How’s that for a dramatic entrance back to my blog?
My blog has been coming up in conversation, and I could feel my writing bug flying around in my brain, buzzing for attention. The avoidance has come mostly from fear, of the how the flame of passion in my soul to help others becomes a wildfire that I cannot control once I set her free. My heart and soul start bypassing my brain and I say things… true, deep, sometimes horrible feelings and thoughts – and then I put it on the damn internet!
It is thrilling and terrifying to throw my guts out on the world’s table, hoping no one reads it, hoping everyone reads it, hoping even just one person will identify and feel a little better because they’re not the only one. When I think of the times I have been approached after sharing my story, posting on Facebook, or even on this blog, by people that thank me for saying what they feel they could never say, it only makes me want to do it more.
Telling my story in the hopes that it will help someone – is why I’m still alive.
And you all have Jeff to blame! Jeff, you made me write a blog post. I know you probably didn’t mean to do it, with your innocuous and friendly message:
Hey, I know you’ve been through a lot, but not the particulars. And, honestly, I don’t need or want to know. But, that said, if you ever need a semi-objective ear, I’d be happy to listen.
Apparently I had a lot to say on this subject, and I thought it ended up being the best description of “what happened” to me, to my now ex-husband, and to our friendship and marriage. It’s not clear when his secret drinking (and heaven only knows what else) began. He said he wasn’t sure exactly when he had restarted, gave one estimate the first night I discovered him shitfaced drunk, and another one when he sobered up the next day. I heard from others what he told them, which was nowhere near either “estimate” he gave me. But that is par for the course with active addiction, lying to the ones you love is a necessity – how else to keep from hurting them… or to keep them from trying to help you get help?
Maybe someday I’ll write about how epic our story is. We met in August 2000, and right from the start he was my favorite person. We were friends for about 3 years, had a falling out that lasted about 10 months, and then reconciled, started dating and eventually married. There are the bare bones of it.
There is one detail that I must give, because it was the foundation of our relationship right from the first day we met. We were both ex-drinkers, and as far as I knew, I was a sober friend, a sober lover, and a sober wife to a sober husband. But as I mentioned above, that was a big NOPE.
Here’s the response that I was going to send Jeff. I was using voice to text on my phone, and I’m just gonna copy and paste it here (I did blank out my ex’s name, for what it’s worth). It may not be the best writing I’ve ever done (technically it was talking, just sayin’) but it is perhaps the most clearly I have been able to see, understand, and convey my experience. Again, just to be clear, this is my experience, thoughts, and feelings. They may seem dramatic but the grief I feel is very real, and I don’t think there are any words that could be dramatic enough. See with your eyes, but maybe read with your heart.
Thank you Jeff. It’s really nice to see and hear you via Facebook. Even though we are in different places, people like us will always be Burbank group to me.
It’s just a sad story, told thousands of times before. Someone gets loaded, and the person that you knew dies. What is left is only disease, and all of the behavior, fear, paranoia, and destruction of everything they love.
I miss **** so much, so few people in my life today got to see how tight we were as friends and then when we finally got together. So it’s hard for them to understand the difficulty of the situation. But you’ve been around long enough to know that even though his body is still walking around, and his voice sounds the same, he is no longer who we knew. And the amount of abuse I suffered , For years was impossible for even me to believe, until recently. I’m grieving the death of my best friend, and the death of my marriage, and all of the potential he and I had.
I have been through a lot of shit in my life, but this is the worst. I don’t know how I’ve made it, I didn’t think that I would. Tammy told me last week that It was the first time she heard me sound like myself in years, and that was a relief to hear but it was also very painful.
I finally had to explain to the professionals in my life that I wasn’t just crying because I was going through a break up, but because I am a widow – I lost my husband and my best friend and my favorite person to alcoholism. And so did everybody knew him.
The person who confirmed my fears today was a lawyer. **** left me, told me it was my fault, and is now in his house on the hill he always wanted. My heart breaks thinking about how lonely he must be there.
