It was with a plum-sized balloon growing on my ovary, two feet taped up tight (plantar fasciitis) and a broken tailbone, that I decided something had to give. A general feeling of icky had become de rigeur. My relationships were feeling meh. Exchanges rife with something. So then I just thought: “It’s me. I’m the common denominator. And I’m done.”
Ever since way before the new year, the hubby and I have been talking about how the experiences of the last 1.5 years should be making us do something or change something. In a big way. We both felt that if you don’t come out of all of that thinking differently, then you really haven’t learned a thing from it at all. (Were we even there?) And with a busted ass and broken, tattered feet, the half marathon in June…clearly not happening.
We’ve talked cleanses, vacations, home remodels (done), big moves, volunteering (already do, but the hubby wants more), beer brewing, music lessons, marathons. And then I said, “I’m taking a class.” It just so happened that one of my oldest and dearest was starting a 40-Day Personal Revolution class on the 29th, so before I could change my mind, I sent her a text: “I’m in.” Because I knew that once I did that, I might as well of signed a contract in blood. (She is just THAT friend.)
And in going back over the events of yet another fun-filled, alcohol-fueled, but something’s missing weekend, I knew this was the right thing. A way to shake me (gently of course) out of my fugue state.
I finally realized that what I haven’t been doing is paying attention to ME. Yes, I’ve gone to a hundred doctor appointments (annual mammogram —yay for dense breast tissue, annual coochie probe —x2 this year because of my plum-sized friend, podiatrist, ad nauseam), but that just wasn’t it. I was going through the motions of taking care of myself, but not in a fully present and paying attention sort of way.
Just like I go through the motions of being a mom and wife, but sit there completely distracted by [insert work or friend or facebook] drama — and for what exactly? So I then spend the whole next day beating myself black-and-blue for it. (Repeat cycle.)
The thing for me is I’m a total eye-roller when it comes to Boulder-esque yogi stuff. All of those hoo-doo-guru buzz words like mindful/present/live your truth make me want to throw up in my mouth. Luckily, I happened to be talking to tabby-cat when this whole decision was being made and her immediate response was, “I’m in” so fates were sealed. I was doing it and I was going to be present, truthful (and try to keep my judgy-squeamishness to myself).
The craziest thing of all is that as I went through the yoga poses and meditation, True Blue (our fearless leader) said, “surrender.” And I immediately started to cry. I’m lying on my mat, tears pouring into my ears while I try to stay in my breath, thinking: what.the.fuck.
Turns out that as quickly as day one of this 40-day inner quest, the proverbial nail was hit on the head. I’ve been white knuckling my way through. Completely oblivious.
This is going to be interesting. To say the least. (And the wide-eyed hubby was on the mat in down-dog already tonight. That’s starting something for sure.)
TODAY’S THEME SONG: Help, I’m Alive. Metric. I tremble. They’re going to eat me alive. If I stumble.
