This often surprises people, even my close friends, but sometimes – often, actually – I find myself thinking mean things about my body. Usually, I am able to notice the thought (‘you used to be thinner’) and replace it with a compassionate statement (‘you look and feel amazing!’). But I have done a shitload of work, and am almost half a century old, so I can do this, pretty much as automatically as most girls and women immediately scowl at themselves when they look in the mirror.
Last night I went to see a local screening of the new documentary, Embrace. Do you remember that thing that went viral on Facebook in 2013, when a woman (Taryn Brumfitt) posted a Before and After picture? Unlike those annoying ones we usually see, that for most of us trigger a combination of “That’s inspiring/I hate myself” – Tamryn’s post showed a slim, beauty contestant Before photo and a fuller, more relaxed, tastefully nude After photo. Whoa, that was revolutionary! And the ensuing frenzy (3.6 million clicks!) showed she had clearly struck a nerve. And this realization led to the creation and production of Embrace. The audience last night was all female. Mostly adults, a few teenagers there with what I presume were their moms. Women of varying ages, sizes, ethnicities. All of us taking the time out of our hectic schedules on a cold October evening (we had our first snowfall earlier in the day!), to spend an hour and a half watching an emotional, often disturbing visual analysis of how our self-image has been shaped largely by the media (which we can’t get away from today), a “wellness” industry that makes a ton of money from our feeling like shit about ourselves, and cultural/societal perceptions and definitions of beauty. I have often said and written and posted my belief that if we girls and women spent less time and money and other resources on efforts to make our bodies and faces fit into what we’ve been led to believe is hot and sexy, world peace and hunger would be resolved, not to mention the state of our environment. I saw on Facebook recently some new trend with “macros” and I looked it up. When I saw what it involved I thought, holy crap, that looks really complicated and time-consuming – I could write several more chapters in my book each week with the time that would take to plan and count and track! I rather write a book than have a thigh gap! Right now, with the presidential election less than two weeks away (phew!), and lots of people on soapboxes about women’s rights, and respecting women, and not objectifying women, etc – I have often found myself rolling my eyes. Not because I disagree. I totally agree. But I think so many of us are completely unaware of the fact that while it’s easy to hate on a public figure for what we consider misogynistic comments, we are completely letting the bitch in the attic get away with murder. You know, that voice we have when we look in the mirror, or look longingly at the jeans we wore before kids or before menopause, hoping to one day fit into again. That voice that says, “You have no discipline. Why did you have to eat all of that? Why did you drink so much? Why can’t you get your ass to the gym?” That voice that makes us believe those seductive Before and After photos, that makes us plunk down hundreds of dollars on cleanses and the new fad diet book and the new It workout. As always, it is far easier to complain and get furious at an external force, especially when it’s someone or something that is easy to make the scapegoat. It’s not easy to do some personal inventory and realize that gosh, I would NEVER talk to my daughter or my best friend the way I talk to myself. Gosh, how much time and money am I spending on this quest to fit into this image I have of what I should be like? Why do I believe that this will make me happy? As a coach, I often struggle with this on several levels. I am a firm believer that I must walk the walk. So I am happy that I really do love to exercise. I love to run, swim, bike, do yoga, hike, snowboard, pretty much anything that works my body to the point of sweating and panting and adrenaline and endorphin release. I am also really happy that I genuinely love salad, fruit, green smoothies, healthy grains. I love how I feel after a healthy meal. So, my struggle is when people may believe that I exercise and eat healthy because I am highly disciplined and I do it to be skinny. Because this isn’t exactly accurate. Yes, I am disciplined. I love chocolate muffins but I choose to have green smoothies for breakfast, because I am an adult and I understand consequences. I love to exercise but yes, some days I really have to force myself out of bed early or outside in awful weather, because I remind myself that I have never ever said, ‘I wish I had taken the lazy way out and skipped my workout because I didn’t feel like it.’ There are a lot of exercise and dieting trends out there that make me cringe, because I see them as a way for people and companies to capitalize on the bitch in your attic, while you basically continue to practice self-violence. When I starve myself, or ignore my body’s cues and eat and drink and move in ways that are really stressful, both physically and emotionally, I am in a very real way, self-injuring. I am not talking about someone who one day makes the decision that her health needs to come back under control, supported by the results of a physical, and she embarks on a mindful, compassionate, gradual, sensible plan that incorporates exercise that is right for her body and lifestyle, and whole foods and adequate supplements, sufficient sleep, and efforts to manage her stress, with long-term goals. I am referring to drastic, quick fix efforts. I am talking about doing workouts that are much better suited for a 28-year-old than a 40-year-old. We need to listen to our bodies, no matter what social media wants us to crave. I have a 15 year old daughter and I take my role as her mother in this area, very seriously. She will not give two shits what a presidential candidate says about a woman, but she will very much internalize and be informed by how I treat my body, talk about it, feed it, move it – and why I do all of the above (do I do it to be skinny or to feel strong and healthy?). She pays attention not just to how I perceive and treat my body, but the bodies and appearances of other women, in the real and virtual worlds. When a mom is indignant by a celebrity’s remarks about women, and then she complains in front of her daughter that she (the mom) is too fat for xyz, or wishes she looked younger, I am willing to bet my annual membership at the YMCA (which is precious to me!) that her daughter is on some level feeling her own self-worth starting to chip away, or at the very least depend on how she herself measures up in these areas. We live in challenging times. Most Americans are following the SAD (Standard American Diet) eating plan, which means, most of what we eat and drink is some processed, sugarized, chemical something-or-other that does nothing for our immunity or stamina. We also spend most of our days sitting down, behind a wheel or a desk and/or in front of a screen. We are stressed out because of all of the above, plus we have to keep our kids away from opiates and guns and whatever the latest virus is in the headlines, but get them into college. We hate our commutes and our jobs but need to pay our bills. We have hundreds or thousands of Facebook friends but nobody knows how we really feel because we are scared people won’t like us anymore if they know the truth. We don’t trust anything that smells of religion, but we want to believe in something because deep down, we need that anchor. So, we fill the void. With addictions – food, alcohol, shopping, exercise, social media, cleaning, organizing, work, volunteering. They turn into addictions because they started out as a way to take off the edge, or numb from the discomfort of boredom, pain, lack of focus, ADD (Adventure Deficit Disorder), stress, hopelessness, lack of control – and then they start to interfere with our relationships, our goals, our ability to perform as parents, at work. So, we come back to the easiest target – our bodies. Rather than look at what is really important to us, what feeds our soul, and what can really help us feel like we are healthy and living wholeheartedly – we listen to the bitch in the attic that says, get your body back. Get rid of the wrinkles. A lift here, a tuck there, the Gap. JUST. STOP. IT. You are beautiful. You are gifted. You ARE a gift! I believe in God and I believe God created you to be here to share love. To embody love. I believe that our health is not the main purpose or goal of our journey here on earth, it is something we need to nurture so that we can be the most effective love sharer we can be. Having an Athleta catalog model body is not your role on this earth, if it means you must spend lots of time and money forcing your body into