I’m Getting Married to My Body
One day we’re all going to go through something extreme, and it will rip through our bodies like a rusty nail through sheet metal. It may be emotional. It may be physical. It could be a delicious elixir of both, but regardless, it is going to hurt. And we can bet that there isn’t going to be any damn time in our schedules to heal.
After the initial shock of a traumatic experience, I’ve found (in recent weeks) that the mind is quick to push us back into our routine, to remind us of how behind we are and of all the things that we’ve missed.
My mind has been up to said theatrics recently, so I tried jumping back in yesterday. My body recently underwent a very intense and painful experience. I took a few days off to allow for the process, but around day three, my mind was already chomping at the bit. There were bills to pay, hours to make up for, and a creative career that was slipping away every second that I didn’t make a move. And, of course, I had gained a few pounds in the weeks spent processing this experience. So, today was workout day. Get back on the horse! Sweat it out! Let’s go!
I logged 5 hours at the computer and then rolled out my mat to do a challenging core workout. About 12 minutes in, I was just plain pissed. I felt like some kind of ogre flopping around on the mat. All of my progress — lost! the thoughts raged. What a lazy, good-for-nothing dumbass I must be. Now I’m too fat for headshots, and I’ll never get them in time! I’m wasting my life! Rah rah rah!
When the cruelty of my thoughts finally hit me, I stopped. Whoa. I thought. Let’s take a moment, here. I lay back, touched the soles of my feet together, let me knees fall to either side — a very open, vulnerable position. I placed my hands in a triangle shape over my lower abdomen and womb space. From my iPad, the instructor continued her brisk counting. And from my mat, I started to cry.
My body was still in so much pain. She did not want to work her abs. She wanted to breathe, to rest, to release. She did not want to be beaten back into shape. She wanted to be nurtured, cared for, and loved.
Leave some time for me, she begged. I am working harder than you know. I cannot do all that you ask of me without hurting.
Her voice was so strong, so kind, so sweet. I knew in that moment how much she loved me. Instead of crunching, I let her drape and weep across the edges of my mat. And I let her breathe. I sang to her about how much she is loved, about how I am still learning to trust her, that sometimes, I can be foolish and silly in the way I approach her.
She thanked me. I kissed my thumbs and pressed them to my forehead.
Our bodies have been asking to partner with us for a long time. They aren’t some lump of flesh we drag along or muscle through to get to our next big thing. They are a sacred union to our spirits. They are so essential to everything we experience and yet so undemanding. If we don’t get quiet, we might miss what they really need, what they’re really asking.
And that’s a scary thought: to be knitted so intimately to this living thing that we barely even notice. It is so ignorant that it borders on cruel. Not to mention: it robs us of an ancient wisdom, an inner knowing that is our greatest guidance, our greatest tool.
I vow to partner with my body. I vow to wed her in a sacred union. I vow to stand by her, not just on the days when she’s looking good or feeling right, but even when she’s hurting. I vow to be patient with her. To listen. To take ridiculously good care.
She’s seen me through a lot, after all. She’s always known what to do when I was at a loss. To love her and listen to her through this lifetime is the very least I can do.
BIG Love,