Embodied Intimacy

In a homework assignment for a class I took recently, I had to practice abhyanga, or self-message, as a form of embodied intimacy.

You’ve probably heard of intimacy in the context of sex or romance, but intimacy isn’t just another word for sex. If we’re using the latin roots to provide our definition—intimus: innermost; intimare: to make known/familiar—we can understand intimacy to mean “making the innermost aspect of oneself known or familiar.” This can happen in a romantic relationship, yes, but also in friendships or familial relationships as you connect and share with one another.

But rarely do we show ourselves this same level of intimacy. One of the core principles of this course’s curriculum (designed to help those struggling with mental health challenges and eating disorder recovery) is Embodied Intimacy, which is the capacity to appreciate and use the body as a gateway to intimacy.

When I first heard this I was very confused. I could grasp the idea of emotional intimacy, since being an HSP makes me naturally predisposed to self-reflection and personal growth, but my understanding stopped there. As someone with an eating disorder and plenty of body image issues, my mind is historically disconnected from my body. The notion that I could use my body as a vehicle for connecting with myself seemed absurd.

When I was assigned this abhyanga exercise, I was honestly a little embarrassed. I mean, c’mon, I was supposed to undress in a room alone and use oil to massage myself for a significant amount of time?! The instructors of the class mentioned that when they assign this exercise they’re lucky if even a few people actually do it. There’s no denying that being intimate with ourselves is hard! I was proof of that.

I waited until the last possible moment to do the abhyanga, approaching it as something to check off my to-do list. At first, I even turned the TV on in the background. Bob’s Burgers was the perfect way to continue my trend of distracting and avoiding discomfort. I was instructed to use oil and pay special attention to my feet, so, after thoroughly washing my stinky feet, and feeling thoroughly ridiculous, I began.

I started on my left foot, keeping my ears on Bob’s Burgers and my eyes on my massage. When I moved up to my left leg, I noticed that I was using deep pressure, more than I thought I could handle, and my leg felt a lot stronger than I thought it was. I was so used to criticizing my muscles for being weaker than most, I hadn’t even noticed how strong they actually were. Suddenly, I realized there might be something to this exercise, and I turned off the TV.

By the time I reached my right foot, I was having an epiphany. The sole of my foot was calloused and tough, and I couldn’t remember ever intentionally giving my feet any love before doing this exercise. I found myself steeped in gratitude…my feet and legs are so much more capable than I ever give them credit for. They carry me, and have carried me, to so many places without faltering, and usually without my noticing. They have been through so much—from strolling on the beach, to dancing at concerts, to walking into dream jobs—and I never thank them for any of it.

I finally understood: this massage was a gift, my gift to my body.

My love language has always been giving gifts, so why don’t I ever give my body the gifts it so deserves? Despite all of the pain and illness I have faced, my body has continued to keep me alive and protect me. My sensitive nervous system provides my mind with this amazing intuition and empathy…my own superpowers. My hands have allowed me to do the things I am passionate about, like hold a camera or learn a language. My stretch marks are proof of the challenges I have overcome. My eyes help me to read and create and observe the beauty around me. My body is so incredible, always has been and always will be, and it deserves more gifts than I can ever give it. My body is my home.

My two biggest takeaways from my abhyanga practice that I want to make sure I never forget are 1) my body is far more strong and capable than I ever realized, and 2) my body deserves so much more gratitude than it currently receives. I am dedicating, right now, to the internet and to myself that I will spend more time thanking and loving my body. I will spend more time embracing embodied intimacy.

Gratitude is a powerful thing. Love is a powerful thing. It’s time I accept and respect that I am powerful, too.

ARFID, Defined

CW: discussion of eating disorders

I had an appointment with a new dietician recently, and when I mentioned my eating disorder, she immediately assumed it was anorexia. When I began explaining that no, it wasn’t anorexia, she cut me off and asked “Bulimia?” Trying to contain my exasperation I said, “No, I have ARFID.” Her response was, “What’s ARFID?”

This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked this by a medical professional, or even a mental health professional. My eating disorder is far less common than the ones you grow up hearing about, and rarer still because I am an adult. I figured I would take this opportunity to explain what ARFID is, and how it has manifested in my own life.