I stopped there, mostly because I was crying too hard for stupid Siri to understand me, and because it seemed like a lot of response for someone who was just reaching out to show they care.
Once upon a time, I tried a radical experiment. It was inspired by a conversation I had with some one I don’t think I knew particularly well. I have no idea what I was saying but they cut me off mid-sentence to observe, in a very gentle way, that all I ever seemed to do was complain. Because I didn’t speak to this person very often, I had a moment of “you don’t know me!” but it quickly passed when I mentally ran our conversation back in my head. Yep. I had whined my way through the whole thing. I conceded their point and later solemnly vowed to myself to cease the negativity for a period of time. It wasn’t long, maybe a week or a month. You wouldn’t think that would be that big of a deal: just find positive, happy things to talk about… since I am an upbeat, optimistic type that should be a snap – right?
WRONG! Very quickly I found that I literally had nothing to say that wasn’t a grouse, lament or gripe. Entire conversations would happen in my presence without me uttering a peep. If you have ever met me, even for 5 minutes, you know that it’s impossible for me to keep my mouth shut. I can’t help it, I have a comment – witty or otherwise – for everything! But at that point I was totally stumped for what to say.
A few days in to my unexpected silence, I realized that I had been unintentionally putting a lot of negativity out in the world. This was a rude awakening as I’d started thinking of myself as a Pollyanna, with a tendency to look on the bright side and inject a can-do spirit into situations. Yet there was the evidence before me, as I could not even come up with neutral topics. A change was definitely in order. I took a solid month off from complaints, and took a good look at my conversational style.
Turns out, I was always looking to make people laugh. The easiest way to do that is to complain about a universal topic in a unique or witty way. (It’s true! Listen to your favorite comedian and you’ll see what I mean.) Making people laugh is an admirable pastime – but for me, the amount of gloom and doom I spread was not worth the chuckles I got for my running commentary of depressive thoughts. The subject of conversation didn’t have to change as much as the angle from which I approached it. I set an intention to be more positive in my speech patterns, to talk of things from a place of encouraged expectation as opposed to voicing doubt that anything could possibly go my way. More Tigger, less Eeyore.
Over the years I can tell I’ve picked up the bad habit of complaining again. I am going to set another intention to be mindful of my words. It’s not that I can’t speak of problems in my life, fears, insecurities or even worries I am having. I just have to come from a place of hope that it’s nowhere but up from here. I’m doing this for a few reasons:
1. I am dedicated to be a person that is a positive influence on the planet.
2. Words are powerful. What we say out loud is more powerful than even our thoughts, because they have an effect on other people as well as ourselves. Our words shape our reality, and I want my reality to be full of joy. And if we meet and I speak of hope and happiness, maybe it will give your reality some joy too, which increase my joy even more. Everybody wins!
3. Honestly, I care how I am perceived by others. I don’t want to be seen as a Debbie Downer! I have had such a blessed life, with far more peace than I ever thought possible. I want other people to see what miracles can occur in their lives if they put their faith in the (capital U) Universe and approach their fellows with love and compassion.
4. I am hoping you’ll join me! Let’s start a movement… What should we call it? Bliss Bunch? Serenity Society? Team Gratitude? I can’t wait to hear your name nominations! Go out and recruit others. Let’s make April a complaint free zone. Who’s with me?
In my experience, we humans tend to think we are extremely unique in our thoughts and feelings: “no one thinks these crazy thoughts like I do” or “no one has this much hurt/shame/guilt/fear in their hearts” or “it’s hard for others to understand me because I am so much more intelligent than almost everyone else ever” etc.
While I’ll agree that everyone has something to offer this world, and every person is a child of (enter deity here), worthy of love and respect… I’m convinced that we are having a collective experience that becomes meaningful only when it’s shared among us. What that has to mean then, is that we have to be having the same experiences or no one would be able to exercise their empathy and emotional understanding. In other words, no one could relate to anyone else.