this “ideal.” Yes, there are people whose journey through life includes a stint as a supermodel. And that is wonderful. There are people whose journey includes being an elite athlete and all of the hard work that that entails. And I truly admire them. Hopefully, that lights up their spark. And, there are many of us who love the thrill and the challenge of running marathons and doing triathlons and swimming across oceans and climbing mountains. Many of us love the taste of an amazing salad, and we love a big bowl of linguini, but we may opt for the salad because we know it feels better in our body. Or we may opt for the linguini because we really want it. It’s all good. The world will not be a better or worse place for our choice, necessarily. However, if we continually act in violence toward ourselves by making choices out of mindlessness, based in self-hatred rather than self-compassion, I do believe this affects our collective psyche. I do believe that the way I treat my body impacts the world. Starting with my daughter. And going further, like the ripple effect a stone has when dropped in a pond, because when I do not honor and accept and nurture my body, my temple, which houses me for the time I am on this earth, then I am not spreading a loving message through my own thoughts, intentions or actions. So, let’s do this. Let’s all watch this movie and talk about it. Let’s pay attention to the messages we are putting out there. Let’s tell the bitch in the attic to shut the f—k up. We are worth it. We are enough, right now, as we are.
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Yesterday was my birthday and I posted on Facebook: So, I posted the above status and someone commented how she couldn’t even fathom swimming 100 laps (FYI my Y’s pool is 25 yards long). And her comment took me right back to something I find myself reminding myself, and my friends, and people I coach, pretty much every day: One of the many lessons we learn in yoga, that is practiced on the mat, and then as we become more self-aware we take the practice off the mat and into our life, is that comparison is at the root of most Resistance, leading into Suffering. So, in other words, when I say, gosh, I am in awe of your ability to run an ultra marathon, I could never do that – I am comparing myself as I am today, with who you are today, and I am immediately not only discounting my own possibilities, but I am in a way ignoring the many hours of training and prioritizing and self-doubt and growth, that led to your ability to show up to your ultra race this weekend. Because, when I say, gosh, you are incredible, I could never do that, in a way, I am putting you into a demi-god, superhuman category. Which means, we are separate, we are not alike, and I may as well not even bother.
I recognize this because I have done this so many times in my life. I have been on both sides. And even as I write this, so much is becoming clear to me. In my coaching, I have always felt and said that I would much rather coach the underdog, who really doesn’t believe in herself and who doesn’t see what I see lurking below her surface (or buried deep) – than coach the super competitive athlete or otherwise driven person. I still feel very close to the turtle (“Tortuga”) I was in high school, earning me that nickname on the track team. I still feel like that girl I was in middle school who was so tortured by bullies, the girl I was in high school who felt somewhat comfortable yet not quite the right fit, no matter the social clique or country. Those feelings of not quite belonging, of not quite connecting, of the insides not quite matching the outsides – are still with me. And inform my coaching, and my personal seeking. Several times people have told me that they appreciate how real and vulnerable I am willing to be when I write and speak. Vulnerability is the new Black, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. I vacillated over posting my admission to recognizing the uneasiness I felt about my drinking, and my eventual decision to quit drinking and begin a path into recovery. I decided to post publicly, because I felt the need to “come clean” with my peers and people who consider me a role model in the health sphere. I also posted it because I wanted my “audience” to have access to my new chapter in life. Most people that I know today did not know me when I was in my 20s and hated running. Facebook didn’t happen (to me, at least) until I was well into my triathlon “career” and parenting adventure. So most people who follow me today, virtually or in real life, didn’t see how much it really took for me to get to where and who I am today. Even if I did know them then, they probably were not aware of the good, the bad and the ugly of what it took to get to my current chapter as a mom, wife, triathlete, coach, entrepreneur. So, I don’t fault them for looking at me today and thinking, oh it comes easy to her. Of course she can do that – but I never could. Or, I totally suck, this is way too hard, why can’t I do it like she does? Opening up about recovery is in a way, a gift to me as well as to anyone following my journey. I am still new to it. At this stage, it’s like I am doing the recovery program version of a Couch 2 5k running program. Which is pretty much accessible to anyone who can stand up from the couch. The recovery world is still one where anonymity is often encouraged, and when someone in recovery decides to go public, it’s a controversial move - and they are usually years and years into recovery (or a scandal forces the issue into the public realm). I didn’t take my going public lightly, and I still don’t. And I am so glad I did post that blog entry and have posted several since, because of the incredible people who have stepped into my life since then. Many of them admitted to me that when they read my post, they were flooded with relief, knowing that someone else was in the same boat as them. I was someone who like them, was also still just in the Prologue of their recovery journey, as opposed to most people who finally open up about their recovery and are years in (way past Book One). This morning, I did a 50 minute yoga practice on my mat on my bedroom floor, followed by a 15 minute seated meditation. I shared this with my accountability group – a group of 8 women all across the US, who are in different stages of recovery. One of them remarked that she could never do that (yoga and meditation alone, at home) – her ADD would kick right in. Again, she is doing the totally natural thing of comparing her chapter 2 to my chapter 12 (well, actually more like 5 I think). I started with 5 minutes a few times per week and built it up. I still have to discipline myself into doing yoga and or meditation every day, or several times per week. I read, listen to podcasts, watch videos, attend workshops, because I want to follow people who are on their chapter 20 or their next volume. I remind myself – I want what they have and I just need to keep moving forward, one breath at a time. We live in an instant gratification world, where people usually only show and post their Chapter 12 successes. (Though my 15 year old daughter has me intrigued with the whole Finsta thing – she and her friends have a real account as well as a Finsta account, as in “fake Insta,” and that’s where they post “fails,” and this Finsta account is only available to very close, trusted friends). This is normally what we are comparing ourselves to: the person who did a 30 day cleanse and posts the 60 pound-less After picture (but not the picture a few months later of 60+ lbs regain). The person who qualified for the bonus trip to Hawaii and posted the umbrella drinks on beach picture (but not the post each time they were rejected or laughed at). The person who kicked booze and painkillers (but not the picture of their recycling bin as they snuck to the local dump each week or several times a week, 5 years ago). The truth is, every single success, if it is really important and meaningful and transformative, is the culmination of small, consistent steps forward. Steps that eventually add up to a new chapter in a book that is a series of chapters that build on each other. Sometimes the chapters feel like they are moving backward, as we make mistakes, or feel discouraged, or start the whole comparison game and feel like total losers. But this is just Resistance, and we need to recognize it as such. And let it go. And keep moving forward, writing our own, new story, and staying in our own book. Now, go. Write your story. Start with the Prologue. Just Start It. My mom always said that the best time to work on weight loss/maintenance, is when you are five pounds overweight. She said, it’s much easier to lose five pounds than it is to lose fifty. Common sense, right? This is one of the many nuggets of wisdom my mom in her sweet, tiny, shy way would share with us, verbally as well as through her actions.