ARFID stands for Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. The first, important factor that separates ARFID from more common eating disorders, like anorexia and bulimia, is that it does not show evidence of body image issues as the cause of the lack of eating. While I do suffer from body image distortions (I do live in western society, after all), I do not restrict food in order to reach an “ideal” body type. Instead, ARFID is associated with a lack of interest in food or a low appetite, avoidance based on sensory sensitivity to certain foods, or fear of food/eating due to a traumatic experience (like choking or vomiting).

Personally, I grew up a picky eater, like many children who develop ARFID. (In fact, the average age ARFID patients seek treatment is 12 years old, according to research done by the American Psychological Association.) In addition to the picky eating, I also began having nightly spells of nausea at an early age, which we think was caused by my chronic illness (though it could have been undiagnosed anxiety). I would fall asleep night after night on the bathroom floor, convinced I was going to be sick. I never was. But my brain convinced me that nausea was something to fear. Soon I got nervous about certain foods, sure that they would cause me to vomit, so I avoided them altogether.

This childhood avoidance of certain fear foods started small—I was still receiving appropriate nutrition—but adulthood became a breeding ground for uncertainty and anxiety. Far from the meals I trusted, the meals my mother made, I grew more and more fearful of food. Though I had not experienced food poisoning since well before the chronic nausea set in, I was certain that if I wasn’t careful enough I would wind up sick.

During my second year in California, I was working on a show when my Production Stage Manager (PSM) got food poisoning right before the show. As a result, I was required to step in last minute to help backstage, and also heard excruciating details of the PSM’s sickness. That night I had my very first panic attack. It was also the night that I decided to stop eating entirely.

As you have probably guessed by now, I fall under the “aversion to eating due to a traumatic experience” category. Trauma is defined as any experience that overwhelms your ability to cope. Years of chronic nausea had left me unable to cope, and the experience with my PSM only traumatized me further. A few months later, malnourished and underweight, I was strongly encouraged to seek treatment by my therapist, and was admitted to the University of California San Diego’s highly sought after Eating Disorder Center for Treatment and Research.

ARFID can be an isolating diagnosis when it seems like no one understands your specific experiences. During my first week at UCSD I was a pretty heinous patient. In group therapy (a daily occurence) I spouted on and on about how I didn’t belong there, and no one understood me. I quickly realized I had much more in common with my fellow patients than I first thought. I made lifelong friends, and even though most of them could never fully understand my specific disorder, they knew what it was like to be consumed by the darkness of an eating disorder. I wouldn’t have made it through UCSD without them.

I got incredibly lucky that this international leader in in eating disorder treatment and research was a seven minute drive from my house, and that I had the financial support to afford a partial hospitalization program. (I still firmly believe that the universe brought me to San Diego so that I could have access to such an incredible treatment program.) I spent five months in treatment, learning skills and tools to help me increase my exposure to fear foods, while my treatment team helped me get my weight back up. Before this year’s hospitalization, it was the most difficult experience of my life.

UCSD’s program saved my life. More specifically, it handed me my life back. I started this blog, I learned how to talk back to my fear, and I was given the freedom to work, play, or travel without being limited by accessible food or absence of energy due to weight loss and malnutrition. At UCSD I learned the importance of community, and felt the first real call to become a therapist myself.

ARFID is less common, yes—only 14% of patients seeking treatment have ARFID—but I hope there continues to be education about this disorder. It can feel even more isolating and disorienting for someone struggling with ARFID when their own doctor or outpatient therapist isn’t familiar with the disorder.

If you have any questions that I may be capable to answer, feel free to leave a comment below! I will answer to the best of my abilities, or refer you to someone who can.

For any of my readers who are struggling with ARFID: you are not alone. I know how scary food can feel. Your experiences and your feelings are valid. If you have been diagnosed (or even if you think you may have ARFID), feel free to send me a message on the contact page or drop a comment down below. Your disorder does not define you. You are also stronger and more capable than you may ever believe.

I’m Not an Orthopedic Surgeon…but I’m Still Pretty Awesome

How many of you have watched Grey’s Anatomy? It’s okay, you can be honest. It’s on it’s 17th season for a reason.

