Practice. Practice. Practice.

Camel Pose:

My nemesis. When I am at yoga class, this is the pose that freaks me out.

Chaturanga? No problem. I love to move through sun salutations, starting in child's pose, my nose on my pink yoga mat, forehead to the floor, arms resting in front of me and pulling the knots out of my upper back. I move to table top, with knees bent, arms in front of me, everything in right angles, and into the first down dog of the practice. Our bodies pike in the air, hips raised, heels pressing to the floor, weight balancing between our legs and outstretched arms, evenly balanced between each of our fingers, spread wide, and the thumb. The instructor instructs us to breath and we do. Air fills lungs simultaneously before pushing through bodies and back out into the room.

From down dog, we step to the top of our mats, rise to flat back, foreheads reaching to the front of the room and backs flattening out along the spine. We tuck back down again and let our arms hang to our feet before tadasana, mountain pose. Our arms move in a circle to raise overhead as we inhale and look up, fixing our eyes on a point in front of us and slightly higher than eye level. Arms completely extended, we exhale and swan dive back to the floor, putting our hands on the ground as we step back in a straight plank before lowering down in a push-up, chaturanga, with arms bent to a ninety degree angle, tops of our feet on the ground, and then inhale as we move to up-dog, tops of feet on the ground, lower half of body straight, shoulders pushing back from our ears down our spine, and chest, neck, and head lifted. Eyes look up or are closed. Lungs pull in the air from the class. On the exhale, we move back into down-dog, toes flipping under, body piking, heels shooting back into the floor.

It all feels so good.

My body and breath work together. I know I will be stiff for the first two or three sun salutations but that I will get stronger, looser, more flexible. Each movement demands my happy concentration, my strong breath, my comfortable faith in the practice. Muscles heat with the effort. Knots loosen in my back.

This is my practice four years into my yoga hobby. So serene. So healthy.

Five years ago I tried to do yoga. I couldn't.

I was too bored. Too fidgety. Too restless. I wanted to do more exciting things, like run stairs and make my muscles hurt. Or twitch and jerk to the hip-hop beats of a dance class. I couldn't calm myself enough to slowly move through a practice. I didn't understand the point.

But my practice now is not without hiccups. There is still the dreaded camel pose.

I don't know what it is, but this pose creates such a strong sense of anxiety in me that I dread it every class.

The pose goes like this: you kneel tall on your mat and put your hands on your kidneys against the small of your back, then you walk your eyes along the ceiling as you look backwards at the wall behind you. Ultimately you release your hands from your back and put them on your heels.

The whole thing wigs me out. I feel so uncomfortable the whole time, or rather from the moment my head goes past the spot of looking directly up. Anything behind that vertical planes scares my body. I feel the anxiety well in my chest, down my neck, into my head. Panic flares. I start counting to ten rapidly. I forget to breathe. I quit the pose after 15 seconds and take a break, looking straight ahead while others in my class continue the pose.

I dread Camel.

What's interesting is that my instructors tend to say things during this pose like "This is a heart-opener, so it may cause you feel some discomfort. Feel the emotions that come up during this pose and then allow yourself to release them."

Having heard this so many times and having felt so anxious during the pose, I looked up Camel on the internet. I learned it opens up three chakras, or energy centers in the body, the root chakra, naval chakra, and heart chakra. The heart chakra, not surprisingly, is the center for love, compassion, and forgiveness.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised I have a hard time opening up my heart.

What would it take to open my heart?

In my last yoga practice, I felt anxiety when the instructor announced Camel pose, but then I decided to change my attitude. "I love this," I thought, "it's giving me a chance to practice a pose that's hard. What a great opportunity!" Of course I was half lying to myself, but also half allowing myself to change my attitude. I decided not to be fearful during the pose, to allow myself to be happy about however far I made it in the pose, to take a break if I needed to but feel joyful that I tried the pose.

I like this concept of working the body to open the heart.

Working the emotional part of myself to open my heart is a little trickier. I've been trying to be more pro-active about dating. Signing up for internets dating sites, going out for happy hours, trying out new possibilities, buying new "date" outfits. But I'm not sure that I'm really opening my heart during these outings. I feel like I'm going through the actions, but I don't know that I'm really open to romance at this point. I keep the walls up pretty well.

It's sort of a strange paradox where I complain about how nothing is working out, but I also am keeping every potential romance at arm's length. I don't even know that I'm doing it consciously. It's more like a subliminal red light preventing me from really plunging into a new relationship.

