My Never Not Brokenness and All the Things I've Been Feeling Shameful For

Dear Internet,
I've sat down to write a new post at least three dozen times but my hands always go still over the keys.  Numb from the shame of what it is I want to tell you.

This has been a hard month for me and I just need it be over.  My meditation practice has become nonexistent, I fell off the cleansing wagon pretty hard, I'm uninspired in my yoga teaching, I STILL haven't gotten a couch for my office, or worked on my pilot project, or kicked into handstand, or, or, or.

Call it the ides of March.  Mercury in retrograde.  Depression.  Exhaustion.  A dosha imbalance.  Spanda.  Whatever it is I need it to go away because it's making feel pretty helpless.  Restless.  Like a failure.  A fraud.

I sat here and talked about how I'd never go back to my old patterns again because my new way of being just feels too good.  Yet, what I ate yesterday in honor of Brian's birthday begs to differ (pancakes, bacon, carrot cake, pizza).

I claim to be a yoga teacher yet half the time I keep my fingers crossed hoping no one will show up to my class.  And I avoid my own practices.  I show up to class five times a week and call my work done.  Not sitting, not engaging my home practice, not breathing on my own.

I say I want to put my counseling degree to use yet do I have a couch, or a chair?  Have I made flyers or bought advertising?  No, no, and no.

I call myself upbeat.  Joyful.  So loud and positive and happy it makes people's teeth hurt.  But it's been weeks since I actually felt light.  Connected.  So ecstatic I could cry.

And I'm not sure what to do.  Or why I'm back here.

I thought I'd slayed this beast.  Dumped the weight.  Overcome the depression.  Changed my thought patterns.  Gotten new habits.  And yet here I am.  Again.  And probably again.  And again.

Because that seems to be how things work.  In cycles.  In roller coaster ways instead of straight lines.  Because what goes up must come down.

And I've been up for awhile.

So I'm down.  And while I know that this place isn't forever.  That I'll pulse back into my practices.  Get paid so I can buy green vegetables.  Reconnect to my teaching.

I don't like this place.  It scares me because I've been stuck here before.  I've pulled the covers over my head, eaten a banana nut muffin, and called it day.  And a day.  And a day.  Until the days added up to a fat, depressed Sara.

And I don't want that to happen again.

So I'm telling you.  I'm trusting that you're big enough to hold my brokenness.  My vulnerability.  That you can love me.  All of me.  Even if I'm not drinking green smoothies three times a day, meditating until my butt hurts from sitting, and twisting myself into a pretzel everyday.

Because the truth of life is that sometimes it sucks and you don't know why.  Sometimes you do eat a banana nut muffin.  Sometimes you cry and don't practice yoga.  Sometimes you are just human and imperfect and that's ok.

Because when you open yourself up to life.  When you crack your heart open.  You let everything in.  Even the suck.  And if you resist that.  If you run from it.  And don't let yourself feel it then you can't heal it.

So here I am.  Feeling it.  Lying broken in a pile in front of my computer screen.  Because I know that's the only way I can pick myself up back up.


A fantastic article on my favorite never not broken Hindu goddess...Why Lying Broken in a Pile on Your Bedroom Floor is a Good Idea

And a wonderful talk about connection, vulnerability, and banana nut muffins...

My Next Great Leap

"I'm scared."
"Me too.  But it's a good scared.  Like when you hike up to the top of the mountain and you're about to drop in.  You look down, take a deep breath, see your route, and then just go for it.  It's why you climbed up there."
"Yeah but it's scary."
"I know but I usually don't make it that far unless I'm committed to making the run."
"Usually, I'm so tired and annoyed from dragging the other person to the edge of the cliff that when I get there I don't have anything left and I say forget it and walk back down alone cursing."
"I operate a chairlift."

I let his words sit with me.  And I realized he was right.  Getting to this place has been easy.  Like riding a chairlift.  Sure at the beginning we had a few stops and starts and things were icy.  But once we got going it's been fairly effortless.

Something I'm not at all used to.  I'm used to forcibly tying the person to my back and dragging them along for the ride whether they wanted me to or not.  To marching us forward even when we were about to kill each other or collapse from the exhaustion it takes to keep a bad thing alive.  Because we will be the Valedictorian of love dangit, get up, let's go!  Struggle and strife and not fitting is my comfort zone.

This set it and forget it.  This natural rhythm.  This ease.  Not so much.  I don't know what to do with it.  Especially now that I'm faced with jumping.  With having to decide what next and where do WE go from here.  WE.  Not Sara.  Not me.  WE.