Well, I’ve been re-watching the series for probably the 23rd time (and have gotten my partner into it, which is probably my greatest accomplishment ever), and one of the characters has actually rubbed off on me. Her name is Callie Torres.

To those of you who watch Grey’s, you know that Dr. Calliope Torres is a badass; she’s an orthopedic surgeon who never apologizes for her talent or her heart. In my opinion, Shonda Rhimes created a killer character in Callie. She doesn’t necessarily fit society’s strict standards of beauty…I mean, when she’s first introduced on the show, she’s like this punky, emo-looking chick. She’s also a woman of color who isn’t pencil-thin, yet she’s desirable.

But all of this aside, what is so remarkable about Callie is that she knows she’s a badass. Other than her occasional romantic insecurities (I dare you to name someone in your life who doesn’t have any insecurities), she is a confident motherf*ckin’ woman. She’s not too cocky, nor is she flawless, but she knows (and says repeatedly) that she is awesome. And I really believe she is why I am starting to believe the same thing about myself.

It’s true y’all. Last night I heard myself saying the words “I am awesome” out loud. Not only did I say it, but I actually meant it.

I’ve been doing a lot of work in my professional life lately, trying to beef up my resume and cover letter so that I can land a job in the field I really want to be in. This week I accepted an amazing volunteer position with an international nonprofit dedicated to helping those with eating disorders. I applied for the only volunteer position listed on their website that I felt qualified for—a copywriter—despite my fear that I wouldn’t be good enough. To make my anxiety even worse, I decided to attach a link to this very blog…and I’m so glad I did.

The organization has brought me on not only to write for their blog, but to basically run it. They want me to keep their blog fresh and up-to-date, stating that they thought my own blog was “brilliant” and they think I’ll be an asset to their team. They’re interested in my voice and trust me to take the initiative to keep the blog current and interesting. I’ve already sent them my first piece for their site.

Ever since I spoke with the Volunteer Coordinator about this position, a switch has flipped inside of me. The other night, when my partner and I were watching Grey’s (again, so proud that he watches with me), I commented on Callie’s overt confidence. I said that of all the characters on Grey’s, particularly the arrogant/cocky/self-assured ones (basically all of them, they are surgeons for crying out loud), Callie’s confidence was my favorite. Never self-important, beautifully and humanly flawed, yet powerful. Even joyful.

So, last night, when I was thinking about the resumes and cover letters I had sent out this week, I thought, “They’d be lucky to have me.” And then, channeling my inner-Dr. Torres, “I am awesome.”

Sara Ramirez as Dr. Callie Torres on Grey’s Anatomy

While I’ve wished that I had developed this confidence years ago—I’m about to turn 26, for god’s sake, and I sure as shit have watched Callie convince her boss that she can re-build someone’s bones from scratch way too many times—I think I needed to go through the last 6 months (and the last ~26 years) for it to sink in.

I feel as though I’ve conquered my fears through my recovery, and I’ve clarified and strengthened my values. I have stood up for my beliefs and for my friends; I have made mistakes and learned from them; I have fallen down and gotten back up. I’m not perfect (never have been, never will be) and I will continue to make mistakes and falter in my confidence every now and then. But damn…I am a total badass. And I’m ready to let the world know it.


It seems fitting that this is my 200th post on this blog. Thank you so much, dear readers, for your continued readership, love, and support.

Inhale Love, Exhale Love

During Savasana, the final resting pose of my yoga practice last night, I found myself in a difficult meditation.

Typically, I spend the start of this pose expressing my gratitude for my body and for the earth for holding and supporting. I inhale love from the universe, and exhale love for the universe. Hippie stuff for some, sure, but this time in Savasana has allowed me to be grateful to my body and this planet for all that they have give me. It’s when I feel most connected to Earth and everything on it.

Last night, however, I inhaled gratitude for the earth, and exhaled an apology. Again and again, with every breath: inhale, Thank you for what you have given me, exhale, I am so sorry that we’re killing you.

