With My Whole Heart

I’ve had a bit of a block lately. My life has been in transition and I’ve been struggling to decide how to put the pieces together. And here’s the kicker, I have very few restraints. Perhaps, that’s why I’m feeling so guilty. I’m almost paralyzed by guilt.

For years I had all the excuses in the world to not have the life I truly wanted. I was in a crappy marriage and then in a crappy relationship. I lived in a tiny, rural town in the middle of nowhere. I had a small child-at two different periods of my life.  I had excuse after excuse and now? All those excuses are gone. Every single one of them.

I live in a new, exciting metropolitan area. My crappy relationships are behind me and I’m even spending time with someone new and wonderful. My children are older and for a short time living across the country with their father. I am older, wiser and more experienced. I even have a small reputation for being good at what I do.

I’m paralyzed and I’m not sure it’s all guilt.

This morning someone tweeted, “Have the courage to be happy.”- Steve Maraboli. And it kinda stuck in my head through making the coffee, feeding the cats and emptying the dishwasher.

I remembered what I learned last year about courage from Brene Brown. Courage is different than being brave. Courage comes from the Latin for heart. The original meaning is to live with your whole heart.

Sometimes the lessons come so long after we are initially introduced to them, don’t they?

Have the courage to be happy.

Live with your whole heart and be happy. Well, now that makes sense, doesn’t it?

I’ve been so scared so often in my life. I’ve been so lost and afraid. The biggest thing my fear has done? It’s helped me build a protective wall around my heart. Like the henna heart there’s stuff around my heart that takes awhile to wade through. Then when you get there, there’s a door. Don’t get me wrong,  I open it occasionally and I even let a few select people in. And at the same time I feel my heart open to complete strangers, on the street, on television, that I read about. I would say that I’m an open-hearted person and that I have love and compassion for everyone.  Yet, I guess to be honest I would say that most of the time my heart is open when I can stand back. I guess I would say, there this wall and I stand at the door guarding the entrance.

What if Brene Brown is right? What if the answer is to use my whole heart? What would that look like? What would that feel like?

As with so many times when I learn a life lesson, I find that I’ve already been teaching it. I teach heart openers and believe in the health benefits, mental and physical, of having an open heart. I tell clients to look into the places where the heart is resisting. I believe in living more in the heart and less in the brain. I practice heart openers.  And yet again I find myself laughing at my own limitations.

I guess being able to laugh at myself is good.

So here’s what I’ve been doing that so many of us do. I open little parts of my heart, for limited amounts of time. I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe I can widen my door and put in a gate. Cause gates are see through. You can even reach through a gate, both from the inside and the outside.

Maybe just maybe I can leave the gate open for longer periods of time and for more people.

So, I tried that this weekend. (Sometimes posts take me several days to write.) I opened and I was happy. I was really happy.

And then I freaked out. I got panicky. My heart started racing. My breath got short.  I picked up the phone. I called three different friends and left long messages. I talked myself through it. I told them I just needed to talk, even on vm, and it was what I needed cause I got over it and I even went back and opened my heart again.

I teach in class that poses aren’t going to feel comfortable right away. I tell my students to be in the pose, to stop thinking about how it’s supposed to look and focus on how it feels. Breathe in the pose. Breathe out from the pose. Find the softer place, the place where comfort might have some space.

That’s what I’m doing. Cause that second time, when I went back and opened my heart again, it was better. It still takes my breath away. I’m walking through it.  I’m breathing and softening and looking for the place where it feels comfortable to live with my whole heart.

Courage isn’t a destination. It’s a space. I am being courageous. I may not be a pro, yet, but I am choosing to live with my whole heart.

If I don’t pass out from the fear I’ll write more about it soon.

Kansas to Massachusetts

I’m back. I think I say this every few months or so. Sometimes longer. I’ve been moving. My primary home was in Lawrence Kansas and now my primary home is in Boston, Mass.

It’s been big and tough and many, many times as the miles sped by with a seven year old, two dogs, my stuff and my honey in a fairly small van, I asked myself why? I wanted to move. I wanted to make a big move. I wanted to live with my honey again. The endeavor was much bigger than I thought, though. And to be honest I struggled with my yogic principles. Big time.

I haven’t been the best yogi over the last six weeks. On top of the stress and fear I’ve been in almost constant pain since I left. I haven’t been on the mat as much as I would want a client/student to be. I get so frustrated when clients don’t see results because they don’t put in the work, but I’ve been that client lately.

Stemming primarily from the drive, the little twinges of arthritis I occasionally had flared up in big, painful and scary ways. I realized the arthritis in my foot is probably the beginning of a bunion. My occasional sciatic pain is a consistent reminder of everyone I’ve ever helped heal. Back pain is so invasive. It affects every aspect of your life. I can’t sleep, lift things, shower, clean, unpack, sit for long periods, cook, make love, ride the T, trolley or bus without more pain than I’ve ever felt. And yet I do.

On the way out here I had an allergy attack that prompted a sweet and well-meaning cop to call an ambulance. The EMTs informed me I actually had great oxygen absorption- 100%. Which meant I wasn’t actually having an allergy attack. “Do you have any anxiety issues?” the man taking my pulse asked?

Shit.

So, while they were extremely helpful and kind I wasn’t having a physical problem. They had me sign some paperwork and sent me on my way.

I was embarrassed and felt like a failure. It was possible that my anxiety sparked some kind of allergic kind of feeling, but my lungs worked fine and I could even breathe through my nose.  The coughing wasn’t impeding my breathing.

This is what I do!I help people who have these issues and the nasty voice in my head says I shouldn’t have these problems. I should be “well” enough to live my life without anxiety issues.

And then I hear the kind voice of my last therapist who reminded me almost every session that she’s a therapist and most therapists she knows are because they need the tools they teach. It’s okay to still struggle with anxiety occasionally and teach people how to manage it at the same time. I had this idea that I think is pervasive in our society that I can only be an expert or teach something unless I’ve mastered it.

And then with a roll of my eyes I remember my teacher’s voice telling me to teach what I know. Teach what I’m learning because I’m most present with it. I’m in the muck of it and so I’m the best teacher for what I’m teaching in this moment. If I’m so far away from what I’m teaching that I can’t remember what it feels like to struggle with headstand/anxiety/peace then I can’t be an effective teacher.

And I’ve learned the most in my life from people who value being open, honest and freely themselves. It’s what drew me to yoga and the teachers I’ve chosen.

So with the nasty voice, my therapist’s voice and my teacher’s voice I freely admit that, yes I still struggle with some anxiety and while the nasty voice in my head tells me that means I’m failing I also hear a little, softer voice that reminds me to look at the progress and forget about perfection. And then the little voice gets a little louder and reminds me that I’m human. Who do I think I am to think that I shouldn’t have struggles? I mean, really? Who?

My huge character defect, one that my best friend from college called me on almost 20 years ago, is that when I’m struggling I disappear. I don’t write, I don’t call and I don’t let anyone know that I’m in pain.  A lot of us share this defect. It’s incredibly frustrating to the people who love us.

Sometimes it feels like all I do is write about my struggles. It feels like present myself as someone who constantly fails. But in all honesty, I sometimes feel that way about myself. So, I guess it’s honest and real. My struggles the last five years have been huge. And, boy I have learned a lot. I’ve grown immensely and I’ve tried to be open and I’ve tried to use my lessons to be a better teacher, a better parent and a better yogi.

So my intention now is to keep writing even while I’m in pain,  to stay here and teach through my own experiences, to share yoga in all the ways that I know it and to embrace being human.

Namaste,

Melissa