Different and Weak

Gym was always a class I dreaded as a kid. Not only was I clumsy and not very good at sports, but I was forced to participate in team sports; forced to be on teams that didn’t want me there.

Yes, picking teams was the worst part of the day. It was usually for kickball or volleyball. Each day, it was me or Anna that got picked last, and it was worse when Anna was absent. I stood there, feeling shamed, staring down at my black sneakers, hoping that this day would be different from the rest; that maybe this classmate choosing people would finally notice me. I kept waiting and waiting to be seen. But it would always be the same. Sometimes there was an odd number of students and the teacher was forced to make the choice on their behalf. I stood there as he decided my fate and as the selected team sighed heavily when I was sent over to join them.

Those days, they didn’t want me because I was weak and I was different. I wasn’t good at kicking the ball and the opposing team would usually catch it right away. Sometimes, this made me relieved, because I didn’t have to run. Nowadays, I often feel relief when I don’t have to do something risky either.

Nowadays, I am still weak and different as I was back then, but I choose to label myself as vulnerable and creative instead. Now when someone does not want to choose me, I take a deep breath and choose myself instead.

I embrace my weakness, knowing that my vulnerability creates space for others to be vulnerable with me too. I’m shy and because of my shyness, others don’t have to be afraid of feeling shy too. My shyness flows and blend with other parts of me; like watercolor or emotions it comes on thick and then washes out into a translucent tint. Because I am different, I am okay with trying different things. I already labeled as different, so I might as well be creative about it. This otherness has opened a different world for me, a world that I had to create in order to fit in somewhere. It is an imaginary world, but I love it and tap into it when I feel like creating something new. I draw and write from this space.

Different and weak were once flows that I felt ashamed of, but now I know that that shame is not me. The world breathes in beauty now, and I am no longer afraid to choose myself even if someone else cannot see me.

Demolition

A neighboring office building has been vacant for the last several months and some noisy construction surrounding it has been more than just a nuisance for a while now. The penetrating sound felt like hundreds of small earthquakes shattering through my body as I wondered what those construction workers were really up to.

Photo by Stephanie Watters Flores on Unsplash

It has been about two weeks now that I have watched the building slowly disappear. First it looked like all the windows have been broken, and then suddenly the walls were gone too. Today or was it yesterday that I realized that the roof was now also missing. The building stood in front of me naked; what was left of it was just a rusty skeleton. It was just a bunch of metal beams now with the wind swiftly passing through them, blowing away all of those stories that accumulated within.

Demolition is the word used for this type of death. The word also means destruction, flattening, leveling, or being defeated or torn down. Who were the faces that used to work in this building? What kinds of memories have they left behind? Were they happy tales of office banter or perhaps some unpleasant stories of abuse or of people feeling stuck or getting laid off?

Well, it was just a building, and I must admit not a very attractive one. The word demolition still kind of strikes a chord in me though. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of the word demon. A demon is supposedly a malevolent spirit that possesses a person. Could an old, useless building could also have been full of malevolent energies that needed to be set free?

To me, most people are possessed by some kinds of demon. It may not necessarily be an evil spirit, but a bad memory or a feeling that is keeping them stuck. There is so much baggage that accumulates over the years, that it makes it really difficult for the breath to pass through so we can dislodge it. In order to remove the debris that is keeping us stuck, we have to work hard to deconstruct the container.

We have to take off the shades from our windows, so that we may be able to see the clear picture. Then, slowly take down our walls one at a time, in order to make space for those memories and feelings. These emotions were trapped within those four walls for years, and so when the walls have been removed, they can finally expand to their true size. The heavy roof then needs to be lifted, to let the sun light everything up. This is when we become aware of the demons, and we give them the attention they were longing for.

We stand there, just these skeletons of our former selves and let the wind sweep between our bones. With deep breaths the demolition begins to take shape, and all of those stories begin to collapse, to get brushed away. And when it’s finally over, we are again open to experience life again, and we surrender what remains until we are totally empty ready to build again.