I spent yesterday afternoon watching a documentary about coral bleaching. It was devastating. I learned that the temperature of the ocean is rising—much like how we get a fever—except the ocean’s fever won’t go down. An entire ecosystem is being destroyed, and it’s solely because of the CO2 we’re pumping into the atmosphere. The corals (and the tiny plants inside them) don’t know how to handle this temperature change, so the plants stop photosynthesizing and the corals starve. Then the fish that feed on these corals starve.

So, here I am on my yoga mat, feeling such a profound connection to the world I am in, and I feel indescribably sad for being part of the population that’s killing the planet I call home. All I can do is apologize and radiate all the love I can from this small mat in a small neighborhood in a city in Tennessee.

And you know what? That’s all I could do in that moment. When I’m on my mat, I can’t try to solve the crisis of climate change lying in Savasana. I can commit to getting off my mat later and doing all I can to educate and advocate for the amazing world I’ve become more in touch with thanks to my yoga practice. But lying there in that final resting pose, I can simply breathe in love (because, amazingly, there is still love shining on despite the devastation) and breathe out love.

One of my main meditations I use during yoga is this: “The Universe is in me, just as I am in the Universe.” This meditation has kept me from falling out of Tree pose, or giving up when my muscles quiver during Warrior I. I am grateful to my practice for enlightening me, and for grounding me in the universe and this beautiful connector called Earth.

Responding to Fear with Curiosity

As difficult as this time in quarantine has been—with the isolation, civil unrest, and anxiety sprouted from seeds of uncertainty—it has also been a beautiful period of growth.

I’m not the only one of my friends who have expressed gratitude for this time, which isn’t to discredit the terror and panic others are feeling and that I have also experienced. But for many who were blessed with unemployment benefits, usually (and sadly) greater than their typical paycheck, unemployment has been a blessing in disguise. It has allowed us to take a break from the “Rise and Grind” hustle culture that dominates this country. A culture that measures success by overwork and exhaustion, where giving 100% is not good enough or expected.

This unexpected break has also given me the opportunity to remove myself from the day-to-day comparisons of others, and I’m finally learning to love myself for who I am. I’ve been able to reflect on my perception of myself, and I’ve noticed that being away from most people for all these months has shrunk the frequency of my own criticisms of my perceived shortcomings. Rather than spending my days focused on what I lack, I’m focused on what I have, and how I can continue to utilize my gifts, skills, and talent on things that make me happy.

A match has been lit within me in the past six months, and has developed into a roaring fire of curiosity and excitement to learn what else I am capable of. I’ve already grown more than I ever expected to, and fear tells me I have more power to gain, more skills to learn, more creativity to expand. Fear means it’s time to once again step out of my comfort zone to create something bigger and better.

Off the Grid

In May, I made a decision I never thought I would: I left social media.

I was a prime example of a social media addict. I began and ended each day on either Instagram or Facebook, couldn’t go through a day without displaying certain tasks or activities, and (usually subconsciously) compared my life and feed with my friends and followers.

At the beginning of quarantine, I offered my services as a photographer to a small business I believed in and wanted to be a part of. I had seen a friend of mine doing the exact same thing for this company, and wanted to be a part of it. I had never attempted product photography before, and my life in quarantine was begging for change and a challenge. Soon, I was testing the limits of my photography, and at first I had a lot of fun. It gave variety to my typically monotonous days stuck at home, and I felt pride when my photos showed up on the company’s socials.

Soon, however, I began the evil game of comparing my work to my friend’s, whose photos were also being featured on the company’s feed. Suddenly, what had once been fun and new, became frustrating and consuming. I spent hours a day focused on what I was doing wrong, how many likes my posts were getting compared to my friend’s and other photographers, and my work was no longer gratifying, but instead became soul-crushing. Nothing I did was good enough. I realized my worth had become tied up in the number of views my Instagram story had, or the number of likes my posts would get.

When my work with the company came to an end, I made what I had previously thought of as an impossible decision, and left Instagram and Facebook, cold turkey. At first, I thought I could simply make strict boundaries for myself around social media, but when I noticed how habitual opening these apps on my phone had become—I would close out of Instagram, lock my phone, and 30 seconds later unlocked it, scrolled over to Instagram, and tapped the icon—I knew boundaries weren’t going to work for me. I didn’t even realize I had done this until I noticed I was scrolling past the same photos or stories I had just seen a minute before. I had a problem.

