The overwhelmingly blank page on the screen threatens to prolong the procrastination of words. But, here I sit, coming back to these same words, grateful for their stumbling appearance onto the screen.The initially awkward stream of words transforms into something more fluid, natural, effortless. Turning off my left-brained, logical, rigid thinking, my right side takes over, giving life force to my creativity, my heart, my vulnerability. The dance between the two...my left attempting to make sense of this gibberish appearing onto the screen.
All too often this left-brained, masculine-feeding energy: the going, doing, accomplishing, action-motivated side dominates. The right-brained, more feminine-feeding energy: the compassionate, creative, loving, gentle flow hardly gets its say. Yet, writing for me allows this feminine flow to temporarily envelope me and coax me into this gentle, systematic flow of words and catharsis.
My writing is my soul and my heart, the cord connecting my body, mind and spirit. But, in failed attempts to avoid my Self as of late, I've continued and perpetuated my self-absorption into the ego ramblings, wrapped up in fear, negativity and self-criticism. These past four months have been marked by a momentary retreat back into the arms of the eating disorder. The bastard, the life-draining demon that haunts my footsteps, the monster lurking in the shadows.
He's the drill sergeant, the masculine hardness and rigidity demanding diet perfection and impeccable physique. You've seen him on T.V., in magazines, billboards…screaming at you, mocking you. "You'll never be good enough, thin enough, pretty enough to be worthy." Try all you will but you will never succeed, he says.
Chances are I'm not the only one who hears these condemning voices. They tell me that my worth is directly proportional to its harsh self-evaluation of my physical form, a judgment that fluctuates daily, based on diet and exercise "perfection" for that day. And, this harsh critic sees colors in only black and white. You're fat or you're skinny, you're a failure or a success. You're perfect or you're flawed.
He tells me when and how much to exercise, how much to eat and when to feel just plain shitty about myself. He's the voice that's told me over and over I'm not worthy, not good enough. He's the voice that controls the majority of my thinking and behavior. For most of my life, I have given up my control to an egotistical, slave- driving authoritarian. And, he has nearly dissolved me of my innate, feminine energy.
But, now my life is heading in the direction I've always desired and longed for, back into balance between the masculine and feminine. That's if I make the choice, the choice to leave behind all the garbage, the dis-serving habits and thought patterns, the toxic relationship with this inner masculine figure. The choice to take responsibility for my life, to take back what's mine: my mind and the thoughts I choose. The choice to make the shift from this stifling fear back into love.
The choice is on me, to close the gap between now and forever. To recognize the fear of regret in letting my life continue on this path of self-rejection, until at last it's too late to make that shift. I know it needs to happen, but it's a matter of doing it, making those conscious thoughts to realign with self-love and acceptance. The habit of my thinking has formed deep grooves, grooves for the eating disorder, the anxiety, the depression, the self-loathing. This is my shadow, my inner demons who have nearly exhausted me.
I see glimmers of light every now and again, clearer thoughts that fill my body and spirit with love, the love I know is there, waiting to be tapped into its full potential. And, I sense that the opportune time is now. In a little over a month, I will begin a journey back into my Self, through a yoga teacher training program. A six-month-long program, I will delve into the teachings and embodiment of yoga.
And, it has quickly manifested into something with profound implications that I can't even grasp. But, again, it's going to be a matter of my choosing to go deep into that journey, into the muck and yuck, the negative voices and stories that I've told myself over and over, to reevaluate my life up until this point. Yoga is the tool that's opened parts of me, exposed my inherent ability to become still, to quiet the voices if only momentarily. To connect me back to my body, back to the moment. It's going to be an exquisitely beautiful journey of self-exploration and triumph if I so allow it to naturally flow, to ease into those healing spaces.
Working at my current place of employment, a school for kids with behavioral issues, I realize how necessary this type of therapy and release is, for not only myself but for these kids who act purely on impulse, in the heat of the moment. Having worked in this environment, I've come to realize certain behaviors of mine, mainly the eating disorder, is all based on impulse. In a lot of ways, I'm just like these kids.
Addictions of any sort are all about impulse, not thinking and acting purely out of emotional distress. Inevitably, reaching for your drug of choice. But, when you slow things down, allowing the conscious, frontal part of your brain to gain back control, you loosen the subconscious, animalistic power exerted over that impulse, that desire to reach for the bottle, the joint, the candy. And, slowly over time that neural pathway weakens until new habits, new ways of thinking form. Yoga, meditation, writing and prayer allow you to retrain the mind and redirect the focus.
It's a life-long journey back to the Self, the time between now and forever, the path that's laid out before me to take back my freedom from the fear-driven subconscious thoughts and behaviors. The choice is mine, from now until eternity.
