The US Gymnastics Olympic Trials is in my hometown of Minneapolis this weekend. It feels like fun timing, then, that I just had my newest essay published in Her Stry’s Coming of Age series. I tell the story of coming of age as a gymnast who dreams of going the Olympics, then realizes it is not realistic dream, then realizes how lucky she is to be good but not great in a sport where girls get abused in abhorrent ways.
In my last Substack post, I told you how because I wrote a book on Embodiment, I have the distinct pleasure of hearing people’s body stories. I decided I should not be the only one that benefits from hearing the stories, so every now and then I will share these body shorts, or notes on embodiment. I hope they read as a gentle invitation to share your story, too. Because, as always, we are better together.
When my spiritual director asked me how my sitting still was going, I told her I had been practicing a loving kindness meditation. I would call to mind someone I love, a stranger who crossed my path, a person I was struggling with, and then all of humanity repeating a version of: May you be safe. May you be strong. May you be happy. May your life unfold with ease.
She gently reflected to me that the loving kindness meditation is an interesting (and often popular) choice for Enneagram 2s like me. We send well wished out the entire universe before we think to send that love back to ourselves. Boof. She suggested I try what she calls a blanket meditation, where I wrap myself in my favorite, softest blanket, which symbolizes love. That’s it. That’s the meditation. No talking, no thinking, no asking, no sending. Just sit and receive the love wrapped around me for ten minutes.
The first time I tried it was wild. After settling in, on my VERY FIRST breath, I had the urge to jump up, grab my phone, and text some friends who I knew were struggling and check in on them. I noticed. On my SECOND breath, I had the urge to jump up and get back to work, writing my “oh so very important” :) manuscript. I noticed. On my THRID breath, I thought to myself, “This is going to be an essay.” I noticed. I noticed all the ways I try to escape myself. I noticed all the ways I hide from receiving love. It was simple and profound. When the ten minutes were up, I rose, smiling and shaking my head at myself a bit, feeling tender and compassionate toward myself. Enneagram expert Suzanne Stabile reminds me that what 2s need most is silence. This sitting and receiving love is clearly my growing edge as a practice, and I am here for it.
I’m working with a woman who wants to cultivate a writing practice. We meet twice a week, and I guide her through some centering meditation and then offer her writing prompts from what comes up for her in the quiet. Yesterday she told me, “Being still at the beginning of our meetings is by far the hardest thing I do all week every week.”
Indeed. Yet she is still showing up, which is brave. It’s scary for her, but she senses that the other option is numbing out. We often think embodiment work is going to be more fun than it is. Stillness is rigorous. It is hard, and it is good.
A few weeks ago I took a yoga class in a venue that was new for me. There was no mirror in front, but I could see my reflection in the glass. I was struck by how distracting my own reflection was. The studio where I practice does not have a mirror, so I am used to centering how my practice feels versus what it looks like. Due to a severe childhood elbow injury, I cannot straighten my left arm all the way. My bent arm is very noticeable in an alignment based practice. Poses when we put both arms straight over head look asymmetrical. When I practice yoga at my studio, my left arm doesn’t feel bent. I don’t feel asymmetrical. I feel strong. I feel expansive. I feel centered. And I now feel newly grateful that I can stay in those feelings without my reflection pulling me out. More subject than object.
There is a woman who comes to my yoga classes and workshops who makes really beautiful stickers as a hobby. Every once in awhile she will give me a new one, and the latest said, “Your body hears everything you think.”
I had a few reminders lately of how life patterns in your body. If you have been following me and my work for awhile, you know that I used to be a paradoxical breather. On my inhales, I would suck my belly in instead of allowing it to expand. My friend and yoga therapist Meghan Foley helped me notice and remember how to breathe again. Recently, I was doing an incredible pilates reformer private with Meghan, and we both noticed that I was reverting to breathing backward. There was something about the rock and swing of the reformer that felt like gymnastics to my body. We think gymnastics is where my body took on paradoxical breathing, so it made sense to me that my body returned to that pattern on the reformer. That insight helped me gently focus on expansive inhales again.
Then I found myself in a soccer goal, fielding my son’s shots on goal. He is getting strong, and his shots are gaining power. I noticed that when he shot the ball to my left, I would stick my left leg out in attempts to block it even if it made more sense to send my left arm. He would dive while in goal, but I would let it fly by me instead of leaving my feet. It was reaching with that left arm that caused the elbow injury referenced in #3, which may have led to the paradoxical breathing referenced above in #5. Even after noticing, and knowing my body is safe, it was as if that left arm was frozen at my side. It had learned the hard way that is it less vulnerable staying put.
Reflection Questions:
Do you have a sitting practice?
What is your favorite way to receive self love?
When you get still and quiet, what can you hear your body saying?
What are you doing when you really enjoy how your body feels?
Are your thoughts about your body kind?
What is one way your life has patterned itself on your body?