The skeleton of the office building is still around today, but my coworkers and I don’t expect it to be around much longer. We may come to work next week only to be greeted by the vacant lot. Then any new onlookers would not even be able to tell that once there stood a building full of human life being spent.

Blessing in Disguise

When we get triggered, the first emotion that usually comes up to the surface feels like anger. I heard someone say recently that anger usually comes up, because anger is the easiest emotion to feel. It sounds like a more valid feeling, than sadness that is sometimes frowned upon. No pun intended, well maybe. Today, I got unexpectedly triggered during a conversation with my mother.

Intense anger pulsated through my body, and my first instinct was to try to deflect it by reading or going for a walk, but I decided to do a little scavenger hunt instead. I lay on my bed and wondered how I can dive deeper into the anger to uncover what was the actual emotion behind the trigger.

The anger kept growing and growing like a balloon being inflated, and it was like I disappeared for a moment.

Suddenly I saw the number “2” written on a small piece of paper. When the picture became clearer, I realized it was my grade book from grammar school. In Poland, “2” was the equivalent of an “F”. I realized that the feeling hiding behind the anger was linked to my attachment to this story. It is a story of ashamed little girl that was supposed to flunk three or four years in a row, but somehow managed to move up to the next grade thanks to her highly influential parents.

The other kids in her class knew that she was supposed to stay back for another year and were always surprised to see her get promoted along with them. The little girl felt very ashamed that she could not please her classmates, teachers, or her parents. She felt so ashamed that she carried unknowingly carried this feeling all her life.

I lay the bed and the anger started wrapping all around my intestines, hugging my stomach, liver, and spleen. I watched the story unfold in my mind, and the images transmuted the feeling into its rightful owner: shame. I took deep breaths hitting my stomach, then my heart with oxygen at fast speed, and I started coughing, coughing up the shame.

I said, “I release this shame.” I kept repeating this, and the pressure released a little with each time.

I imagined myself first erasing the grades on that report card and later deleting the story. The shame we carry is a silent shame, but it attaches itself to everything. We could sit there and feel ashamed of our own thoughts that no one else can even hear. It just sneaks in, sabotaging moments in life where you just want to be spontaneous and free. It is so hard to catch when it’s so often in disguise, and so sometimes I am grateful for these triggers, even though they may ruin a perfectly good Friday night.

Taking Steps

Yesterday, I watched the first dragonfly of the season jet over the giant puddle in the parking lot. The buzzy transformer was bright blue, like the morning sky. In many cultures around the world, the dragonfly symbolizes change, transformation and growth. We are now also in the heart of Spring, and the world around us has already practically blossomed, shedding its wintry gloom.

All morning, before my walk, I was dealing with racing thoughts, trying to breathe through them, and dropping into my heart instead. I drop into my heart and the negative thoughts shed like pollen all around me. The essence lingers there, it’s difficult to escape. They are fearful thoughts full of uncertainty and despair. I dive into my heart loving them for what they are, one moment at a time.

The dragonfly today reminded me that even though it seems like the journey is steep and sometimes I forget the steps, I know that this is where I’m supposed to be. I don’t have to judge myself so much, because I know that I am trying my best now.

Controlling thoughts is almost like trying to control people. It doesn’t work. I cannot manipulate my mind into thinking up different stories, and so I let it ramble on. I leave the chatter there but turn down the volume. I understand that it is just a podcast of my insecurities playing on repeat and remind myself that the point isn’t about coming up with solutions.

I breathe deeper into my heart, knowing that my fears are slowing flaking off and Summer will be here before we know it. I look forward to seeing more dragonflies doing their work, glistening in the sun – waiting for us to notice how far we’ve come.

Beneath the Sadness

Boyfriends have always told me there was a certain sadness in my eyes, even in the midst of creating happy memories. As a teenager it was something that I felt sort of proud of, because I enjoyed being the eccentric girl – standing apart from the crowd. A classmate even referred to me as the nick name of the character, Laura, from The Glass Menagerie – “Blue Roses”. I found hearing this dark and endearing, and I looked forward to those spontaneous moments.

