Rising into dancer by rooting into the present
and directing my gaze forward. Photo by the dazzlingly divine Misty Pittman.
***
The rewrite
begins on the evening of the surrender. I am tangled in a
web of overwhelm. Overlapping narratives intensify a rising sadness that breaks
into a steady, sweeping wave of tears.
I mourn the loss
of idealized mentors. I sob to feel the depth of my dizzying fear questioning
my enoughness and capabilities with my current professional position. I cry to
voice the missing of my creativity – my writing and inspired play channeled
into teaching yoga feels neglected these days. I cry to usher forth the thought patterns binding me to
self-sabotage and to playing small, and to expose my issues of self-worth that
beckon men who emotionally disrespect me.
I am in the
aftermath of an intentional betrayal, a harsh revealing of a person’s carefully
concealed nature that shifts my rose-colored view of humanity. I am at a lost
to know how to heal from this burn simultaneously scorching affection and
breaking me free from a disillusioned reality.
I don’t know how
to integrate this experience into my story.
Owning this in its entirety triggers a landslide of other tumbling
narratives taking turns to remind me of my patterns and perceived failures.
The pattern
exists in idealizing those I adore (and I adore intensely), and impulsively
projecting my feelings, sensitivities and emotional expectations on these
fellow life travelers. I am wounded by
my own high expectations of how I think others should act. I freely and
unquestioningly give so much of my heart. I expect others to reciprocate in
affection, empathy, openness and trust. But people do not perceive and move
about the world as I do, and I need to know this. I do know this, and the repetition of this lesson
stings and ignites a fresh wave of tears.
I sink to my
knees. I’m losing trust in others. I’m losing faith in myself.
I surrender. I
offer the Universe my burden. I whisper that I cannot do this alone. I
relinquish the limiting belief that I have to heal on my own. I release the
need to want to know “Why?” and
rationalize the current experiences. I accept uncertainty. I soften into not
knowing, letting go of the attempts to analyze the actions of others.
The breath
embraces me. I merge into the present story by noticing the sight of dusk
streaking sunlit clouds across a fading sky. I hear the sharp call of geese
flying nearby – a tribe united in caring for one another as they travel toward
home.
The despair calls
me home to myself. The tears purge the obscured narratives, cleansing my
insight, and creating space for fuller, deeper breaths. I am vibrantly present
in the out-breath, the pouring out, the complete emptying delivering me to the
pause that exists between the breaths. In the pause I reconnect to my power,
and I listen. The despair is an urgent messenger announcing the desperate need
for change.
The change begins
by consciously rewriting my own inner narratives. I begin on my knees. I
rewrite the way I experience this pain. I weave compassion to encompass all
chapters in this journey of learning, rising, breaking, expanding.
The expansion
begins by booking a solo ticket to Austin. Every step I take in my independent
travels reshapes my confidence and returns me to my innate courage.
In my Austin
adventures, and in the adventures that continue when I arrive home, I place
courage as the central character. This shining protagonist liberates me from
past narratives by exploring the root reasons of my reactions and limiting
beliefs from a place of mindful curiosity and open-heartedness.
Courage challenges
the inner critic, propelling me to recognize (again and again) that I am the
awareness behind my thoughts. I have the power to choose what I think. And I
don’t have to believe every thought that I think. Courage challenges me to show
up authentically in every moment – to be present for whatever happens – and
dares me to shine even brighter. Shining brighter, I expand my heart, and the
expanding heart heals the wounds, opening me to my innate compassion and to the
love from friends and family.
Courage reminds
me to rewrite my love story. I’ve been so distracted by supplying my emotional
attention to the boy - and by now my pattern with men is so painfully obvious
they can all be grouped into one person - so concerned with caregiving to his story,
that I have neglected my own love story.
I want my life to
a be a love story. Ryan Gosling by my
side or me soaring solo, I’m choosing love. I choose exquisite words of kindness and love to fill the inner chambers of my mind.
I rewrite the way I belong to myself by falling in love with how I care for
myself. I creatively play with my image: I cut my hair short and delight in its
sassy bounciness. I wear clothes that fit my body and get rid of clothes that
are too big. I paint my lips red, and trace my eyelids with glittery
black eyeliner.
I honor the love in my life by purposefully crafting time with beautiful spirits who speak the language of the heart. Always I am
dazzled by their light and their courageous risings. I share with them this
story of the rising initiated by the deepest wash of despair.
The evening I
learn the truth of surrender echoes in the daily writing of my life: in the
decision between fear or courage, in the remembering of breathing out
completely to fully receive, and in the intentional reshaping of a journey
guided by courage, and gracefully, delivering me to love.