Instead of hammering out a plan I come up with all the reasons he's not right for WE.  Why I should just leave him standing there and walk down alone.  Not yogic enough.  Not smart enough.  Not rich enough.  Not old enough.  Not settled enough.  Not driven enough.  Not enough enough.

Then I pick fights and act crappy and yell about blue hair so he'll tell me, "Forget about it I don't wanna jump with you after all."

Except that's never what he says.  He says perfect things like, "I operate a chairlift."  Things that make me realize that what's really going on is about me.  My enoughness.  My strong enough.  Interesting enough.  Pretty enough.  Smart enough.  Rich enough.  My broken not enough chatterbox self up to her old lies.

Because all this time I've been dragging people to the cliff she's been in charge.  Been telling me no one would really jump because it'd be with me.  Little broken not enough enough me.

Except I'm not broken anymore and neither is he.

We didn't drag each other to this place.  No one was kicking or screaming or dying to run away.  It just happened.  The chairlift did its job.  Got us to the top.  And now we have to drop in or ride back down.

And while I'm not ready to say which one it will be,  either way I hope we do it together.

Because this is a ride I'm not ready to get off (even if it does terrify me).


Here We Go!

"I didn't hear all of that but from what I did you need to be teaching a real class that people come to."  Had I been a deer I would have head butted her and headed for the hills.  Sorry Bridget, but my flight or flight was screaming, "Fly! Fly! Fly! Fly already!  What are you doing just sitting there letting this woman talk you into teaching a real class that real people to come to practice real yoga?  Punch her and be done with it already!!!"

But I didn't.  I told my broken not good enough self to shut it the woman had a point.  Hadn't my birthday wish been for piles and piles of money to swim around in like the opening of Duck Tales?  And what better way to start attracting the green stuff than to, oh I don't know, teach a class that people actually come to?  To use the skills I sweated, and bled, and cursed, and cried (mostly cried), and paid a handsome sum for.  Teacher training-not so casual guys just in case you were wondering.

Don't I know stuff?  Aren't I loud enough and bubbly enough to drag people through an hour and fifteen minute class?  I mean what's the worse thing that could happen?

If I let the broken not good enough chatterbox of myself answer those questions she says, "No.  No you are not good enough at all.  You suck and people will probably throw things at you and not have a good time and they'll never come back because you are a terrible terrible teacher.  And they'll tell other people how awful you are and write about it on Facebook and then all of Driggs will point and laugh at you.  So you just keep teaching your tiny not real hardly anyone ever shows up for class because that's all you're good for."

And that's when I realized she was who I really needed to punch because seriously?  We're here again?  I thought I squashed her when I dumped all that extra weight, moved into a yoga studio, and fell in love with my life.

But some how she still gets out every once in awhile and tries to spread her vile lies.  Sure I'm not the best yoga teacher in the world.  I stumble over my words, constantly mix up my left and right, and am not always as clear as I could be.  But so what?

So what broken not good enough chatter box self?  If I've learned anything from my journey so far it's that I don't have to be perfect.  Yes, I, the Valedictorian of Everything, just typed that.  Pick your jaws up off the floor.  It's not nice to stare.

The only thing we are called to do in this life is be.  That's right.  Be.  Be good enough just as you are. Be love.  Be loved.  Be wild and creative and open.  Be broken and vulnerable and courageous.  Be steady and dedicated and passionate.  Be ourselves.  All of ourselves.  Whatever that is.

But it's easy to forget that.  To say I can't or I won't.  To hide or run or cloak.  Because it's safer.  Easier.  Less pit of stomach, head for the hills, broken not enough chatterbox talk when you stay in your comfort zone.  

But that's not where the magic happens (you saw that image).  Not where the radiant, shiny, jump up and down, fall in love with life, share your gifts, help others happens.

That happens when you gag your broken not good enough chatterbox self, sit her in the corner, and tell her not to move or else.  When you just do it already.  Do what scares you.  What moves you.  What exhilarates you.

Because at the end of the day it really isn't how well you've done it but how you feel about it.  And when you can quite all the reasons you shouldn't or can't and jump.  You feel amazing.  You let so much joy and love and light in.

And that broken not good enough chatterbox self usually shuts up and enjoys the show.

So get over yourself already and do whatever it is that scares the bejesus out of you.  Let the magic in.

I will be Wednesday morning from 7:15-8:30am.

Let's do this!

I'll pray for you.