There is a phrase I have heard tossed around called “terminal uniqueness” which refers to people that are in a place where they’d rather literally die than be willing to accept help or guidance. Having once suffered from this condition myself, I can definitively say two things: 1. it is absolutely the most awful feeling when you believe you’re experiencing stuff no one else has ever felt or done – anywhere you go, anything you do, no one can help you, understand you or even forgive you for your thoughts, feelings, actions. 2. THERE IS A CURE.
Because the illness exists solely in your head, as soon as you are ready to be cured – poof! – you are miraculously able to begin the healing, grow, and most importantly help other people do the same. My experience with overcoming terminal uniqueness is the same as everyone else’s experience. (See what I did there?!) I needed loving guidance toward the new idea that I while I may be very special in my own way like my momma told me I am – I am not, in fact, experiencing my life differently than any human that has ever existed on the planet. I’m not a new breed of human and therefore my limitations are within the realm of human experience. In other words I was basically told, “Sweetie, get over yourself” and then comforted as the shock of realization hit me. They were indeed correct in what only moments ago I had thought obnoxious, presumptuous and downright rude.
The most painful part in this epiphany for me was the torrential rush of hope I felt as this new reality sank in. If I am understandable, if I am one among many, if my thoughts, feelings and actions aren’t despicably inhuman or inexplicably disgusting then some one, somewhere can help me. If I can be helped, then life might not be so isolated and painful. If life isn’t so isolated, so painful – then, just maybe, I can be free. I didn’t dare hope too hard right away. I had had hope before, only to have it be crushed by people in just as much pain and ill circumstance… so I was still afraid that this relief was fleeting. Freedom seems impossible when our captor appears invincible. Realizing that what is holding you back are your old ideas and thoughts (either fed to you or made up by you to survive your environment) and not any outside force, can give you courage to fight for that freedom, for inner peace, for a chance for true happiness.
Since discovering I am just like everyone else, I have found other people walking around with that same horrible mix of grandiosity and utter shame of terminal uniqueness. I’ve seen people die from it. It’s a terrible tragedy to see life end for no other reason than we couldn’t help them see how ordinary their problems are. Sometimes people have had their hope crushed so many times they simply can’t allow themselves any hope at all.
I hope this post encourages you to either ask for help, or offer it, depending where you are on your journey. Here are some of the phrases that helped me to become one among many, though they may seem harsh they were all delivered in pure love:
“Get over yourself sweetie”
“You can’t tell me anything I haven’t heard before, but I encourage you to try.”
“You haven’t done anything we didn’t already do… Twice. While naked.”
“Sorry, you’re just not that special.”
“Of course you punched her/pooped your pants/cried for three days/etc. I would have done the same thing in your shoes.”
“We will love you til you can love yourself. Go ahead and act a fool. We’ll still be here when you wear yourself out.”
“Don’t leave before the miracle happens.”
What they didn’t tell me is that the miracle was me feeling like I belonged somewhere – right here, on Earth, with you. My spot was reserved at birth, and no actions I took or thoughts I had could remove it. The same is true for every single person. Sorry, you’re just not that special…
I had no intention of abandoning Hope on Heels for so long, as all of the positive feedback (both internal and external) let me know I was doing something right. Something good for my soul, that connected me to the souls of others.
So what happened? I always found myself too busy, too tired, too pained, too hyper, too distracted to blog. Introspection is scary, especially when there’s a lot of “stuff” going on. When I have “stuff” going on, I tend to get very busy. It’s not all bad activity – quite the contrary! I work out and help people and chop veggies and read books and do puzzles and visit friends and get organized and… well, you get it. I’ll sleep, breathe and think about what’s really going on later. As in, not now… or now… or even now!