This blogpost is not about weight loss or maintenance, though. Sorry to disappoint – though I’m thinking that if you keep reading, and you think about it, it may actually apply if that’s your goal. Rather, the main point I hope to get across, is that the best time to deal with something is when it’s first starting. The old ‘nip it in the bud.’ When I was at a monthly town meeting last week, organized by S.M.A.R.T., about The Drug Problem (and yes, this includes alcohol), a fun and educational activity was proposed for next August. I pointed out that September is National Recovery Month, so August would be perfect because it’s the month before Recovery, and even better than recovery, is prevention. Yeah, it was funny, but I wasn’t really joking. I know this may come as a surprise, because I am now training for my 10th marathon (10th if you include two marathons which were the end of the two Ironman triathlons I did), and if you follow me over the years on Map My Run, you will vehemently disagree with this statement – but I am inherently lazy. I know right now my husband is thinking I am totally delusional, since getting me to sit on the couch takes an act of God, but the truth is, I would much rather take the path of least resistance. And all of my physical training, and the hard work I put into other areas of my life – nutrition, parenting, personal development, professional growth, relationships – is basically because I really don’t want to bother with doing really hard work. When I was pregnant, I continued working out and eating well, because I couldn’t imagine dealing with a lot of postpartum weight to shed; when I had babies, I pushed through really hard times in breastfeeding because making bottles seemed like so much work. I insisted my kids eat well most of the time, and avoid video games, and resist travel sports as long as possible, because dealing with health and focus and social issues, and with a crazy family schedule, seemed like so much work. I spend a lot of money and energy on buying and preparing nutritious foods and supplements, because dealing with preventable disease further down the line seems like a terrible way to spend my golden years. I quit alcohol ten months ago in part because I was uncomfortable with how it was very likely creating a toxic environment in my body and in my brain, and certainly In my soul, and I was afraid that if I didn’t jump off the elevator when I did, I would be forced off it at a much lower floor. And gosh, taking the stairs back up to a better floor is not a climb I want to personally have to endure. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective. Someone looking at a lot of the stuff I do may think I am super duper motivated, but if you look at WHY I do a lot of this stuff, it’s because I am super motivated to AVOID hard, messy work. I realize that I cannot control everything, in fact there is not much I can control other than my attitude and my choices, but I figure, if I am humbly mindful of that department, then at least I have done my best. This month (October) is Breast Cancer Awareness month. I ran a 5k a couple of weeks ago related to the cause. As often occurs at athletic events where we train, to improve our health and feel and look our best – there was beer as part of the post-race celebrations. I don’t know if this is common knowledge, because I am certain that the alcohol industry (which has steadily grown over the last ten years in the US, with current sales at $211.6 billion per year), doesn't want this to get out – but it is pretty much proven through all kinds of studies, that drinking alcohol increases your chance of getting cancer. In fact, if a woman drinks as little as three drinks a week (and remember, these are scientific studies so that means normal pours, not your kitchen pour), she has a 15% higher chance of getting breast cancer. So, hopefully you see why I think that breast cancer fundraisers that are in the form of wine tastings or races that are featuring alcohol, are idiotic. I know, it feels good to wear pink and run 3.1 miles for a great cause. And you probably didn’t know about the alcohol and breast cancer (and plenty of other cancers and diseases) link, so I won’t hold it against you. The booze industry doesn’t want you to know. But now you know. I recently read this really fascinating book: Drink – The Intimate Relationship Between Women and Alcohol (by Ann Dowsett Johnston). It’s a combination recovery memoir (she’s an alcoholic in long-term recovery) and public awareness cry. Backed by plenty of studies and quotes from reputable sources including the CDC, Drink points out some facts that I think most of us don’t want to hear. But I hope you’re still reading, so here’s a sampling:
I am going to guess that this will be one of my least-Liked, least-shared blogposts of all time. A friend once told me that she loved and hated me, because I was the one friend who would tell her what she needed to hear, instead of what she wanted to hear. I guess maybe this blogpost falls into that category. Because if you have read this far, that means that you may be (hopefully) a little more aware of the public problem we face today. And this is not a problem that needs to be decided by people who win elections, as much as by whether or not you spend your money and tax your liver on and with something that according to studies, is a growing problem for women in their 40s and 50s who are high-functioning and post really perfect family and vacation photos on Facebook. Sometimes (actually, often, if not usually), the easier road is actually not the easier road to comfort and ease, but the fastest way to suffering and destruction. I recently heard someone say, “No kid says, I want to grow up to be a heroin addict.” It’s true – I really believe that each and every one of us just wants to feel healthy, energetic, significant, understood, peaceful, loved. And sometimes we think a certain road will give us that, at least in the moment. Reading up to this point, as you have done, means that you have it in you to explore uncomfortable roads, and I will bet you are willing to travel down them if you think they may lead to long-term health and wellness. I know I am far from alone on this road less-traveled, and I hope that you will continue to venture along it with me, ahead of me or behind me, but still on the same road. I came home from my mom’s funeral with my 5-week-old baby and my 3-year-old daughter, in such a daze that it took a few moments to register that the shiny-new Honda Pilot Bill (my husband) had steered us toward in the airport parking lot was for me. I guess we had talked about getting a new car (I don’t remember) but in the chaos of a new baby and rushing down to Charlotte, NC (from CT) so William could meet