And I'm not sure how to change this. The emotional part, I mean.

I think the key is in yoga. For me, at least. I think if I keep working the physical body, the emotion will catch up. If I keep forgiving myself for my half-Camels, like I do when I cheat and go to my knees during Chaturanga, or when I am less flexible or strong for other poses, and if I can keep being open to that vulnerability, that exposure that comes from opening my chest and leaning back over my toes, I think the emotional part of my being will become more compassionate as well. I think I will be able to forgive the painful experiences of my past, the betrayals, the hurtful actions. I think I will be able to find love more easily, to feel more secure, to realize that opening a heart doesn't mean giving up control.

Like so many parts of my recovery, it is not knowing how that moves me forward. It is the desire to be healed.

Dear Inner Critic...

Um, hello. I am writing to address a few concerns with you:

1) Please stop editing my rough drafts. I notice you whenever I'm writing. The way I start to write a sentence, but once I realize it will end with a preposition I delete it. The way I use too many adverbs in my writing and you chide me for not being more concise. The way I use transitive verbs as main verbs and you delete the entire sentence. This is not helpful in the generative stage of writing. Please. STOP.

2) Please stop censoring my topics. You are forever challenging me lately about what I choose to write about. You make me second guess my ideas. Doubt my intuition. Step away from the computer. This is the biggest problem. Because of you I am leaving my work. I'm choking up at the keys, all because you are so judgmental about my ideas. Please. STOP.

I realize there's some benefit to having such a powerful inner critic. For instance, once I get to editing all my drivel and assembling it into a draft, you will come in very handy. You will have so much work to do that you'll be pleased for weeks and weeks. But you seem to be a little too eager, interfering with the rough drafts, jumping into your role before it's time.

Please. STOP.

Just wait your turn, inner critic. You will have more to do than you ever imagined. But I need a couple more months. Just back off until December, ok?

Thank you.

Respectfully,

The left side.

Getting to the end

Last night I dreamt about a cheetah locked in a basement, one I thought would eat my dog when he went flying down the stairs to investigate, but when I followed him, I saw they were playing happily.

I don't know what this means.

Maybe it means the things I am scared of are not as threatening as I believe they are.

Right now I'm scared of returning to the past. I'm scared of failing in the future. I worry about how it will all turn out. I worry about how I'll feel when I look back.

I can't wrap my head around the order of things and I don't know how it will all come together.

***

On Friday night I went running with a friend around the lake near my apartment for four miles. It was the first time I'd been running in weeks and I was not in as good of shape as the woman next to me who ran three miles every day.

At the end of the run is a hill that goes on for four blocks. Each step made me want to quit. My friend next to me was chirping away about life and the conference she had just been at for the afternoon, and all I could think was "don't quit; don't quit; don't quit." My lungs felt like they were recycling air without taking away any oxygen. I wanted the job to be over.

As I was contemplating quitting and pretending not to wheeze while my friend talked, I remembered running that same hill with another friend. She told me how her philosophy on hills was always to concentrate on the ground immediately in front of her, and not to look at how far she had to go, just to look down and keep moving her feet. One. at. a. time.

I stuck to this methodology and kept thinking about moving only one step at a time. Before I knew it the grade was easing. And before too long we were running down a small hill for the last two blocks of the job.

I had stopped thinking about the whole run and started concentrating only on what I was doing in the minute.

***

Last week at my COSA meeting, the first one I've been to in months, I flipped open the page of a meditation book to read an entry. It was on patience. On letting God work at a pace I didn't try to control or force. On allowing a process to work itself out in my life. One. step. at. a. time.

***

I don't know how this will all end up, but I know it will end. It will somehow get done and it will get done without me worrying about it. It will work itself out and all I have to do is keep pressing the keys.

One. step. at. a. time.

If you want to know what writer's block is like...

It's hard to write about addiction.

I want so badly to finish this project and be done with it. I want to stop thinking about my divorce and sadness and addiction and pain. My forehead itches to be done.

But I can't quit yet.

And I can't write this.

I'm totally stuck.

June Carter is singing on my speakers and I'm thinking of the 12th step. Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all areas of our lives. I'm thinking of the promises: No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.

it helps others to share stories.

it hurts sometimes to revisit the past.

i know i will be done with this when i publish my book.

