Loving our Shit

So, let's get real. First, with myself then maybe with you. Honest to God, and whoever is reading these brutally raw, vulnerable words, these past few days have been all but the put-together picture I may project to you in the name of yoga, bliss, enlightenment, oneness and fraudulent bullshit we say but don't fucking feel. These past few weeks have been tumultuous, turbulent, ego-breaking, ground-shaking and an emotional shitstorm (in yogic word speak of course, and some f-bombs along the way just because it fucking feels good).

Did I really think I would not eventually and yet again succumb to the depths of the depression, sadness, grief, anger, resentment I have harbored beneath this yogic, spiritual guise? It's funny and almost cute how this spiritual mask has taken form, yet another means to judge, berate, reject and shame myself for not being present, not being the love that I AM 150% of the time. It's the shattering of this mask that has brought me to my knees, yet again, in devastation of the truth that I thought and "should-ed" myself to be: loving, sweet, open-hearted, generous, present, conscious, a healing presence in this tragic and violent world we live in.

Turns out, my sweet, sweet, protective and fearful inner child was using this as another means to get my attention and forcibly say, "Wake the fuck up." This part of me, this inner, wounded child, within us all, is constantly nudging us whether we consciously recognize it or not, to love its needs, to love its wants and desires, to love its often-times atrocious means of getting our attention. Namely, for me, my inner child cries for attention manifest in the form of an eating disorder, but also in terms of other addictive manifestations to sooth the anxiety and depression and other intensity of feelings not otherwise met in sustaining, nurturing, nourishing ways.

It is a desperate need, an insatiable hunger aching in our bones for love. But, instead we confuse it and parade it as a need to be fixed, for someone, something to fill the void, the emptiness we so deeply or superficially feel. And, we soothe and veil over with these unfulfilling relationships, soul-sucking habits, busyness and distraction. Not only this, but we get fucking praised by society for doing so, for keeping busy, keeping the adrenaline-fueled motor running, when all our inner motor wants to do is turn in and combust on itself. It's an endless, self-perpetuating and society-praising cycle of our innermost needs not getting met by the only person capable of doing so (us), turning into self-neglect, self-abuse and masking over with business and distraction, which is met with a slap on the back for staying afloat, when the best remedy would be to sink to the depths of our despair and traverse the waters of our grief.

But, the feelings of happy, joyful, content, and all these "loving" qualities we constantly use to mask over the storm underneath, are doing anything but shaming us into believing more of the lies and stories of our defectiveness and fragmentation as is in any moment of anything but bliss and love. In yoga, the purpose and the goal, is to always, first and foremost, show the fuck up for what is. It doesn't say anything about the first step being to gloss over all the shitty-ness you're feeling by slapping an eco-friendly bandaid on the wound. Yoga says show up for the shitty. Show up for the bleeding, the oozing scab, the pain, the suffering, the heartbreak.

Then, and only then, does love become a choice. To continue down the fragmented storyline of "Not enough," "Too fucked up," a failure, a fraud. Or, to instead, choose, with consciousness and loving intention, to love what fucking is. To even love the storyline of "Not enough." To send it the love it desperately is needing, to feed it with the one thing that will satiate its hunger. But, more often than not, we unconsciously and habitually choose to instead keep feeding the monster with fear, self-loathing, self-judgment, self-shaming and self-rejection. And, as my teacher would wisely ask, "How's that working for you?"

Well, like anything we do, any action we take repeatedly becomes a habit, a practice. So, in terms of mastering a practice, well good job to me for mastering the practice of further fragmentation, self-policing, self-judgment and "should-ing" all over myself for the feelings I have. Too bad there's not a trophy for achieving such mastery of self-hatred, or else I'd have glass cages stocked full of them. All deprecating comments aside, the why's behind why we're doing what we're doing (the intention), whether that be a workout regime, our relationship to food, a particular relationship, a job, a yoga or spiritual practice fucking matters.

The action becomes negligible until you unearth the why's of what we're doing in the first place. (Much, much gratitude to my teacher, Jessica Patterson, for the always prevalent and much needed reminder of this). We need to get very clear on the intention behind our actions. Then, and only then, can we choose to remember the storyline of our original makeup, of love. And, not in terms of negating the shit that's there. Because the shit is there, whether we love it, shame it, judge it or self-police it. The shit that is there: the loneliness, the anger, the sadness, the anxiety, the fear, the depression, the self-loathing and self-judgment, is the inner child asking for MORE love, not less.

I've heard my own inner child's needs over and over and chosen to ignore them. So, what did she do this past week? Act out in ways that I can't ignore. In the sake of getting down, dirty, real, raw and fucking vulnerable, here it is. This past week, I've engaged in the nighttime binging and purging behaviors to self-soothe the fears, the hunger for love, the self-judgment of feeling whatever it is I'm feeling. My inner child is awake and shaking her fist in rage at my neglect and abuse. All she has ever wanted is to receive love that only I can give.

And, let me be very clear. I know that other people can sure as hell, fill us with their love, but when has that ever been enough for anyone? When has someone else's love ever made us feel whole and complete 100% of the time? The seeking of another person to give us the love we have never been able to give to ourselves. That is the biggest, greatest and tragic travesty in our society and culture.

We ARE the love we have been looking for. When will I get that? When will we realize that the only love and acceptance we need is from within. Will it always take tragedy, meltdowns and heartbreak to remind us of this one and only truth? In my case, maybe. Maybe it's because I've always felt so deeply, the suffering, the darkness. Or, maybe in a sick way, my mind and soul just enjoy the drama of it all. In the sake of loving what is, thank God for the suffering. Thank God for the suffering that has broken me down, time and time again. Thank God for this recent unraveling that has broken me open in ways, now that love is a choice, not a forcible obligation.

And, in the light and dark of the Thanksgiving season, let's get real with the shit that we are actually feeling. Then, and only then can we make the choice to give ourselves the forgiveness and love we never got for ALL parts of us, especially the shitty, messy and fragmented parts. To loving what is. To loving the shit. Thank you and I LOVE YOU.