his grandmother before she succumbed to the cancer she had so valiantly fought, it was not exactly the main topic on my exhausted, devastated brain. This was January, 2004. Today, that baby is just shy of 13 years old, and the Honda Pilot that Bill had so thoughtfully surprised me with that day, is no longer in our garage. I am not a car person. I have always said, I don’t care what car I drive as long as it is reliable (taking the car to the shop is one of my least favorite tasks) and not too expensive, because I don’t want my day to be ruined because someone in the parking lot dinged it. And I guess because of my love of mindful living, I try to practice non-attachment, trying to see objects as things we use and enjoy, but do not cling to or depend on too much. So, when my Pilot malfunctioned this week and I finally realized, it’s time to get a new car, I was surprised by how sad I felt. When I mentioned it to Bill he said it felt like we were putting down a pet. It made me think of Rob Bell’s brilliant podcast on seasons. How change in our life is like the seasons, and when one season ends (e.g. we leave a job, a marriage, our kid goes to college), a new season will slowly step in, but first there is grief. Yesterday, before heading to the dealership, I went for a run and as I noticed the changing colors in the trees and the leaves already scattering lawns and roads, I thought about all of the adventures my family and I have had with this solid, reliable, convenient car, and I actually cried as I ran. From that first trip home from the airport, the Pilot logged just over 229,000 miles, with no issues other than regular maintenance and wear-and-tear. A baby in an infant seat, a toddler in a car seat, all the way to today, where my oldest is months away from her learner’s permit, and the baby is now taller than me when he stands up straight. The Pilot has driven my kids to their nursery schools, preschools, one private school, public schools, another private school. It has driven my family and our bikes to dozens of running races and triathlons as far north as New Hampshire and as far south as Washington DC. It has taken us to Myrtle Beach to visit my dad and my stepmom, with surfboards tied to the roof. To Canada, with skis and snowboards on the roof. The last 7 summers, it has ferried up to 7 kids every day for 6 weeks every summer, for the kids’ triathlon camp I coach. It has been my rolling university as I have listened to hundreds of hours of motivational, spiritual, and informational audiobooks and podcasts. I was in the Pilot - parked, thankfully - when I received the news that my beloved cousin had died by suicide. The Pilot has reeked of boys and their hockey equipment, and Penny’s (our dog) farts. It has kept us safe during white-knuckled drives during blizzards. Most people recognized my car, since what started off as a couple of stickers on the back turned into a ridiculous display that caused a few of my friends to refer to it as the “hippie van.” A few times, I came out of the local library or a restaurant only to find someone had added a magnet to the collection (thank you! That was cool!). Bill has a German car and I guess it demands minimalist accessorizing, so he expressed his bumper sticker love on my Pilot and sometimes I would come out to my car and find a new sticker on it. It became a family joke – let’s see if Mami notices the new sticker?
Yesterday we drove my Pilot to a dealership to take a look at a replacement. Thankfully, this car was exactly what we wanted, so after the laborious process of paperwork and credit checks and all that other stuff takes hours (I do look forward to when Amazon Prime delivers cars!), we put my plates on our new Pilot and piled into it. I was still sad, but the kids were so excited that they could now listen to the music on their iGods through the car speakers, that the sadness was replaced with relief. We have a new home on wheels and I pray that like its predecessor it keeps us safe, helps us accumulate many more exciting adventures, and is sturdy during life’s inevitable challenges. As for bumper stickers - this car’s policy is still TBD. A new season begins. Two days ago I posted a blog entry which basically said, quit making excuses and show up. It was read and Liked and even shared by a few people. Unfortunately, none of those people are local or have a free hour on Thursday morning because they didn’t show up to my brand new offering, a Poga class in Newtown, CT. In fact, nobody showed up. I know, awkward. Hmmm, do I just wait another 10 mins? Embarrassing. Gosh, how embarrassing that no one is here, I feel so stupid! Annoying. Dammit, I just wasted the 20 minutes back-and-forth and the time waiting – I could have knocked out my 8 mile run by now! Blaming. I need to be better about advertising. I need to be more focused. I need to be more assertive as a business person. Insecure. What’s wrong with me? How come other people have a mass following who will pay massive amounts of money to take their classes, while my class is so cheap and you get everything your body and soul needs in an hour flat? I’m a loser, a fraud. Angry. I bet everyone is doing stupid laundry or getting a $4 coffee or getting their stupid nails or hair done. They just don’t get it. Self-pity. Yep, it’s just me here. As always. Just like when I started my whole mindfulness study several years ago, I was the only one around me doing it, now mindfulness is the new orange. Just like how I started getting healthier with supplements only available through network marketing, then started selling them, way before anyone I knew was even on Facebook, and now MLM is the key to financial success for so many. Just like now I am thriving in sobriety while most people are devouring any study that will support their daily cocktails. Yep, that’s me, always in a different time zone – a lonely place to be. So, the above mental acrobatics took place for a few minutes and then suddenly I thought, I am going to take a selfie right now and send it to my Tribe (8 of us spread out all over the country who have never met but are so close that when Bill and I rewrite our will I am putting them in there). Next, I recorded a 4 minute video for them with some moves I thought they should be doing today, spiced up with some salty language and self-deprecating humor (generally the way my Poga classes go). I sent it and left the studio, to do my 8 mile run. Before I started running, one of the warriors from my Tribe texted back that she was really impressed. She said that if the No Show had happened to her, she would have left in tears and vowed to never teach that class again. I replied to her that I really appreciated her saying that – and that she is comparing her chapter 2 to my chapter 10.