As I moved through life, the sadness was noticed by many from time to time. It would always peak out its head just to make sure someone noticed it was there. I have lived with it all my life so it was just a part of me; a part I often joked about with a bright smile. I smile a lot, and wonder if it is subconsciously to compensate for the rest of the sadness.

The other day, I was spending time with a friend, and he mentioned it again – my sadness. It was actually in a moment when I was really feeling sad, so I probably looked even sadder. He said there is a deep sadness inside me that I am trying to work out. I never thought about it like that before; I just assumed the sadness was part of who I am. I don’t know how the world would feel without it there.

I don’t know if the sadness is totally my own or is it a reflection of the things I experience in my daily life. When I spend time with people, I can also really tap into their own sadness. I feel the cold tingling in various parts of my body; usually around my upper thighs and my buttocks. The people’s sadness and discomfort envelopes me.

I spent a couple hours in the park today as a self-love exercise. It’s a beautiful spring day, and the park was smiling in flowers. I practiced some Tai Chi on the grass and then roamed around the little alleys and ways and snapped a few photos. I redirected the camera to capture my face, and all of the pictures looked so full of sadness. Looking into my eyes, I felt sorry for myself. I felt that I have made myself suffer; that I must have been too harsh with myself lately.

Today’s sadness feels like it’s a little closer to the surface than the usual dose. I wonder if it’s tired of hiding inside and trying to show me something. I often wonder what else is there beneath the sadness.

Allowing

It’s a Friday night, and I was looking forward to going dancing so I could shake out the discomfort that I have been carrying around for the last few days. Dancing does that for me, it literally shakes it all out like a pepper shaker. The vibrations of music travel through my skin and delve into all my organs releasing unwelcome tension. The euphoria of getting lost on the dance floor full of bodies kicks in, and I relax into the unexpected songs being offered every 3 to 4 minutes. After a while, we all become one, friends and strangers and we support each other, following each other’s beat, staying in the flow, admiring each other’s light.

Anyway, tonight I decided to stay home and give myself the attention I was craving from others. My body has been complaining of aches all day, and I wanted to just lay there and feel into each and every one layer by layer until the blockages would start popping open. It has been mostly my left side that has been suffering, the area around my heart, the part that holds the spleen, and part of my back near my left shoulder blade.

I lay on the bed, stretching out my legs and relaxing into myself, “relax, relax, relax,” I repeated slowly inside my mind. My legs relaxed, and I felt the spirit inside them dive deeper into the mattress. I relaxed my hips and my lower belly, and then I felt the bulge of clumped up energy pooling around in my solar plexus. I placed my hands on the small mountain of discomfort and tried settling it down. It felt fixed and immovable. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slower and deeper into myself, slow and steady, and it felt like forever. With each long breath a little layer of pain was peeled off, and I felt like I was again falling deeper into my mattress. Layers of me were being pushed into its fabric.

The solar plexus holds your personal power. When it is weak or clogged up, it makes it hard for your light to shine. For years I have been afraid of knowing what powers are contained inside. I felt intimidated by the amount of work I might have to put in so I can feel the confidence of these powers. I felt satisfaction of hiding behind various kinds of pain that I created in order to block access to that door. I would give birth to this pain and then wallow in it as long as possible, in order to have an excuse for staying small.

Tonight, I approached the feelings with a different intention. Instead of portraying myself as a victim, I observed myself as a woman. With compassion I held myself there, and listened to each energetic complaint the body parts held onto. Each layer that was released felt lighter and lighter as my shoulders released deeper into my pillow. I observed my body falling more open, allowing itself to fall, allowing itself to fall even if it would be at risk of falling apart.

I was afraid, I felt raw and exposed letting myself see me like that; to see myself as an injured body that just needed my attention. The knots started loosening up even more, with each deep breath, and I drifted further and further into emptiness. My body, after several days of insomnia, finally allowed itself to take a healing nap. I woke up feeling refreshed, and with a little more space there in my power center; a little more space waiting to be explored.