So, despite the fear that my life wouldn’t be as interesting or that I would lose all my friends (let’s just use Urban Dictionary’s word for this feeling: FOMO), I deleted both the Facebook and Instagram apps off of my phone and iPad entirely. The first day was a challenge, and in the first week of removing the apps, I found my thumb flitting over to the apps that had replaced them, completely by rote.

Before long, though, I stopped thinking about my lack of internet presence. The phrase “out of sight, out of mind” is a cliché for a reason. Without the consumption of social media, my days were suddenly free, and I used this time to my advantage. Suddenly, journals that usually took me months to fill, were being filled within the span of three or four weeks. In therapy, I learned more about myself and spent the week after each session reflecting, dissecting, and growing. I signed up for a class on Yoga for Eating Disorder Recovery, determined to spent whatever time I had left in quarantine focused on my recovery. I rekindled my love of reading and writing, giving myself new opportunities to expand my recovery repertoire. I noticed that there was significant overlap in what I was discovering in therapy, learning in my yoga class, and reading in new books. My mind was finally reconnecting with my body, my anxiety and post-traumatic stress began tapering down significantly for the first time in my life, and my personality and passions were finally able to flourish.

This time away from social media has clarified my values; these core beliefs I’ve always held closely to my heart feel out of balance when held next to social media. Particularly, my value of authenticity feels almost discredited when I look back at my presence on Instagram. I spent so much of my life performing, seeking out opportune moments to showcase daily activities. No matter how mundane, with the right filter, anything looked good online. I had succumbed to a performative lifestyle, completely oblivious. But upon reflection very recently, I was shocked to discover how quick I had been to abandon my number one core value. After all, you can’t live completely authentically if you’re picking and choosing what parts of your life are best broadcasted, especially if those parts are falsified even to a fraction of a degree.

In my newfound yoga practice—something I’ve worked at making completely mine, without comparing each day’s practice to yesterday’s or tomorrow’s, or to my teachers’ or fellow students’—I’ve cultivated authenticity once again. In classes and books, I’ve gained an understanding of what yoga truly is, separated from the diet culture and unfair beauty standards that dominate the internet. I’ve let go of the expectation to be strong, flexible, or full of stamina, and step on my mat each day as a new person, ready to hone my connection between mind and body, and cultivate more self-awareness. If I were still on social media, I’m confident I would’ve given up my practice already, frustrated by what my body or practice lacks compared to other Insta-Yogis. I would’ve ignored the entire purpose of yoga, focused more on obtaining views or likes on pictures of my feet on my mat (probably pictures taken without committing to spending any real time practicing the yoga itself). I would’ve continued to trick myself into believing that sharing my “life” was, in fact, authentic, and the anxiety following inevitable comparisons would’ve continued eating me alive.

Last week, I turned down a job that did not serve my values. While the uncertainty of the future can be scary, I feel empowered after making the decision to live in accordance with my values. It’s been a long time since I’ve consciously made such a choice, and when I experience doubt, I am able to remind myself that I don’t have to opt for choices that force me to be someone I’m not, or to tolerate behavior that I personally would never, in good conscious, inact.

Yet, above all, I believe what my time away from social media has given me is the profound beauty of presence. I spend less and less time each day worrying about the future, or dwelling on past choices. Now, I focus on the current day, and my depression and anxiety have very nearly disappeared. I don’t even remember the last time I had a panic attack or a depressive episode.

In a shocking twist in the narrative of my life, I’ve concluded that I may never go back to social media. If I do, it definitely won’t be in the same way it was before. The real shocker? I’m perfectly fine with this. I would rather choose a life that is entirely mine, without hoping or worrying that I’m not presenting the “perfect” side of myself (hint: it doesn’t exist) to people hidden behind a screen name on the internet.

From here on out, I am committed to authenticity. To do only what serves me. To defy expectations. To live my life, because it does not belong to anyone else.