I am lucky enough to have dealt with plenty of rejection. As a serial entrepreneur, a network marketer, a writer, a wife, a mom, and as someone with an insatiable curiosity and a stubborn desire to share what I have learned with anyone who will listen, I am rejected pretty much every day. Usually it’s not in as tangible and public (though today’s scenario is only public because I have chosen to talk about it here) a way as today’s empty classroom was. Usually it’s in the form of knowing of an event I wasn’t invited to; people not showing up to a party or meeting I have organized; friends arriving habitually late to something I organized or helped organize; friends/family rejecting what I have to offer, which I know will help them. Friends not replying to texts, or saying No to every invitation I offer (at which point I stop inviting, out of self-protection). There are big rejections, like when a book I wrote a few years ago was never published because every agent I went to said No Thanks (if they said anything at all) - that book is tabled as I am now writing another one. Of course, I have a whole list of job rejections. Going back even further, I was rejected from every single sorority I rushed. As a kid, I was rejected by pretty much every boy I had a crush on (OK in all fairness, I don’t think they knew I had a crush on them, but still - they wanted the popular girls and that was not me). Parenting has its own big chapter on rejection. My Rejection Resilience Muscle has gotten so much stronger thanks to my children. Unless there is mac n cheese somewhere on the menu, there will be a rejection notice from at least one kid, about at least one item on the plate. Then there are all those annoying things that we are supposed to say and do if we want to raise our wee beasties to be decent human beings, like teaching them to use silverware and actually chew their food, or use their words instead of shoving their sibling to get what they want. It would be so nice if for once they replied, “Gee, Mami, thank you so much for that advice – I totally get why you’re saying it and I accept your wisdom.” (Actually, if any of my kids said that I would suspect a robot had replaced them so that would not be a good thing). My kids each experienced hurt in the form of rejection this week. This is another way parenting is a great part of the Rejection Resilience Curriculum. I won’t go into any specifics because I don’t like to tell their stories for them – but the rejection was big enough that each of them went through some version of the thought process I went through this morning with my empty class. Going through it with my kids is harder for me than when I am the one suffering from rejection, because well, if you’re a mom you know – there is nothing worse than knowing someone has caused your child pain. I have to rein in the mama bear that wants to seek revenge and build something up into a much bigger drama than it was. I have to tell the mama bear who wants to fix everything and clear the path for her cubs, to take a seat and just hug and listen. I know, harder than doing an Ironman. So this morning, feeling like the Big Reject, I mama beared myself. I did one of the things I love the most and I went for a run – my version of a big hug. And as I ran, I thought about rejection. I thought about writing about it – how awkward and shameful that would be. I mean, don’t we all want to look really popular and successful, and like we’ve totally got our shit together? Isn’t that what Fakebook is for? Dare I share with the world at large that hey, I have parties (class, my version of a party) and no one shows up, and here’s the proof? I get scared, and insecure, and angry. I am also a coach, a mentor, I practice mindfulness, I start and lead personal development programs. I speak openly about my family’s experience with suicide and my own decision to get off the boozy elevator and live alcohol free. It is not an OR world, it is an AND world. I can be happy and healthy and well-adjusted AND be insecure, scared, angry. It is not a BEFORE and AFTER, it is a Now AND Now. So, here you are. I am showing up for you today, by sharing a glimpse into part of my day, which involves rejection. In fact, if you really want to watch the Rejection Parade, check out how many Likes this blog entry gets. (I guarantee you the latest article praising a presidential candidate or, rather, destroying the other one, will get a lot more social media activity because it’s much easier to engage in that sport – Reject the Public Loser – than to tell people how we really feel, or read someone else’s truth and hold up that mirror). You may not have been in Poga today but I really appreciate your reading this. Thanks for showing up for me. And, more importantly, for you. Yesterday I showed up at the start line of the Labor Day half marathon (which they added this year, in addition to the famous 20k race) in New Haven. This may seem like an unremarkable way to start out a blogpost – ‘so, she showed up to a race, BFD.’ Actually, that’s the punch line – I showed up. One of the things I tell my kids so annoyingly frequently that I almost feel bad reiterating it (but I still do), is that the hardest part is showing up. I don’t care who you are, if you’re super motivated, or competitive, or wealthy, or smart, or gifted or famous or whatever – showing up is never a given - and it's the first and key part of succeeding. I registered for yesterday’s race a few days before we went to Europe for a 2 week adventure through 4 countries. Loathe to impose on my family during vacation by sticking to training plans, I figured that if I signed up for this race, it would justify my running habit while we were away, and I could squeeze in runs in exotic locales – and force myself to do so in spite of the hesitation I always feel when venturing in new territory (not just in running). So, basically, I was pretty under-trained for this race. I hadn’t followed a training plan at all, had run a few 5 milers while away and hadn’t had a long run in a few months other than a 9 miler at some point. On top of it, I had been really tired for a couple days as a week of inadequate sleep caught up with me (this week’s goal: in bed by 9:45pm, lights out by 10:30pm!). I felt like I was fighting a bug. I had a toothache – or was it my gum? Sunday, the day before the race, I stayed in PJ’s until 2pm and chugged my immunity-boosting supplements. I had really valid excuses now to not show up: “I haven’t adequately trained for this” and “If I was a guy I’d be a step ahead of a Man Cold.” And then I thought, I think this falls into my category of Limiting Beliefs. See, when I find myself engaging in the national sport of Making Excuses, I usually try to stop in my tracks and ask myself this question: IS IT TRUE? So, I looked at my first excuse: I haven’t adequately trained for this. Is this true? Well, it is true that I haven’t followed any kind of running plan. But if I really think about it, do I need to follow one? At this point, I have run I don’t know how many half marathons. So then, my Cautious Part says, yeah, but your last one was in the spring. That was a long time ago. So, the Jillian Michaels Part says, yeah, but you’re an experienced runner, you are always maintaining your conditioning, and you’re not aiming for any particular time, so you can totally do this – quit making excuses! So then, I looked at my second excuse: I’m not feeling great. Is this true? Well, yeah, I don’t feel that great. But I bet if I run for a bit, with the flow of adrenaline and the detoxing through sweat, I’ll feel better. I’ll just take some more supplements before I run, and make sure I drink lots of water during and after. I bet I can convince my body that it’s not under the weather, especially if I focus on how great it feels to run and to be cheered on by strangers. So, I decided that it wasn’t true that I needed to stay in bed and spend the day wondering what the race would have been like. I wasn’t even meeting anyone at the race, I was running alone. But I knew that if I let myself be convinced by limiting beliefs, I would regret my choices. After all, my nickname in high school was Tortuga (Turtle) because I was so incredibly slow on the track team. At some point I revisited the sport of running, proving that “I am turtle-slow” was a lie, as substantiated by my dozens of medals and trophies. I got every single one of those because I showed up. I don’t get medals for believing lies. I get medals for questioning and challenging my limiting beliefs, and showing up to create my own truth. Yesterday, I showed up. I ran. And, I finished 7th in my age group.