Taking time for a long, deep soul searching is not on the agenda for most folks, but I don’t have the luxury of not examining my resentments, fears, and faults. Svadhyaya, meaning self-study in Sanskrit, is my ticket to mental, emotional, and spiritual freedom. Without this self-study, I become obsessed with the idea that something external will fix my problem. Perhaps a pair of shoes or a phone upgrade will relieve me of my suffering? Nothing on the TV or interwebs remind me to practice prayer and meditation, for those particular solutions are kept in a dark, dusty corner of our societal tool shed – if they are in there at all!
So with no introspection, no blog. This isn’t an awesome recipe or crafting blog – it’s about my truth and connecting with others. No one wants to read my to-do lists, not even ME.
Also involved with not blogging is an element of punishment. I enjoy writing so denying myself the pleasure is a form of self-flagellation: “Bad girl, you’re suffering! That must mean you’re imperfect, a condition that needs immediate correction. No writing or true enjoyment for you until you return to an unattainably, unsustainably perfect way of being.” You can probably see where this line of thinking gets me. I’m not claiming to be rational – quite the opposite – but this is where I go when I am afraid.
And I’m only afraid like that when I forget that I am a woman of faith today, that I have tools to bring me back to center. Like practicing yoga through the “other” non- physical limbs of yoga, mostly the yamas and niyamas, with my primary focus on ahimsa (non-violence AKA not beating myself up) and santosha (contentment AKA accepting my self in my current, divine state). For a few reasons I am not engaging in asana (yoga “poses”) right now… but doing yoga off the mat is an entirely different post. A post that I hope you will see fairly soon.
Unlike many people I have a whole tool shed full of spiritual solutions that I have received through friends, mentors, students, therapists and good books. My gratitude for that can’t go unstated. No matter how far I’m willing to wade out into my pool of misery, I know that there’s always a warm and fuzzy answer waiting back on the shore. So here I am, all wrapped up and finally, finally back to connecting with you.
I want to say that I thank you for your support during this period of radio silence. I still felt you all there even while I was away and it gave me strength to do what needed to get done to find my way back here with truth and authenticity. And if I wasn’t going to be real, there was NO WAY I would be able to blog. I have no interest in transmitting my suffering to y’all, only to offer my personal experiences and the solutions to my challenges that I may help you with yours or simply assure you you’re not fumbling alone in the dark through this big Universe.
For Ms. Maddy Cooley and her suggestion on my Hope on Heels FB page that I talk about “the transition and evolution of (my) mindset” as I progressed through the program of Yoga Flirt. Ask and you shall receive!
As a preamble to my own experience, it should be understood that every woman has a different experience around YF, depending on where she is in her life when she starts it. I’ve seen women start believing in themselves, begin keeping the power over their lives, their selves, that they had previously chosen to give away instead. The curriculum for YF is carefully constructed to allow a woman to soften into herself, at her pace. It allows her choices, to be made in a safe, mirror free and dimly lit environment where no one is allowed to judge. The program encourages going within and allowing a little inner naughty girl to emerge if it feels good to do so.
My personal transformation and evolution was unexpected! I felt pretty spiritually grown up, with a healthy dose of humility, gratitude and a dedication to service when I moved from LA to the Central Coast in January of 2008. Thinking I would be able to make friends and find ways to stay active in my spiritual life in a reasonable amount of time, I was not prepared for the vast emotional results of a physical change of location. Things like what grocery store to shop at, where to get my hair and nails done, and which restaurants to avoid (stuff I just knew in my hometown) were more disconcerting than they probably should have been. Adding to all the change was my 6 month old marriage, and quitting my job of 13 years… I guess I should’ve known I was going to struggle as much as I did.
It was my husband’s idea to move here, so I didn’t say a whole lot to him about the isolation I felt out of concern that he might feel bad. I didn’t want to talk to my friends in LA about how I felt out of concern they may feel sorry for me (or worse, have already forgotten all about me! Absurd). I certainly did not have any local friends that I could share my feelings of alienation and homesickness. Surely you won’t be surprised that I was unable to keep up pretense for very long! A very sudden and severe panic attack hit me while I was sitting at a red light in my new little town, all turned around trying to find a local shop. Breathing was difficult, big fat tears rolled down and I just gave in to the self-pity that I had been living in for months. That forced me to face the facts… which was that I was choosing to isolate myself and needed to ask for help, and that my spiritual self was atrophying without any nourishment. Nothing was even about to get better otherwise.