The Only Relationship That Will Save You

I was watching an interview today with Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of “Eat Pray Love” and “Big Magic,” among other things. In this interview she handed me a big, shiny, gold key that unlocked a door I’ve pounded on, gimmied, and tried to pry open for many many years. Beyond the door is someone to be with me, to hold me, to listen to me throughout all of my struggles, 100% of the time, without backing down or running away in fear.

This is a hefty task; I battle with my mind every single day, in a war that began before I retained fully formed memories. Growing up a self-proclaimed misfit, I’ve craved a companion to see me through my lowest, and highest moments. From middle school to college, I sought out friendships and relationships to make me feel less alone. In adulthood, as much as I wished I wasn’t, I constantly hoped for a partner who would really see me, and who wouldn’t scare easily when my depression, anxiety, and eating disorder inevitably made themselves known. Eventually, in each city I moved to, I made friends who didn’t shy away from my authentic self, but alas, the door remained closed.

When I suddenly found myself in a partnership with someone who understood me like no one ever had, I thought I had finally unlocked the door easily, as if in my sleep or when I wasn’t paying attention or multitasking. To this day, this wonderful man has never run away or made me feel less than for all the commotion my brain has caused. He has seen me through hospitalizations, relapses of self-harm, constant body-stealing panic attacks, chronic pain, mistakes, lapses in judgment, and so much more. He has also seen me through my joys, my successes, my creations, my revelations. Even as a boy-crazy teenager, I never thought I would get lucky enough to be wanted and loved by someone like him.

Even so, I realized with shock and disappointment that I was still on the other side of this stubborn, obstinate door. After all, no one can truly be there for you 24/7…eventually people have to take a pee break, go to work, make dinner, walk the dog, do the laundry. And in those moments, there you are again, alone with your mind. Or so I thought.

Liz Gilbert, this tremendous woman, among many other nuggets of wisdom, creativity, and familiarity, gave me the key to see (FINALLY!) who was on the other side of the damn door. Now, I will hand you the key, as well. Let’s open it together.

Love.

Love is on the other side of the door. Love is the one who will be your companion, forever. And I really do mean forever. Love will sit with you, will listen to you gripe, sob, laugh, scream, whimper. Love will hear you say “I’m not good enough,” “I am a failure,” “I can’t do this.” Love will also be there when you shout “I am enough!” “I am beautiful!” “I am powerful!”

No human being will ever be able to show up for you every single time you need a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on. Not your partner, not your best friend, not your spouse, not even your therapist. Love will. I promise you.

Love will never be able to solve all of your problems, or tell you what decisions to make. But Love will always be there with you, if you let her.

Open the door to Love. Learn to embrace Love, to allow Love to fill you up, to hear everything you have to say, no matter how dark or twisted you may think your thoughts are. Because Love will never run away.

I am learning, slowly, to give Love a chance. To allow her to be there for me when am low. To give my partner a break (though he never asks for one). Love has shown me aspects of myself I’ve never seen. Love has offered forgiveness and rest in places I’ve never considered or thought possible. Love has wrapped me in her arms, and again and again reminded me that she will never leave my side.

Even if you can’t believe it, Love will be there for you, too. If you look for her, Love will always be there. Maybe you haven’t even found the door yet. But when you do, she’ll be there, waiting for you to open it.

Willfulness into Willingness

I was reluctant to sit down at my computer to write today. I made a goal to commit more to challenging my perfectionism here, like I used to, but I felt stubborn and that I didn’t have anything worth sharing tonight.

Today was a hard day, that started with an incredibly difficult time-sensitive decision I had to make. Once I did what I thought was best, I allowed doubt to seep in, haunting my thoughts, making me uneasy for most of the day.

When I had some quiet time a few minutes ago, I rolled out my yoga mat, convinced that my ruminating thoughts would give way and interrupt my practice. But I decided that I would allow myself the freedom to focus on my breath, and concentrate on how my body moved through the poses. When I finished my practice in Extended Child’s Pose, I felt overwhelming relief flood through me. I got lost in the waves of my breathing, picturing a beach near and dear to my heart, bathed in moonlight. Next thing I knew, a half an hour had passed. I no longer felt stressed or burdened by my day. And I heard myself whisper “I Am Capable.”

