Counting Steps

Sometimes,
My steps grow weary,
Run ragged of step taken,
Mis-taken steps.

Circling back,
Like a spiraling staircase,
Winding.
A cyclical pattern,
My mind replays.

It's a tape always playing,
On repeat.
Like that once favorite song,
Its rhythm now stale and dry.

Its notes toned sharp and cutting
To fine-tuned ears.
The same pattern,
The same nagging
Thoughts.
Around and around.

It's that repetitive noise,
In your head,
Like a monotonously dull,
Sometimes sharp tone,
Always cutting like a knife,
Piercing,
Prickling around the edges of clarity,
Murking the waters.

The grooves in my brain run deep,
Like the valleys,
Cutting through mountains,
Always cutting my mountain
Of strength
Down.

They cut and tear,
And shred.
Tainting beauty
With the grays and blacks,
Of its darkness.

Like pieces stripped,
They tear and claw
Persistently,
Patiently,
Tirelessly.

This is my inner darkness,
My subconscious thoughts,
Of insidious nature.
The thoughts I've hidden
From daylight.

For they shake,
In the wake,
Of light.
My light.

But, they keep surfacing.
Brought out in the light,
Of truth,
Bubbling over,
Rushing through
Layers of shame,
Protection.

Shame has hidden,
My light.
But, not today.
I keep shining,
Through walls of doubt,
Shame,
Guilt,
Anger,
Fear.

One light,
One step,
One turn,
But never back.

My steps are counting,
Counting steps,
Always counting.
Sometimes short,
Sometimes too much.

Today,
I step out
Into the light.

One step forward,
One giant leap...
Forward.

Like a Tree

Like a tree, I stand
Rooted and
Solid.
In the now,
Writing and
Weaving
My web
Of creation.

Roots ground me,
Like feet planted on the earth.
Two seeds grown into one.
These roots my own.

Tainted thoughts may shake
Leaves from my branches,
Bare.
But my roots sink,
Deeper each time.

I rise above,
The darkness,
Always reaching,
To the light,
Resting on the earth.

Planted in the soil of my soul,
Though my thoughts
Fluctuate and
Pulsate
Against the rhythm
Of my heart,
The heart of a tree.

Like leaves of the tree,
They float downstream
Of moments passing by.

My tree grows barren now.
Its bark stripped of beauty,
On the surface.
Pounded tooth and nail
Into its rings.

Shaved branch,
After branch,
To seek the heart.

The solidness beneath the bark,
The depth beneath the form.
The soul beneath the mask.

The bark grows tattered,
Each day,
And passing season.

But, the fruit is ripening,
As the seasons blossom,
Darkness succumbs to light.

The thoughts are lifting today,
Swimming further downstream.
And, I can breath again,
Steady and strong.

I stand, again.
As a tree.
Battered,
But not broken.
Shaken,
But not shattered.

I am mending.
My roots are mending
My new bark.

My soul is mending
Its structure back together again.
One branch at a time.
One new leaf at a time.
One breath at a time.

Like a tree,
I stand once more.

Closed Eyes

I see more light in the dark,
With both eyes closed,
And one eye open.

My world changes,
As darkness becomes
Clear-seeing.

Colors cast their rays
On my eyelids.
My vision clears,
With eyes closed.
An inward gaze.

I see clearer in the night.
The dark casts its shadow.
On my sky.

The unseen changes
To illuminate the dark.

I see the truth
With closed eyelids.
I remember the truth
I forgot
With eyes open,

I see nothing
And everything.

The darkness is my home,
When my eyes rest.
Light drawn.
Closed eyes.
Dark night.
Fallen skies.

Written Words

I want to write words to inspire,
Words to set the hearts a blaze.
To set a soul on fire.
My soul.

But I can't.

My words feel meek.
Stuck.
Stagnant.
Like my steps.

I don't know where I'm going.
One step, two step,
And three back.
I feel lost again.

I don't know where to dump
Empty words onto,
But these blank pages,
Unread.

I feel small.
Unseen.
So I keep hidden.
Hiding behind these masks.

One is for the athlete.
Perfect form.
Sweaty brow.
Straining muscles.
Shortening breath.

One is for the fear,
Of the world,
A mask of many forms,
Hiding in the darkness,
Of my room,
Closed eyes.
Asleep.

One is for depression,
Heavy.
Heart.
Hiding.
Heart.

Too many masks to count,
And I'm a counter,
Of numbers.

I feel burdened by my choices,
In moments of overwhelm,
And stress,
I choose the path,
Of least resistance.
To hide,
And numb.

An addict to non-feeling.
An addict to a drug,
Of many forms.

If I don't try,
How can I fail?
That is the question,
With only one answer.
Regret.

Regret over choices,
Avoided.
Responsibility,
Not taken.

Today,
I am standing,
But heaviness weighs,
Deep in my bones.

The stories I've told myself,
Don't hurt so badly.
Maybe I'm numb,
Maybe I'm de-sensitizing,
To the painful words and judgments,
In my head.

Experiences re-play,
Moments not taken,
Relationships forsaken.
My path is winding,
And binding.

I want to write for me,
Again.
Back when it all began.
Not when words were
Written with pressure,
Or strain.

So, I'm writing,
Hopeful that these words,
Will lessen the pain,
That creeps into my head,
And out my heart.

I'm writing to feel,
To re-member,
In my bones,
The truth beneath the masks,
The joy beneath,
The darkness.
The light within my reach.

In this breath.
I breath to remember.
I'm doing the best I can.

Spoken Word

A pen can only convey so many words,
A scratch,
A glimpse,
An echo of a feeling.

My pen halts before each mark,
Unsure of the words it has yet to speak.
Spoken word,
Unheard.

I hear the tap of the pen tip.
Tap, tap, tap.
A sound giving meaning to this art.

Expression.
To express the unsaid words.
Wording a particular order.
Order-less form.
Formless.
Seamless.

My words,
A window into the unseen.
The unsaid words.
Unspoken.

My pen cascades onto paper,
Effortless,
Past the fear,
Through the walls of shame.

I write to feel again.
To give meaning to the world,
Unseen.
Unless invited in,
You may not see.

My belly craves,
Longs for it.
A hunger.
A gnawing.

Confused for hunger outside of me.
I want more.
Interrupted thoughts.
Words unwritten.

A New Story

It's funny how these unwritten words conjure up so much fear in me. 

The fear of vulnerability, I suppose. 

I've been in hiding. 

Hibernation. But, not the cozy, restful, bear-kind. No, this hibernation has been marked by my own self-perpetuated darkness and attachment to negative patterns of thought and behavior.

Darkness has cast over the light inside, feeding on the fear in my own mind. 

I've been running. 

Numbing out from perceived discomfort. Using food, exercise, weed, T.V., social media and relationships, to distract from my own internal storm.

I've been running until I can't run any further, until my legs have grown weary, aching with grief. And, I collapse as grief floods over my body. 

I've been seeking. Seeking a feeling I cannot name. Escape. Freedom. Belonging. In circles, I have spun myself around and around, dizzy, high off the adrenaline in my own body. 

An addict to the chaos. Self-perpetuated chaos.

I'm not sure where to begin this story. As, it is just that, a story, a past occurrence in relation to where I am presently in this very moment. It is a story I have told countless times to myself, to my friends and to my family. 

A story of victimization. A story where I am the attacker and the victim. Attachment to both identities, with dissolution of self in between. It is a story where I have lost my center, lost my seat of power.

These past few months and then some, my neurotic mind has ruled the show, deciding which way to go and where to stay, stuck, stagnant. My mind has told me all the stories of fear, failure, terror and doom. 

And, based on this past story, it convinced me. To stay on this merry-go-round of fear. Distrust in self. In my own body. The anxiety has told me time and time again, that life would be too scary if I didn't have something to latch onto.

So, I re-attached myself to the eating disorder behaviors. They are behaviors still covered and dressed in shame in our society. Food: as prevalent and abundant as it is, is not something taken lightly. It has become a moral issue. So, when addiction comes to the table, all bets are off. Eating disorders are still very hush, hush these days. So, in light, of taking a stand on telling a new story, here's mine.

It's one thing to talk about as a "been there, done that" kind of a deal. It's a whole other reality to talk about when it's your present struggle. My eating disorder has taken on many shapes and forms. No matter, the root is still the same: distrust. Distrust in myself, in my own body. Distrust in my ability to feel and process emotions. Distrust in God, higher power, Spirit, Earth, what have you, to support me. Distrust in my worthiness to receive love.

I know I have allowed the fear to rule and dictate my body these past few months and then some. The fear has told me to restrict. That food is something to be feared. That my body is something to be controlled, micro-managed. That food is love I will never be worthy of, unless it is earned. That I cannot trust my own body or self, or even the solidness of Earth beneath my feet.

It's insidious nature crept back in and took its host hostage. I allowed it, due to fear and lack of faith in my own power. I gave the fear my power. Power to rule. To control. To dictate. And, to punish when I disobey or God forbid, make a mistake. 

I have taken the fear and judge outside of myself and internalized the voice. Who's to say where the fear or judge comes from? Maybe it's religion; maybe it's society. Maybe, it's childhood conditioning. But, we all have it. 

The story of unworthiness. The story of imperfection.

The feeling of victimization. Powerlessness. Hopelessness. I have been defeated, time and time again. Broken down. Each time, I've laid crumpled on the floor, lost in depression, lost in a feeling I cannot name, I've been stripped. 

Stripped of my own will power. My own egoic pride. Naked. Left to pick up the pieces I can't seem to put back straight anymore. I have been fighting a battle of epic proportions in my own mind.

Up until this day, I've been slowly, painfully losing sight of why I've been doing any of the crazy things I've been doing. The vigorous cardio workout regime at the gym, the restrictive diet. Rules on top of rules on top of rules. For what? The reward at the end of the day. The sweetness of the sugary, chocolate binge. And, the guilt that has taken me into the next day to begin the fucked up cycle again.

So, I'm making a choice. I'm taking action. And, not only thinking about taking action, as God knows how long I've been self-analyzing and psychoanalyzing the shit out of this whole thing. 

You could ask me all the questions and why's and I could give you the whole psychological schpeal. But, you can probably guess where that has gotten me. More knowledge to judge myself with to prove my unworthiness to even try to change. 

As a psychology major, I'm beginning to wonder where this knowledge has gotten me other than further down the rabbit hole of self-rejection. I guess they forgot to mention in those Psych100 classes that perfectionists should better off find a major with definitive answers.

All this to say, I'm making the change. I'm no longer going to wait for someone to do it for me. I may not feel ready, and that's okay.

I could keep going about my own sob story of where I've been the past few months. But, the truth is, it's not a pretty picture. And, sure, for the sake of vulnerability, I could go into all of the setbacks, trials, tribulations, and breakdowns. 

But, I'm tired. Tired of telling the same story over and over to myself, to you, to the world.

So, in the sake of celebrating my joys, today, I listened. I listened to my body. I asked it what it needed. And, it responded, excited but perhaps tentative. It told me its needs. I asked and it responded. Finding trust again in myself to recognize a need and respond accordingly with love, devotion and wisdom, is a new endeveaor 

I'm finally embarking on, for real this time. And, I'm embracing the mistakes and setbacks along the way. No more play it safe and suffering with self and body abuse. I know that story. 

It's time to tell a different one. A story marked by a little more self-care, rest, nourishment and acceptance. A story full of life, adventure and freedom. 

Where I am the hero of my own story. This story has yet to be told. And, until that day when this new story is told, I'm going to start living it. 

We Meet Again

Today officially marks day two of this 3-day Ayurvedic kitchari "cleanse." I say that last word very delicately and tentatively on purpose. 

As someone in recovery from disordered eating, words associated with "diet" or deprivation send my body into aftershock. These words, whether in thought or speech, re-trigger a deep-seeded, embodied, fearful pattern in my body. 

It's relatable to a somewhat PTSD-like response that stems from self-starvation early in my influential, adolescent years. It was a year-long, insidious and pattern-setting disease and scarcity mentality, otherwise known as anorexia.

For the longest time, conversation about diets or cleanses put all systems on alert. I would do anything possible to run far, far away from these encounters where this mentality was present. Or, at the very least check out mentally in fear of possible repercussions on my recovery journey.

Nowadays, coworkers may mention their latest diet or cleanse, and I may internally roll my eyes over this latest fad, but with deeper wisdom intact of its meaning for me. Despite the ups, downs and perceived turn-arounds on my path toward recovery from food, exercise and body obsession, I am intentionally seeking to live and embody health and wholeness on all levels. 

Thankfully, as a result of intense self-study in my yoga teacher training program, I have been able to shine a little more light on the control-seeking, perfectionism, low self-worth faulty belief pattern. It has by no means been a "perfect" journey, but each mistake and detour made, each breakdown, has light-yeared me further into my heart and loving what is.

All this to say, I'm on this cleanse for myself and to meet what is, beneath the food and my self-contrived food rules (though it took some encouragement from my teacher and an Ayurvedic practitioner). During a 4-week workshop with other like-minded, soulful foodies, we delved into the yoga of nutrition and the ancient system of natural healing, Ayurveda, otherwise known as "the science of life." Without going too much in depth, I'll tell you what these things mean for me:

Yoga, first and foremost, is about re-membering ourselves as whole and complete in this moment. It's not about attaining a particular form or state of perfection once x,y,z standards, poses, body type or enlightenment is reached. 

Yoga is now, all-ways, as we are. So, for me, perfectionism is in direct opposition to that. It's an insidious belief that permeates most aspects of my life, so to unearth and uproot it has taken some intensive self-study and practice. And, continues to do so.

Yoga means coming home to my body, listening to its ever-changing needs and honoring that. Ayurveda means there is no prescribed "diet" or meal plan out there on the Internet that will "fix" my food and body issues. 

It means that no one will ever be able to tell me what food I should be eating or what body type is acceptable and lovable. That, I am the only voice I need to listen to, and to trust that intuition inside of me and to be steady in who I am as a whole and complete person, not just in terms of my physical appearance.

It means that it's not ever about the actual food we're consuming, but how our bodies are making use of those nutrients. Having struggled with mindless eating patterns, and existing from a state of stress and fear during mealtime, I know all too well that my state of "non"-being highly impacts the level of nourishment. 

Most of us are not present to the food we are putting into our bodies. We check out via our phones, Facebook, the news, T.V., newspaper or conversations. It is rare in our society to eat a meal in silence with a candle lit preceded by a prayer, blessing or simple acknowledgment of gratitude.

It is also rare that some of us even carve out the time and space to dedicate to such sacred ritual. I am just as guilty of this as well, eating in the car, while checking out the news feed on Facebook, anything but being with myself and feelings in my body. 

Eating is a sacred act that has lost all sacredness in our rushed, adrenaline-inducing pace of a lifestyle. We hardly give ourselves the sweet, always accessible resource of breath, the one thing that is our direct relation to what is. Breath is the one resource that cuts through the mind-chatter and state of fear.

Paired with its sister science, Yoga and Ayurveda practices are about re-membering yourself as whole. In Ayurveda, it's about how well we are nourished. But, it's not confined to food. It's how we are nourished on multi-dimensional levels: relationships, home environment, nature, career, spirituality, health, self-care, family, exercise, rest, home cooking, education, social life, finances, joy and creativity. 

It means asking ourselves, "What am I really hungry for in this moment?" Instead of getting curious, we usually react to this need without getting clear on what would actually fill, feed and nourish that craving. More often than not, our "MO" is to reach for sugar or sweets, alcohol, drugs or some other quick "fix". From my experience with food addictions, I have found that most of the time, it's never about the food, though my mind will tell me otherwise.

I have found that asking this question and listening for the answer before taking any action at all is a daily practice in and of itself. Most of the time, I'm really craving or longing for safety, self-care, rest, enjoyment and the sweetness of life itself, not the chocolate or candy. 

To interrupt this subconscious, reactive pattern is an ongoing, daily practice, when all I want is to reach into the literal or metaphorical cookie jar in times of overwhelm or intense feelings of anger, fear, guilt or shame. I first have to get curious about the need underneath the want. The real cure, underneath the fake. 

I am making it more of a consistent practice these days to not only sit with my feelings and "be the observer," but to love and welcome them, as a part of me. Feelings not only want to be heard, felt, honored, or expressed but also released. And, we can't release them until we love the shit out of them, again and again, and again.

So, why on earth would I want to re-traumatize my body by putting it through another "starvation" diet? Well, this "cleanse" isn't about deprivation. It's about feeding your body with the most wholesome, easily digestible and integrated ingredients. 

It's honestly, very "anti" cleanse. It's not about taking away, but about making more space for ourselves. It's about nourishing our bodies, minds, emotions and spirit by simplifying the distractions that food can often bring up. 

It's about reseting and rebalancing our vitality and energy, so that we can come home to ourselves, in all our depth and polarities, and to explore the space a wholesome food such as kitchari can create to again, start from the ground up and get re-acquainted with our own internal rhythms.

All "perfected", word-speech aside, this practice has been an interesting experience to say the least. A lot of my ingrained fearful patterns have surfaced. Not to say, these weren't present before. But, the fear of not having enough to eat and being confined to yet another food "rule" has been unearthed. 

The starving 12-year-old in me is screaming a little bit louder for imposing another form on her. I have also faced my pervasive, soul-sucking perfectionism over the need to do it "right." 

The first day of the cleanse, I had a date planned. So, instead of listening to my inner wisdom and waiting to start the cleanse the next day, I jumped right in, eager to get the process going. I "broke" the rules that night, by drinking two, delicious beers. Surprisingly, I didn't feel too guilty about this. 

But, the next day my body reported back to me, in all its wisdom, that this did not feel good. I woke up nauseated and very foggy. Did I have an enjoyable time on the date? Absolutely. So, yes, it was a re-learning experience for not forcing things and allowing my body a little more love and gentleness in the process.

Today, I am committed to sticking to the mono-diet approach. I have a snow day from work, so lucky for me, I get to be around the house all day, facing the cravings that may come up. It is a blessing in disguise to be confronted with the choice to stay vigilant or to collapse inward. 

I guess I need to get clear on the initial intentions set before this undertaking, which were to re-set, re-balance, detox physically, mentally and emotionally, heal my digestive issues and curb my sweet cravings. 

But, if I'm honest with myself, the insidious belief is very present. To do it perfectly, and that if I do, I'll be "cured" and "fixed." Which is merely to say that I am broken, the direct opposition to what I'm practicing on my yoga mat and in my breath, to re-member myself as whole and complete. 

But, as with all things that create more space, there is now more space for these faulty beliefs to bubble up, so I can meet them head on. And, in the process, to meet myself with love, compassion and a hankering for what I'm really hungry for in each moment. To shine more light on my tendency to neglect my innermost needs and further perpetuate these imbalances.

For instance, I am still working through an addictive mentality to the gym and exercise. I have not been able to give myself permission to rest during this process, which could very well be hampering or negating it altogether. But, the guilt over allowing my body to rest and not meeting these "perfect" standards has prevailed this go round. 

And, in all intents and purposes, I'm loving that part of me even more, the part that's so terrified of losing control and feeling unsafe, unloved, and not enough. She is the wounded child in me, the fear I am constantly confronting, with more love, not less. Less judgement, more love. Less self-policing, more love. Less self-rejection, more love.

In a way, this practice has "amplified" my fear and perfectionism. It has brought me face to face with what I'm so afraid of: letting go of the control and trusting myself and my body. This practice was never about my body or about the weight and I am wary about the thoughts percolating around that and distracting me from the "real" cure. 

It is about releasing myself from the power that food and my skewed body image has over me. Has it "worked"? Am I "fixed"? No, those are the wrong questions. 

Am I re-membered as whole and complete? Maybe. In this breath? Inhale.....exhale.....Yes. For now, that is enough. I am enough, as is, purified or not, cleansed or not, perfect or not. I am meeting my whole self throughout this process, and that is the practice. I am coming home to myself.