My tears mix with my sweat, the saltiness stings my eyes. I'm on my floor one hand over my heart and one rested on my belly, my therapist calls this healing hands. It sounds cheesy and I hate the name but this position actually does bring me comfort. I close my eyes and get the idea to self-regulate.
I close my eyes, put my hands under my back on my kidneys and imagine I'm in my therapists office. She usually is the one with her hand on my kidney but I'm reminded that she told me I can do the work she does with me at home.
My body is still buzzing from my run. Ya I said run. I ran (on purpose mind you) for 20 whole minutes today. This was the first time in over a year when I broke my foot end of June last year that I've dared to even try it.
A minute into my walk around my neighborhood on 21st I'm about to miss the light, so I run across the street and I don't stop. I tell myself okay go for this song and at the end see how it feels just make it through this song. After going through my workout playlist I'm just about ready to give up but push myself to get to my apartment. I'm fucking elated.
Back to my apartment with me on my floor and my cat's little paws putting all their weight on my boobs and stomach (little shit) as she walks on me. I get my hands on my kidneys and I go through the motions. I hear my therapist say "What's coming up for you?"
I hate that question. That means I have to actually feel. I have to actually stop for a second and feel, instead of running around avoiding, numbing, and distracting from all the things going on in my head. But I fucking do it because, and I keep forgetting this, progress doesn't happen without trying or change.
So I feel. And that flash of anger I felt being asked that question by my imaginary therapist turns into tears. At first I don't know why I'm crying but I go with it, this is a part of what we call my "cycle". (I get mad, I get sad, I calm down and am regulated AKA at peace). I continuously remind myself to breathe and go in and out of crying and laughing because it seems so fucking silly. Watching my body's natural reaction to tears, is to stop myself.
I say "I feel proud." And another thought comes up, "I wish I could take those words back."
"Why is that you think?" Imaginary therapist asks.
"I don't fucking know," I snap back. Any question that makes me look further into my feelings makes me uncomfortable so I get mad. But I actually fucking do, so I say, "Because it's scary to be proud. I didn't do enough. I'm not enough. It feels better to be negative than positive about myself."
"What do you feel in your body?"
"Shame."
Shame has ruled my life since I can remember. The heavy feeling of failure and inadequacy is something I carry almost as a comfort. Lately the universe has presented me with the following ideas:
I'm scared to be happy and have confidence
I'd rather believe I can't because the belief that I can is too much to comprehend
I actually need to change my habits and beliefs if I want change
I might not be that shit of a person
I haven't written in a long time and it feels so good to feel so overwhelmed with the need to write. I start behavior therapy classes this week, which is basically going to teach me better coping skills than the ones I've held onto for years (men, food, booze). I don't want to do it, but I need to.
This small act of running was more than a workout to me, it was me pushing myself a little harder to go a little further to get a little better.