"Take breaks," said my instructor, "when it gets too hard."

But eventually the breaks have to end. There are deadlines. There is the need to be done.

Letters sit like bricks on my shoulders.

I don't know why I'm sharing this. It's not really a blog, more of a personal entry. Word documents scare me. It feels more comfortable to type in a small box. To post on a blog. Less permanent. Less threatening. There are only a handful of people who have this address. It feels safe and dark. Like a place I can confess that it's sometimes hard to write.

A confessional, says the lapsed-Catholic-girl. Duh.

It's just that I get bored of the trauma. I'm tired of telling the story. The only place it feels right to say it is out loud is at a COSA meeting or with friends. It feels current and important. In writing, it's feeling stale and repetitive. Like I've said this all before. Like saying it one more time is crossing the threshold, like forcing myself to eat everything on my plate, even the lima beans, and wanting to hide it all in a napkin or under the lip of my plate.

It's just that today I feel like I'm stuck in a small space with myself and I'm not really sure I like who I'm dealing with.

I don't know what it is that I'm scared of. I think it's that I made mistakes. I did things poorly. I didn't always communicate my needs like I needed to. That I sometimes end sentences with prepositions. That I snore when I'm sick. That I'm not perfect. That this chapter in my past was ugly and painful and messy and inappropriate and shameful and secretive. That I was weak and confused and sometimes at fault.

And this is step four. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

My problem, and I think my ex shared this problem, is that I so readily see the flaws. And it sends me into a rabbit hole. I fixate on the things I do poorly in life. I regret the bumps and nicks and chide myself for inadequacies.

I don't always do this.

Most of the time I realize there are two sides to the coin. I am compassionate, which is wonderful and amazing, but sometimes I am too compassionate and I sacrifice my own needs for others, which is troublesome. I am assertive about my needs, which is great, but sometimes I don't communicate that well- I explode or demand. I can't monitor the volume dial as well as I'd like.

I share my flaws with others, which makes me feel vulnerable, like an alien. Like a loner. I'm too exposed. I get hurt this way. I open myself up while others are building walls, storing ammunition, and plotting strategies.

Saying I have codependent tendencies. This feels like a strength in my COSA meetings. Outside of them, though, this feels like an admission to being a crazy bitch who will forever be trapped in bad relationships. My brain knows that's not true, but I am not Melody Beattie, I am not impervious to thoughts of my peers. I told a friend my therapist told me to buy a book called "Codependent No More" and she burst into laughter.

i feel insecure about saying it.

But the thing is-- most women I know have codependent tendencies. Especially those who would never admit it and who would judge the women who did. AND, to be honest, most "codependent tendencies" are actually quite amazing qualities-- to be compassionate, to care about others, to want to help, to put others before yourself... If you think about it, Jesus was probably the most codependent person in the world. Ghandi. Mother Theresa. Great people are codependent.

But, the problem, and I would suggest these great people never saw the problem, is that we cannot let other people's needs overwhelm our own. To be truly great is to be vigilant about one's self (no offense to Jesus, Ghandi, and Mother Theresa). But if you are staying focused on improving yourself, on taking care of yourself, your interactions with others cannot help but improve. You become more available by taking more time for yourself. You become a better partner by being honest about your own needs. You're a better lover when you say what you like, what you need, and what feels good, not when you pretend, you fake, or you do what does not feel right. When you set boundaries, you may lose people at first, but the people you later attract love you for your strength and feed off of that energy. You can still be compassionate, but you begin by being compassionate for yourself.

My biggest example of this is when I went through my divorce. I COULD NOT be available to my students every day. I called in sick more often than I'd like to admit (in order to deal with divorce issues, to grieve, to vomit, etc.). BUT, I was MORE PRESENT that year when I was dealing with my students. When I was in school I could give more of myself to my students and when I couldn't take it, I called in sick. It was the worst year of my life, but a turning point in my career as a teacher. Since then I think I've gotten even better, but it was the first year where I finally felt like I got it-- I got what it meant to be a great teacher.

And it was nothing I learned while getting my Master's.

To conclude--

Is there a conclusion? Is there a way to wrap up this messy essay of a post?

I don't know.

I don't know what will happen with my work. How it will turn out. If I'll be able to write the final chapters I need.

I don't know how it will all come together.

But at least I wrote. And I shared this with you. Whoever you are. My dear friends listening to me talk in the dark.

THANK YOU. xo