I knew that if I was capable of grounding myself in a yoga practice— a task I had previously considered impossible— I could post on this blog tonight.

I want you, reader, to know that you are capable, too. Everything you need and everything you are searching for can be found within you. You simply have to be willing to see it.

Conscious Kindness

This time right now that you are writing (or reading) this is for self-compassion. To the readers: perhaps some of these words will resonate with you, perhaps they won’t. Either way, give yourself some grace.

It is okay to take time away from the noise of the world to be with yourself. Allow yourself time to slow down, to recharge, to do whatever it is you need to do. You are just as important as your family, roommates, friends, partner.

It is okay that you accidentally emailed graduate programs from the wrong email address. It’s not the end of the world that you won’t be able to be 100% organized this time around.

It is okay to listen to your body, and even more okay to give it what’s it’s asking for. Ignore your anxiety, it’s just your fear. Fear cannot be trusted. Your body can be trusted.

It is okay to be imperfect. In fact, everyone is (despite some that try their hardest not to be).

It is okay to be unproductive, just as it is okay to be productive. Your work does not define you. It is only one piece, and you don’t have to focus on it all of the time.

It is okay that the Earth is not quiet right now. She is loud because she is teeming with life. Cicadas are buzzing, thunder is booming, cars are whizzing by. You can find the quiet you seek inside of yourself. Breathe. You can find it, I promise.

It is okay that your weight was not as high as you expected when you stepped on the scale at the doctor’s office today. Your mind has been tricking you, showing you that your body has all this extra weight that it doesn’t really have. You are finally at a healthier weight, and so close to your ideal range. You have been working so hard, and I recognize your progress. I am so proud of you. You are beautiful.

It is okay that you are angry. You have stifled anger for so long, and you are allowed to be angry. Find healthy ways to let it out, don’t keep it inside any longer.

It is okay that your dreams have changed since leaving college. Dreams can be fluid and can change over time, and it doesn’t make them less valid. Your dreams matter.

It is okay to be anxious. Do not apologize for the things that make you you. Anxiety is how you cope with an ever-changing world. Breathe.

It is okay that you make mistakes. Mistakes are what make you human. I am deeply sorry for the relationships that have been severed because of these mistakes. I am sorry for the pain your mistakes have caused you. Your mistakes do not define you. You are not a bad person. You are meant to live, to balance and fall down. You are loved. You are love.

It is okay to transform into the person you’ve always wanted to be. It is okay to go against your past, because that part of your story is over, it’s done with. It is okay to choose to be different, even if it’s not what the people who know you expect. If they love you, if they are true friends, they will be okay with it because you’re being YOU.

It is okay to take up space in the world. You are in the universe, just as the universe is in you. To make yourself smaller is to be inauthentic.

You are beautiful. You are powerful. You are worthy.

“The only man who never makes a mistake is the man who never does anything.”

-Theodore Roosevelt

On the Mat: Establishing an Imperfect Yoga Practice

Yoga for Perfectionism

My new yoga practice is both consciously and unconsciously challenging my perfectionism. Especially as a beginner in quarantine, without an instructor to show or help me with proper poses, pretty much everything I do is imperfect. And despite knowing this, I still choose to show up on my mat every day and try…I think that’s what yoga is all about…showing up, even when it’s messy or imperfect.

I’ve been struggling with meditation recently because I found I’m not great at the concept of “noticing your thoughts as clouds passing by, without holding onto or judging them.” In the last week I told a friend that rather than observing my thoughts as clouds, I cause a storm of clouds that hover above me and drench me in rain. I’ve been encouraged to treat meditation like a skill that requires practice, just like photography or writing.

On the mat the other day, I was in the middle of a particularly challenging yoga practice that woke up a lot of muscles I don’t normally use. After I transitioned out of a difficult pose back into downward dog, it took me a few breaths to realize I wasn’t holding proper form of this resting pose and was sort of collapsing in on myself because of my tired muscles. When I became aware of my improper form, I simply readjusted, pushing away from the earth and dropping my shoulders. Upon reflection later that day, I realized I had unconsciously done what I always tell myself I’m so bad at in meditation: I noticed my form was wrong, and, without judging myself for getting it wrong, I just readjusted and moved on with the practice. There wasn’t time to linger on my “mistake,” because I breathed into the next pose and was so grounded that I stayed in the present.