So now it’s your turn. What are your limiting beliefs? What lies are you telling yourself that are cheating you out of what you really are capable of doing and being? Here are some examples:
Make your own list. And then for each item, ask yourself – Is it true? And really dig deep – pretend you’re a kid and ask follow-up questions – says who? Prove it! Because I, for one, think it's a crock of sh*t and you need to let it go. If you don't believe me, scroll back up to that picture of my bling. It's not even all of it - I have glasses and towels and more plaques. Turtles do not win bling. And then, if you decide to change your story and live your truth – just show up. Let the magic happen. It used to be that Back2School was something I secretly counted down the days to, with the promise of structure, routine, predictability – and a quiet house. Today my son started the 7th grade and tomorrow my daughter starts 10th grade. When, at bedtime, I confided in Bill (my husband) that I was bummed about today being Back2School, he reacted as if I had announced I was going to start watching football. I explained that yes, I look forward to the peace and quiet, which is something my ADD-riddled brain hasn’t had enough of during this insanely active and adventurous summer. And I won’t miss the sibling fights, or the frustration I feel surging every time I see a kid on the couch, head bowed in prayer to the iGod. I will, however, miss my children and existing with them in a space that isn’t dominated by academic demands, athletic practices and games, quickie breakfasts, packed lunches, and late dinners for the sake of having a meal as a family. And, a big part of my lack of overwhelming enthusiasm is the fact that once again, my kids are entering the jungle. Especially my son, who is in middle school, which is innately an awkward stage no matter how cool you are or appear.
After the middle school bus left, I went for a run. As I navigated the local hills, I thought about my son, his classmates, and all the millions of kids who are entering the jungle today and along with their ridiculously heavy backpacks, are saddled with whatever else is going on in their lives. I started to pray for the children – may they move through their anxiety, feeling comforted by their faith, the love they get from home and from their teachers, the spark that lights up within them when they are learning something that interests them or become engrossed in a physical or creative activity that makes them laugh and feel alive. I started that prayer and then, before I could reach the top of the hill I was creeping- I mean, powering - up, my mind switched and I started thinking of the homes that release all these kids into the jungle. Both of my kids have had situations through the years that have been excellent opportunities for me to practice extreme self-restraint and not go hunting down some kid and their parent and shake them and scream, “WTF do you think you are doing???!!! Don’t you know that my kid is kind and sensitive and nurturing? How DARE you do that to her/him???” And to the parent, “WTF do you think you are doing???!!!! Don’t you know your kid is an asshole and it’s probably because you are not modeling love, setting boundaries, limiting screen time and sugar???” I thought about the most recent opportunities where I have practiced a level of self-restraint (at least, in public), that Gandhi would have been proud of, and my prayer took a turn. I thought of all us parents who really are, I believe, doing the best that we can, with the information that we have, at any given moment. Our kids are out in the jungle today, but we moms and dads, and other guardians, we are all in the jungle too. And the way that we raise our little cubs is in many ways a result of how we were raised, and now that we are adults, the choices that we make every day, in thought and deed. So, this became my prayer for you: May you, dear guardian of the cub that is in the same jungle as my kid, feel loved. May you know that no matter who you are, what you do, what you have done, you are loved. May you have the serenity to accept the things you cannot change in yourself, your child and your life; the courage to change the things you can, especially in yourself, and to say no to an over-crowded schedule and to the voice in your head that says you are only worthy if you do XYZ and if your kid accomplishes XYZ; and the wisdom to know the difference between letting go and giving up. One of the key lessons I have learned in yoga, is that when we resist, we suffer. When we push, the way we force a stretch, we end up uncomfortable or injured. Instead, what we need to do is soften into it. Back off the discomfort, take a deep breath, and then as we exhale, see if we can gently sink, or lean in to the pose. Life is the same way, and parenting is a great way to test this out. There are few things I believe everyone should do, but yoga is one of them. I started out with yoga as a way to stretch and strengthen and get some balance (physically) and focus. And then, at some point I realized that while I am far from being Bendy Wendy or looking like anything on Pinterest (except maybe #realpeopleposes), yoga has transformed my body in many ways but also my perspective. What happens on the mat doesn’t stay on the mat. Just like, what happens at home doesn’t stay in the home. The Serenity Prayer I adjusted during this morning’s run, customizing it as I thought of all the baggage our little cubs haul into the jungle with Back2School, is really very much like what I have learned through yoga. The original Serenity Prayer goes like this: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference. - Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971) In yoga, if I try to force my body into a pose it’s not ready or meant for, I can seriously injure myself. If I have the courage to test out new poses or go a little longer in a pose that challenges me, I get stronger, physically and mentally. If I don’t do this mindfully and instead am led by my ego, I will suffer. Parenting is the same. I am or have been tempted to try to control the outcome, by making things easier for my kid, wanting for him/her to have or not have certain teachers, cluttering their schedules with tons of structured “opportunities,” wondering if I should get involved when another cub in the jungle is hurting my cub, wanting so badly for my kid to be a certain way and trying to mold them into that by convincing myself that I still have the power to change my child. I don’t know if it was the yoga or the fact that my kids are older and little adults-in-the-making, and I’m older and wiser (I hope), but at some point it hit me that a lot of what I thought of as Good Parenting is actually not as effective as Good Self-Care, or at the very least, there needs to be a combination of Good Parenting+Good Self-Care in the parenting approach. Gandhi said, Be the change. We tend to think of that saying as awesome in terms of changing the world, but I wonder how many of us think of that in the way that we can most effectively change the world – through our children? So, going back to my prayer for you, the cub-raisers – may YOU move through your anxiety, feeling comforted by your faith, the love you get from home and from your teachers (mentors), the spark that lights up within you when you are learning something that interests you or become engrossed in a physical or creative activity that makes you laugh and feel alive. This new school year is a fresh start for our kids, but it’s also a new chance for us, the cub-raisers, to create change by making self-care a top priority, saying NO to anything that feels burdened with guilt and doesn’t light a spark in us, saving some sacred space for our kids and families to just BE (not DO). We deserve it and our children need us to know that, and to live it. When I tell people that I would much rather run a half marathon (13.1 miles) than a 5k (3.1 miles), unless they are seasoned runners, they usually look at me the same way they look at me when I state that I like the smell of skunk and I could live the rest of my life without eating doughnuts. I.e., they think I’m weird.
