This Is What Happens When a Junkie for Self-Loathing Relapses

Last weekend I saw this bee hanging onto the side of my shoe. I casually escorted it off and watched it struggle to clutch onto the blades of grass below. A great sadness swept over me as I watched this bee try to survive without the ability to use its wings. I remember thinking at that moment, "what is the message here?"

Well. Now I know. This week has been a trying one. I am less than one week out from my wedding, and one week in to throwing my back out. Not exactly sure how or why, but last week my lower back just said, "nope." Since then I've been hobbling around, trying to mask a constant sharp, shooting pain while planning a party for 150 people that centers on love and happiness and joy.  This back thing came at a strange time. I was putting a lot of pressure on my physical appearance (because: weddings) and feeling really rotten about my progress. I had set such high expectations for myself. And I wasn't hitting my goals. After all this work I'd done to learn to practice self-love, I started spiraling back into old patterns of self-loathing. And then my back went out. And for a few days, it was mournfully frustrating. I couldn't run, I couldn't lift weights—I was at a complete stand-still. I'd never reach my unrealistic goals now! So I internalized it, tried to ignore it, and eventually (right on cue) caught myself breaking down in tears. And then Jaren suggested I go to yoga with him. It had been a while since I'd connected with yoga. I'd been favoring so many other "higher intensity" workouts, thinking they'd be better suited for my goals. But, faced with my new reality, yoga was kind of the only thing left... and it was better than nothing. It was a hot class. I liked that, thinking it might help my muscles unwind a little better. I stood in the back. I looked at myself in the mirror.

This is the part where I get real vulnerable.

As the room started to fog up and I'm looking at myself, I thought: hey, that girl in the mirror doesn't look as big as I thought she would. And then, as class started to move, I started to pay attention to the pain in the back. No, actually, I started to NURSE the pain in my back. I decided to push myself only as far as my back would allow. I decided to (wait for it) listen to my body.  And then, about three-quarters through the practice, as we were laying on our backs, twisting our bodies from left to right, I started to cry. It was one of those silent cries where your eyes are closed and you aren't making a face, really, but your lip starts to tremble and your eyes just won't stop watering. The tears just started streaming, falling to my mat like beads of sweat. And there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. At that exact moment, I felt my mind whisper to my body, I'm so sorry. I've been so cruel to you. I've been focusing so much on your weaknesses that I've completely ignored your strengths. Because there I was, making my way through all of these poses that frankly weren't that simple—and with a bad back. I was proud of my body. And I'd forgotten what that felt like. And that was really, really sad. This is a pattern that I've struggled with my whole life—and while I have been able to conquer it before, huge (stressful) life events can often trigger relapses. My relapse has taken me over for the last two months, maybe three. This is about the same amount of time that I stopped writing for The Heart of Happy. That "coincidence" is not lost on me. The level at which I've been obsessing over my body has been unhealthy (and, frankly, not productive). So I'm putting it to bed. Of course I want my body to be healthy, but criticizing it won't get it there. Loving it will.

I suppose this is a gentle plea to please, please love your body.

It is an incredible machine. I mean, even when it's broken (as mine seems to be at the moment) it is capable of doing amazing things. Believe in your body. Believe that it is your ally. Believe that it is trying as hard as it can to provide for you. Love it for that. And, whenever you can, please thank it for that. Over the last few days I couldn't help but wonder if the mystery cause for my back going out was just my body trying to tell me to stop. Stop pushing it further than it wanted to go. Stop calling it names. Stop trying to starve it. Stop trying to feed it anything other than what it needs, craves, asks for. I can't help but wonder if this was just my body's attempt to finally get my attention—its way of screaming out, "Listen to me! Why have you stopped listening to me?" Or maybe I just threw it out. Who knows. I just hope it knows I've heard it, either way. And I'm listening now.