Genie for being such a jerk.

Oh, and if for some reason you need me at 3am, I’ll be downward dogging, quietly in a dark room. Namaste.

P.S. God and/or Universe, please take this as an official notice that I’d like to take a break from lesson learning until after the holidays. This month as been too much.

P.S.S. Oh, and if you’re still listening. I need a new Diaper Genie for Christmas. Thanks.