Lacking friends nearby, I struck out to at least practice meditation in a group setting at a nearby yoga studio. How that turned into pole dancing has been explained in one of my first posts! Much to my surprise, the Yoga Flirt intro class I took was revolutionary for me, I knew I’d found something to love. I didn’t leave with new friends or anything but I did feel a sisterhood with the other attendees, and was so energized that I knew I dared hope I had found a little piece of salvation.
When regular class started, my particular brand of female perfectionism involves being a teacher’s pet, so if I had to let my hair down both literally and figuratively, I was gonna be the floppiest noodle in the studio. No one was going to be better than me at letting go. If that’s sounds silly, it’s because it IS. It’s hard to have an internal experience when one eye is open, making sure no one in the room looks as relaxed as you are! I was also determined to nail the warm up movements and execute them perfectly, which had a positive result of giving me a lot of strength in a relatively short period of time.
Being strong meant that I could usually execute the new moves we learned on the first or second try. When I realized that I was developing a reputation as “the strong one” I felt humbled and grateful… and also like I belonged somewhere which I wanted very much. I was a pole dancer! The loneliness I felt started to fade as I showed up in class week after week, level after level, with the same ladies. (We were a very enthusiastic class, four of us were instructors at one point or another and two of us still are, four years later!) The result of that was I came home exhausted but invigorated, ready to face the world. Yoga Flirt gave me my swag back.
The yoga wisdom lit me up spiritually, the physical activity gave me something in which to channel my restless, free-floating anxiety, and the complexity of some of the moves even fired up a neuron or two. One of my best girlfriends in LA had always talked to me about checking on the PMS list: Physical, Mental, Spiritual. As in, what did you do for your PMS today? The answer for me was that I hadn’t in a little over a year. Now that I was back to tending the proverbial garden of my existence, other life-stuff got easier to deal with and my re-awakened mind was open to possibilities outside of class.
I attended every 90 minute weekly class, I went to every extra practice I could. I got even stronger, I started developing in-studio friendships that eventually led to being invited into the lives of some of my classmates. I participated in my practice with a dedication that I can still be surprised by… but pole dancing is so freaking fun it’s addictive. I know very few women that understand the power they can, if they allow themselves, harness over their lives simply by inhabiting and owning and loving the body that they are in. My body became a symbol of my strength when I started loving it in it’s present shape and size.
I will end by sharing the biggest epiphany about my body (and your body too) that I have ever, ever had in 37 years: One night in class, a lady that our society would typically consider unattractive due to her size, got up and danced for us. She owned every single ounce of her curvy body, gyrated and crawled and spun in various states of undress without any noticeable hesitation. I saw she had a roll around her middle, and that her thighs were bigger than the girls I saw in the magazines and I didn’t even care because she looked so unbearably hot and sexy that I just knew, in that moment, I was seeing what men see every single time they look at us in an intimate setting.
As an experiment, I used my husband as an unsuspecting guinea pig. I replaced my normal sex mantra: “Thank you for being willing to overlook my hideous flaws and tolerate my naked body. I’m sorry about my (insert your main insecurity here) and am grateful you are still able to do me the favor of having sex with my obviously flawed person,” with a new one that went something like “yes I know it is hard to believe that I’m letting you touch my fiercely sexy curves, but if you worship me as I deserve I will reward you with even more of my deliciousness. You are welcome.” The results were… beyond what I had expected. And I mean that in the sexiest way possible.
I recently visited the Yoga Flirt website to find my testimonial, written back in 2009. I had been in class with the same set of ladies through level 4, but most of the ladies I joined up with in level 5 had been in that level for a few sessions. We did the normal structure of class, with dancing at the end. It was all challenging and interesting and fun, but when the dancing started it just turned… POW!