We returned from an amazing two week trip in Europe this week, and along with some bargain-priced Desigual dresses from Barcelona and Hunter boots from Scotland, I brought a very sore back (apparently, walking 20,000 steps per day with a bag on my shoulder and a heavy camera requires training, oops). I know that the worst thing you can do for a sore back is languish in sedentary pity party mode, so I have taken some tentative runs. I find that the challenging training days – when I am hurt, or feeling blah – are an excellent chance for me to practice mindfulness. As I push through mental and physical discomfort and self-doubt, I think of the kids and adults I coach, who have real and/or perceived challenges to overcome in order to reach their goals. The tough days remind me of how much I take for granted on the good days. But even on the days that I feel great physically, and mentally motivated and focused, those first couple of miles of each run can feel awkward or downright uncomfortable. Now, with my back issue (which includes a sore hip flexor), I am even more uncomfortable – which means, I have an even better opportunity to dig into my mindfulness and observe my body’s and mind’s reaction with curiosity. Today I ran 6.1 miles, the most I have run since before my trip to Europe. (My longest run there was 5 miles). The first 2 or so miles, I ran slowly and paid attention to the sensations in my problem areas, ready to slow down to a walk if needed, especially on the hills. I felt better than I had on the same course 2 days ago, so this time I didn’t walk at all. I noticed the beautiful scenery around me, the perfect weather, and kept tuning into my body. Somewhere around mile 2, I realized that I felt pretty good. My problem areas were present but I didn’t feel any pain or discomfort, it was more of a “I’m your sore muscle and I am here” feeling. I settled into a rhythm, with my breathing and stride finding their comfortable rhythm. At one point, it occurred to me that although I had been piping music through my headphones, I hadn’t heard a single song. I was completely focused on what was going on in my body and in my surroundings (birds, farmland, uneven surfaces, occasional cars), and Coldplay had become part of the background. I was in The Zone. I see a lot of similarities between running and other life situations/projects. Because I quit drinking about 8.5 months ago, formalizing my years-in-the-making journey into the recovery world and process, the similarities between running and sobriety are in the forefront for me. Those first few days, weeks, months, when you first stop drinking are like those first couple of miles of running. You are moving your body and mind and heart out of the comfort or habitual routine and into new, uncomfortable, awkward movement. You are changing your physical environment to rid it of the triggering substances, and changing your routine to avoid the temptation of acquiring alcohol. I often say, the hardest part of running (or any athletic event) is showing up to the start line. When you admit you have a problem, and then start taking the steps to purge your environment and schedule and social circle of triggers, you are basically showing up to the start line. Then, as you go through your first days and weeks and months, and sucky life situations, and dealing with people and circumstances you used to handle with some liquid lube, it’s just like those first 1-3 miles of running. You may say, “This sucks, I suck, I’m calling it quits, it’s not a good day, tomorrow will be better, I give up.” But you push through those first few miles. If you have been reading about running, or you have runner friends who give you advice (and you actually listen), or you watch those inspiring YouTube videos, you know that even experienced marathoners struggle with the first few miles. Turns out you aren’t a loser, you aren’t a failure destined for couch surfing – you are human (and in my case, you’re almost 47 years old, which I know is a factor). So, you push through the suckiness and you notice it and you shift your focus to your environment, to your breathing, to your posture, to the fact your muscles are getting looser and you’re starting to glisten. I know that in the recovery world, the more traditional thinking has been, stop drinking and/or using and for now, keep smoking and stuffing your face with crappy food and stay on the couch, whatever it takes, but don’t use. I personally think that this approach isn’t the best, and while I won’t go into it for now (that’s a whole other blog topic), I do think that as I mentioned in this previous blog entry, when you let go of something in your life, a vacuum is created, and it will be filled. I think exercise is a great vacuum-filler and specifically because of what I am talking about today, I find that exercise (in this case, running) can give someone in recovery a valuable way to relate to themselves and to the world, as we acquire new self-awareness and learn new tools. More pointedly – if I am trying to quit drinking, and I find myself constantly back on day 1, when I pair my sobriety efforts with a running plan, I see the parallels. I see that in the same way that I grew my grit muscle by building up my mileage, not quitting even when my brain was trying to convince me that Today Is Not The Day; shopping for new running shoes because tools really do matter; seeking out runners and asking for help; focusing on just getting to that next tree (instead of worrying about mile 5 or 15) – changing my life by acknowledging and addressing a progressive and potentially fatal problem/disease, is really not that different. And requires the same grit and seriousness and determination and commitment, as training for a 5k or a marathon. Just show up. And keep moving forward, to the next tree. Tune in. Adjust as needed. Get to the next tree. Focus on your breathing. Ask for help and accept it when it comes (because it will). Drink water. Get the right tools for you. Stay in your lane and in your present mile. Celebrate milestones (personal records, finish lines, anniversaries). Help others who aren’t as experienced as you. The rewards are incredible. Every medal started with the sucky first miles (steps). Every person who has racked up months and years of sobriety had the same sucky first miles (steps). Just keep showing up, and moving forward. When I was at the self-checkout section of the supermarket yesterday, I heard some commotion at the machine next to mine. Apparently a woman had just finished her transaction and was now bagging her groceries, but the man behind her immediately started putting his groceries on the belt and now they were crashing into hers. The woman became louder and louder, chastising man for his impatience and then defending herself as the man made some remark about her “needing help.” (He was clearly referring to her mental state, not her efforts at bagging). The woman hurried out, and I left through a separate door, on my way to my car, thinking about how easily two people who were clearly educated, well-dressed, in a suburban supermarket, can become angry and offensive. I