Sunday, June 25, 2006

To exercise or not to exercise? That is the question.

Last night, I ate too much. I had a fitful sleep, as my body was busy trying to digest more food than it needed. When I woke up this morning, the first thing my mind told me was that I should exercise. Exercising would make me get rid of the extra calories, it said. It would allow me to have another big dinner tonight, as we are going out again. And, most importantly, exercise would keep me looking good enough for my upcoming trip to my old home town. Being thin always calms my fears about going back.

Hour after hour, I sat in my sun room, trying to find the motivation to go for my run. I felt sadness and anxiety instead. As I focused on these feelings, I connected to a part of me that is so very tired of working out SO THAT I can be thin. When I work out to get "thin enough", I am without connection to what my body actually needs. I don't care if my body is tired: I'm going to go for a long run. I don't care that I have a cold: I'm going to lift weights. From this place, my body is a hated instrument that I need to keep under control.

As I continued to sit, I began imagining actually working out to celebrate our bodies, their strength, flexibility, and endurance. I imagined how we could learn to love how our leg muscles feel when we lift heavy weights rather than worrying if our legs look thinner. I imagined going for a run because we want our beloved heart to be stronger not because we can burn more calories. I imagined completing a set of sit-ups because our spine needs more support not because we are hoping to get a 15 year-old's six-pack.

Putting our focus INSIDE our bodies require practice. We are so accustomed to looking to its exterior, obsessing about the size of our stomach or our breasts, or our thights. It is so easy to find ways to focus on our exterior: mirrors, scales, the size and fit of our clothes. These are constant reminders about whether we measure up or not (literally!). Looking inside requires a deeper, subtler level of awareness and presence. How does your right foot FEEL right now as it touches the ground? Can you feel your arm muscles if you stretch them slowly? Is your body feeling energized or lethargic? Does it want to move or is it looking for gentler care?

When I focus inside, I feel deep joy and gratitude for what my body can do for me. When I focus outside, I feel anxiety, self-hate, and shame.

To love ourselves and our bodies enough to be willing to listen to what we truly need is a challenge. No doubt about it. To focus on our bodies' internal brilliance rather than external looks stretches us beyond a beloved comfort zone. We have to be willing to let go of the simplicity of our society's black and white rules for being loved and open up to the uncertainty that being authentic might bring.

For today, I invite you to go inward and listen. You may not understand what you hear at first. But as you become acquainted with your body's language, you will become clear about what you need and how to get those needs met. You will finally be willing to be yourself.

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Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Loving My Toes

As I was sitting watching TV a few minutes ago, my eyes caught sight of my toes. Now, if I'm really honest, I gotta tell you that I have FUNKY toes. Not the toes that you see in magazines or that some dainty girl is supposed to have. No, my toes are crooked, big, all-around weird.

I've always had a hate/hate relationship with my toes: I hate them because they are so ugly and they hate me because I put them in too-tight shoes in an attempt to hide them from the world. So far, that's worked.

Tonight, something changed. As I looked down at my feet, a smile slowly crept on my face. For the first time in my life, I actually liked my toes. They have PERSONALITY. They are MY toes. Crooked, big, all-around weird. I suddenly realized they are just like the me that I have spent 43 years trying to accept. Crooked, big, all-around weird. That's me and I will not try to fit myself into any straight, small, "normal" box any more. I am finally home!

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Friday, June 16, 2006

This morning, my friend Liz told me about this archery class she went to last night. When I asked her what benefits I could get from it, she told me that this class was about learning to live from the heart. I became filled with longing and excitement, seeing myself with a bow, an open heart, and a beatific look on my face. I imagined finally being free from suffering and from lowly human problems. Unfortunately, I found out the class cost money so I quickly dropped the subject.
But the subject wasn't going to drop me quite as quickly. My 14 year-old daughter came home from camp today. I was so happy because I had missed her, so I cooked her home-made gnocchis, got two movies, and envisioned a girls' evening filled with love, sharing, and laughter.
It didn't quite happen that way. She did not like the gnocchis that I had spent two hours making (nor did I, if I am really honest). She did not like the movies I got. And she spent the better part of the evening in her room, catching up with her friends and singing.
Unwilling to give up my dream, I eventually went up to her room and plopped into her big comfy chair, absolutely convinced that we would now have an intimate moment. She stopped what she was doing (looking at herself in the mirror I think), looked at me, and told me to please leave her room as she didn't like it when people came and used her furniture. With my head down, I silently walked out of her room, hoping that she would realize she had hurt my feelings and tell me to come back. Didn't happen.
For the first few minutes, I sat in my room absolutely convinced that I had been wronged and that my daughter was to blame. Didn't she realize I had spent two hours cooking for her ( I NEVER cook; my husband does)? Didn't she understand that I had hand-picked the two movies just for her viewing pleasure (okay, Patrick Swayze in tights could possibly be my own viewing pleasure)? What about the girls' time in her room? Hadn't I bought all the furniture anyway? Did she really have the right to throw me out?
I thank God that I've done enough personal work to stop when I create such misery for myself. When I checked with reality, I realized that the only thing that had happened is that I had had a beautiful impulse for contact; that she didn't experience that same impulse; and that those two truths were perfectly okay.
So I challenged myself to see if I could go back to her room and NOT act all victimy, which I did. She apologized and told me that she gets into these moods she doesn't always understand (you are FOURTEEN, my poor one) and that she loved me. And I told her from the bottom of my open heart that it was okay. And I fully meant it.
The moral of the story? We don't need no archery classes to teach us to open our hearts. If we are willing to take on the challenge, life will bring it right to us.

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