Here’s a piece of my testimonial:
“…I attended my first level 5 class last Monday, and I could barely keep my jaw off the floor. I was so amazed and moved by the power those women had over their bodies, and it made me realize the power I had developed over mine. Not just in physical strength, but the power to own my physical beauty, my sensuality and sexuality! … I can’t describe the feeling of freedom that comes from completely letting go and finding out what happens when you don’t hold back! It can be scary, but it’s SO worth it.”
That first level 5 class has left an impression in my mind, even after all this time. Reading this testimonial back, I realize that somewhere along the line I relinquished the power I felt over my physical body. I started having severe, constant neck pain and it was so physically and emotionally exhausting that I barely had any energy for living. I became hopeless. Exercising was out of the question, but eating for comfort was easy enough. The result of that is something I’ve already shared: I’m heavier than I’ve ever been.
The good news is that I’m taking the power back. I am committed to becoming physically fit! More exercise (every time I get a chance!) and listening to my body about when it’s time to eat are the two most important actions. Slow and steady wins the race, so I’m staying off the scale for now and just doing the footwork.
Revisiting that testimonial also renewed my love of Yoga Flirt. It’s easy to forget how much my life changed that first year of pole dancing/yoga philosophy lessons, but it changed quite a bit. YF helped me deepen my spiritual life, I feel closer to the higher power that I believe in. This tells me that the divine powers that be can deliver spirituality in the most unexpected ways. It pays to have an open mind.
There are a lot of great yoga blogs, I follow some of them (see right sidebar). They know infinitely more than I do about yoga! What I do know about yoga is this: It’s not just about holding poses and all the physical benefits that one gets from consistent practice. If you dive in just a little deeper you will find that there are great suggestions on how to live a more peaceful, contented life. Who doesn’t want that?
I encourage you to check out a book about yoga at the library, ask your yoga teacher what they know, or just google yoga and get the low-down on what yoga is really about. Maybe there’s something for you, a tidbit of deep wisdom that will touch your heart, mind or soul and give you that glow that so many a yogi display. Let me know what you find!
The great thing about being on a spiritual path is that I’m an eternal student! Every situation is -eventually – seen as a growth opportunity. Sometimes an experience is painful, but it’s never a waste unless I fail to learn the lesson. A lesson is bound to show up over and over again until it sinks in… I say this from personal experience! Quite a bit of personal experience, unfortunately.
Being an eternal student requires having a willingness to admit I don’t know everything. It also requires maintaining an open mind, which is how Yoga Flirt managed to fall into my life. My assumption about pole fitness was oh so wrong! I can only hope to be that positively incorrect in the future. No doubt I will be, over and over.
As mentioned numerous times, I do so love Yoga Flirt. It has made me realize “stuff” about myself that nine years of self-study hadn’t been able to reveal. You can’t know what you don’t know, if you don’t even know it’s there! (Ya know?) The shadow of my childhood was so integrated into my unconscious mind that I didn’t realize I was still suffering, unnecessarily, from the effects of my early experiences. It was so shot through the fabric of my behaviors and feelings that I just thought it was normal.
Thank goodness I couldn’t be more wrong about what I thought “normal” looked and felt like! I honestly thought I had recovered as much as I could in certain areas of my life.
Little did I know every single YF class begins with a lesson or discussion involving a yogic principle and how it can apply in class… or life. And when I started being able to successfully translate my in-class practice into my every day life, I experienced small seismic shifts in my fundamental understanding of what it means to be a woman.
The realization that I’d made it to my 30s without knowing what kind of woman I had the potential to be was a lesson in humility, and a major turning point in my spiritual progress. A whole new set of possibilities appeared to me, along with a framework upon which to build them.
For the sake of brevity I will address those possibilities and their foundation in another post. I leave you with a photo of the world’s most awesome garland: