The never ending soundtrack of my life used to be I'm fat...terrible...unathletic...not as good as her...or whatever horrible thing that pointed out how different and unworthy I was. Hello Anava Mala and Mayiya Mala for those yogis in the know.
Don't worry if your tongue just tripped over those words. They're just a fancy way of saying I felt unworthy, not good enough, and cut off, separate, different from most everyone else in the world. And therefore deserved to go eat worms because nobody liked me everybody hated me.
But now that I've lost 70 pounds, started keeping up in the Tuesday/Thursday practice (for the most part), and pretty much love the skin I'm in my self talk has shifted to something I've never experienced before. Karma Mala. Or that nagging feeling of not being able to do enough, have enough, finish enough, oh my gosh why am I even taking the time to type this right now when there's so much else I HAVE to get done enough.
Something I used to be too fat, lazy, and unworthy to even consider. Sort of hard to worry about doing when you can't even get going. But now that I'm going. And oh am I going. On any given day I have about three million irons in the fire. Studio stuff. Cate stuff. Personal stuff. Blog stuff. Family stuff. Friend stuff. Boyfriend stuff.
Stuff. Stuff. Stuff. And all stuff that I need to do. Have to do. Must do. Or else. Stuff that people want from me. Need from me. Have to have from me.
So in an attempt to get it all done I've developed a whole new way of being which often includes skipping breakfast. Eating only an apple for lunch. Sucking down a heavy dinner because I'm starving. Staying up too late. Ditching my morning meditation.
Washing. Rinsing. Repeating.
Which is radically different for me. Because for last 26 years I pretty much did as little as I possibly could and then sat and ate ice cream and cried about how little I was doing. And forget skipping meals I stocked up on extra just in case. But then I went to therapy and grad school and found some friends who pretty much kicked that right out of me. So for the past two years I've been building up some speed. Speed that helped burn and transform some nasty patterns away (thank god because if I kept that up any longer I was going to have to buy stock in Ben & Jerry's and Prozac).
But it's built others. And now I can't seem to stop them. I'm flying down the hill no brakes hands off the steering wheel. And any minute I'm going to crash. Spontaneously combust. Fly off into space never to be seen or heard from again. Because rocking body and soul that I now got they still aren't strong enough to hold the constant doing. Moving. Going. Even God needed to rest on the seventh day.
I need a brake. Break? I'm just not sure how to safely stop the ride because I've never been on it before.
I need someone to flag down the conductor like my dad did when I was six and my cousins talked me into getting on the Siberian Sleigh ride. My tears and screaming something even 23 years later I haven't be able to live down.
But it's hard to flag yourself down. To press the stop button. It's easier just to keep going. Even through the tears and screams and threats of vomit. Because if I get off the ride. Say no to things. I might let other people down. And then we're right back were I started-eating worms because nobody likes me everybody hates me.
But I think back to what one of my very wise teachers once told me, "Saying no to one thing is saying yes to another."
So I'm saying yes to slowing down. To stopping the ride. To pausing.
At least long enough to eat lunch.
But for now I gotta go! ;)
XO,
Sara
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