walked to my car and was loading my groceries in the back when I saw the woman pushing her cart to her car which was near mine. Our eyes met and she immediately started to angrily point out how rude the man had been, how impatient, and she only just moved here and couldn’t believe that this was how she was welcomed to our town. I just listened, nodding my head, letting her vent. I agreed that we can all be so impatient and inconsiderate. She suddenly smiled and asked, “Are you an instructor?” I then remembered I had thrown on my tank top that says “heavily meditated” as a joke, as I was having tea with my friend, a physician. I replied that yes, I teach a couple of yoga classes. So we started to chat about how she used to practice yoga in her old town but hadn’t found a spot here yet, could she please have my card? Then she returned to the incident that had just happened inside the store, and said that her husband had the same thing happen to him a few days ago, and she was dismayed by people’s impatience! The whole incident and my conversation made me think about all of the interactions we have with others, loved ones and strangers, where the outcome is decided even before we engage. How often do I approach my teenaged daughter, already predicting her response to my instructions? (Predicted & often received response: defiance). I thought about this because knowing where this couple moved from and the lifestyle and pace and culture that I know is typical of that area, and with the knowledge that they had each had the same situation “happen” to them in the week since they moved to our area – I couldn’t help but think that until they started to shift their own attitude, expectations, and energy, they would probably continue to experience this sort of situation in their new home. I find it fascinating how two people can witness the same interaction or situation and have two completely different responses or interpretations. Depending on what our life experiences have been, and how we feel about ourselves, we can interpret things and then choose our reaction so vastly differently. When I was relaying the supermarket incident a couple of hours later to a couple of friends, one of them (Marni) who is one of the most generous, fun, charitable people I know, laughingly said, “if someone did that to me [started processing their order without waiting for me to finish bagging] I would tell him to keep going, but I was going to keep his groceries!” And I have no doubt that this is exactly how she would have reacted, and there would have been a lot laughter rather than shouting.
There's a lot of tension in our world today, and it's easy to feel helpless and that much of it is beyond our control. This, however, is something we can control. Something like an interaction in the supermarket may seem inconsequential especially when our Twitter feed is filled with increasingly negative news about intolerance and violence between people near and far. My helping diffuse a stranger's anger may not have a newsworthy impact on the world or a community or a family. But in that moment, when I chose to meet the woman's gaze rather than write her off as a crazy person and continue with my busy day, I chose to see her as someone who was facing some unknown struggle, who had bumped against another person who was facing his own struggles. And I heard her out and felt nothing but kindness. And perhaps, because of this, her trip home from the supermarket and her evening with her husband and her conversation over the phone with her daughter, may have shifted to a less conflictual stance. When you change the way you think about something, it changes. Whether it’s someone you love, or the acquaintance who posted something on Facebook, or the person in front of you at the stoplight, or the stranger at the store – you can change the little things. Try out a new way of thinking about something or someone, and see how they change. Big change starts with small changes, that add up. This morning, someone posted the following question on a sobriety chat board I belong to:
"Does anyone have any tips for stopping. I have a daily wine habit that has been ongoing for many years." Something compelled me to put aside my morning chores and instead I sat down and quickly replied, before heading up to wake up my son for school. This was my reply: *************************************** Yes. Just stop. Haha if only it were that easy! Simple, yes. Easy, no. Honestly, I wanted to stop for a few years. Well, parts of me wanted to stop - the good mom, the good coach, good wife, the responsible and healthy and rational parts of me wanted to stop. Meanwhile, my other parts wanted to hold on - my party girl, my life-of-the-party part, my carefree, spontaneous, wild part. My rebellious part. Whenever my Good Girl shouted, STOP! She would win for a few days, but then my other more fun-loving, naughty parts would rebel and take over. So how did I stop? I started to read a lot about recovery. Blog entries and news articles by lushes who stopped. I envied and admired them. I read books on how to move through addiction with mindfulness. I reached out now and then to sober friends and asked how they were doing. I tried cutting back. I did the Whole 30 (which means no drinking for 30 days). One day I hit my bottom. Nothing dramatic, thank God, just basically felt intense self-loathing, especially because I hated how much I had just hurt (verbally) my 11 year old son. And while I was sober, I knew that my words were not mine, they were from a woman whose insides were toxic, who was exhausted from poor sleep and mindless living. I decided to take a break from alcohol for a few days. That was a Sunday. On Friday, having not drank all week, I decided to continue through the weekend. This was mid-December. So then I decided, go the rest of the month. On Jan 1, I decided, another month. Then I extended another month. By now I had stepped into some 12-step recovery meetings, and checked out other community-based options. I was listening to recovery podcasts, reading the Big Book, talking to others as I was now public about my efforts through my blog. I was helping others do what I did and do. It has now been six months, one week since my last drink. My inner rebel is now and then pouting but is generally really happy. Because she now sees that NOT drinking is actually the greatest act of rebellion in a culture that reveres alcohol and pushes it left and right. When I finish a race, my healthy part revels in how good I feel now when I run, and my rebel part says f--- you to the beer tent. I think it's about perception. I went from thinking I was going to have to sacrifice and miss out, to now realizing I am much more available - to my family, my friends, my work, my self, my life. I hope this is helpful. If you need some book recommendations or want to chat, I'm here for you. The fact you reached out at all is the first big step. Susanne |
Susanne NavasWellness coach, athlete, mom, entrepreneur. I love helping people mindfully reboot their health & joy. Archives
February 2023
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