Yoga for Body Positivity

Yoga is helping me see my body differently, more than I’ve ever been able to before, and in an entirely new way. We discussed body positivity in my ED treatment program, but it wasn’t until I continued to show up on my mat that I fully grasped the concept.

When my lungs expand and contract, I am grateful that my body is able to keep me alive, most of the time without me even being conscious of it. When I stand in tadasana, or mountain pose, I am grateful that my bones support me as I stand, sit, walk, and go about my life. When I move through different poses, I am grateful to my muscles for allowing me to do the things I love and even the things I don’t, usually with ease and obliviousness. When I lay in savasana, or corpse pose, I am grateful to my body as a whole, for performing so many simultaneous complex functions that allow me to breathe, walk, talk, and think, let alone feel, emote, create, and do the million other things that make me me.

Yoga has given me the beautiful chance to stop criticizing my body for what I perceive as “faults,” and be grateful for just how many things it can do, that I normally never acknowledge.

Yoga for Willfulness

Listen…I am stubborn. My willpower is sub par. When I have a bad day, it is easy for me to pass on the difficult tasks. Lately, I’ve found that the days when I really don’t want to show up on my mat are the days that I notice the most improvement in my mood from the beginning to the end of my practice. And knowing that helps me push past my stubbornness. To show up, even when I desperately do not want to. Because the feeling at the end always trumps the feeling at the beginning. Feeling proud. Accomplished. Inspired.

Yoga for High Sensitivity

One of the benefits of yoga, I’ve found, is its ability to safely and gently connect the body and the mind. One of the skills I am currently developing is interoception, or the ability to sense what is happening inside the body at any given time, and acting on that awareness.

Lately, my HSP trait has felt like a foghorn, glaringly obvious and isolating me from everyone around me. On a regular basis people point out my self-awareness or my natural ability to self-reflect, and I’m left thinking Does nobody else think about themselves this way? When I asked this question to my therapist this week she smiled and shook her head, “Nope.” It’s funny how much I continue to learn about this trait and how it separates me from everyone else, as I’ve always felt like an outcast, and now I’m finally understanding why.

However, my natural tendency to be self-reflective has helped me in my yoga practice. Yoga is all about inner-awareness and this interoception, so as I allow my breathe to lead my movement on my mat, I feel more attuned to my body and its needs than I’ve ever been before. This practice helped me be honest with myself about my meal plan; being more aware of what my body was telling me helped me recognize hunger cues I may not have otherwise been aware of. With a slight adjustment, I now feel back on track and my body thanks me!

Yoga for Radical Acceptance

I am a highly sensitive person with multiple chronic and mental illnesses. I am in recovery from a painful, consuming eating disorder. I experience PTSD from my chronic illness and subsequent anxiety. All of these facets are a part of what makes me me. Denying them or being angry with them won’t make them any less true. I am in a period of transition and acceptance of the shitty things that have happened to me. I’ve realized that holding onto anger or resentment about these things only cripples me further and keeps me in a place of stuckness. If I can’t embrace my body for all of its intricacies, talents, and flaws, how can I embrace a true yoga practice? Radical Acceptance is a skill I learned in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, and it’s never made more sense to me than it does when I’m sitting on my yoga mat, grateful for what my body can do for me.

Resources that Helped Me:

  • “I Am Maris” — a documentary on Netflix about a teenager who uses yoga as a part of recovery from an eating disorder
  • Eat Breathe Thrive — a nonprofit founded to prevent and help individuals overcome eating disorders through community, mindfulness, and yoga
    • Eat Breathe Thrive’s “Yoga for Eating Disorder Recovery” course
  • Yoga with Adriene — a YouTube Yogi whose channel offers yoga videos for everyone and everything
  • Perfectly Imperfect: The Art and Soul of Yoga Practice — a book by Baron Baptiste that offers up excellent tools to help yogis show up, both on and off the mat