I've spent a great deal of my life with a "Hey, look at me!" drive somehow lodged in my brain. For the life of me, I can't figure out where it came from - my parents gave me plenty of support, praise and attention but I still always craved being different, elite ... noticed.
In early life through college I tried to find satisfaction in this through many paths - ballroom dancing, judo, acting, yoga, basketball, choosing a unique major ... singing. Some people on driven paths just have fun with their art. Others challenge themselves with personal goals or strive to make a career using their craft . Some lonely few are just trying to fill that young need to stand out, be praised.
Look how _______ I am!
Flexible
Talented
Compassionate
Resilient
Different
Crunchy
Strong
Brave
Intelligent
Powerful
Some people know I get injured easily in yoga because I have poor proprioception , meaning my brain doesn't interpret signs from my connective tissue and muscles well. You know that feeling that says "WHOOOOOOAA baby, slow down"?People with poor proprioception don't hear that voice soon enough ... if they hear it at all. Well, I have a dirty secret: the other reason I got hurt frequently in the first decade or so of my practice. Most of my practice. Almost all of my practice.
Ego.
"I've been practicing for years, I can do the advanced variation. I don't need no stinkin block. Can the teacher see me?"
Sigh.
It can be nauseating to face such a shallow, vulnerable, reaching part of oneself and think, "Why can I not let this go?" When I closed my business and stepped away from the babywearing community, I lost more than I outwardly expressed. Yes, it was income, it was a business I loved and enjoyed, it was my tribe ... but it was also Ego. I was a known name in the babywearing community (for better or for worse) and I felt like I went from being Someone to being invisible.
Recently after two years of web-based home yoga practice through YogaGlo ("Who needs a level one class? This level three can't be too ... ow!) I began an amazing Gentle Yoga class at our local YMCA. The teacher's wry sense of humor and deliberate positioning of her mat (putting the students' backs to the mirror) began to quicken that slow-to-develop part of me. Rather than striving to be the best, to get attention, I was led inward. Apparently the path to letting go of the Ego was to let go of letting go?
The relaxation (not to mention lack of injury) engendered by this absence of internal conflict translated to my muscles as well as to my heart and mind. I began reaching with joy and contentment in my poses, relishing the release as opposed to straining for some unreasonable goal.
Ironically, the day after I realized this shift, my teacher drew the classes attention to the form of my pose with a lovely compliment. I thought about it on the way home, concerned at how my Ego would handle this ... in the past this would have spiked my excitement, distracting me from the class and prompting me to focus on the outward instead of the inward. She brought it up again at the next class - this time her flattery giving me warm fuzzies and slight embarrassment instead of my usual giddiness.
I pondered.
A wise Guru in the tradition of Aghor Yoga, Baba Harihar Ramji of Sonoma Ashram, spoke to me once in darshan. A personal interaction with a Guru, darshan can be anything from a time to speak in private to a blessing to a hug to a simple touch . He reminded me of the importance of detaching oneself from things that draw upon our energy. Detach our energy from the situation, step back and decide how, if at all, to better contribute our energy to the situation. In satsang (a lesson or teaching time, generally in a group), Babaji extended this metaphor to thoughts intruding on our yoga practice. Detach your energy from the thought, acknowledge the thought and allow it to flow by, no longer held by our attention to it.
I realized I had done the same thing with Ego. Encouraged by the manner and teachings of my instructor, I naturally detached myself from my Ego. I stopped trying to force it into submission; I stopped feeding it with striving for more praise. I just stepped back. I slid so easily, effortlessly into this state of mind that when complimented I stayed detached ... watching my ego cherish the compliment but not giving it any energy ... and then moving on.
It has been years from since my day with Babaji and I'm quite certain my yoga teacher never put "change Melissa's existence" into her daily plan. Yet here it is, a shift that has led to my increased relaxation and enjoyment of my yoga practice. How else will this small drop ripple my pond?
**I am in no way connected or receive reimbursement/product/kickbacks/magic powers from any of the companies mentioned here. All products or services mentioned were purchased by me.**
Showing posts with label deconstruction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label deconstruction. Show all posts
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Peace.
Talking with small kids is an amazing way to really think about things. I don't mean talking TO kids, or AT them ... I'm referring to actually having a conversation. When an adult has a chance to look at a situation or a thing through a child's eyes they are often surprised at how different it looks.
During graduate school I had the chance to help a family cope with a complicated situation. A teenage girl was in a bad car accident. Thankfully she was going to be fine but she had extensive facial bruising, and an arm and a leg both in casts. The family's biggest concern was how her grandmother was going to take seeing her in that condition. I can't remember if she had anxiety or heart issues but my supervisor in the Child Life department had the idea that the grandmother bring in the teen patient's little sister for her first visit ... and before the young girl went into the room, I would prepare the child for what she would see. In front of her grandmother.
This gave the older woman a chance to be prepared for what SHE would experience in that room, but through the eyes of a six year old.
"Have you ever had a a really bad bump when you fell? How did it feel? What did it look like?"
"It hurt alot but after a while it got better. And it turned funny colors for a while."
"Well when your sister was hurt in the car, something bumped her in the face. Her face has some funny colors on it and its sore but just like your bump, it will get better."
And on, discussing casts, what they are for, what can we do to make her casts look pretty etc.
By the time we finished, the grandmother had visibly calmed down and was able to handle the visit as well as the small girl. And I learned an amazing lesson.
Recently my fibromyalgia has been getting much much worse than its been in years. I've been trying to help my children understand the changes and support them but as the pain increased I started thinking about myself. Was I going to slip into grief again? Over-do things in my anger that I have limits?
Suddenly a new lens clicked into place. I remember being a senior (I think?) at Arlington Catholic High School and taking a theology course with Mrs. Lussier. Half the year we studied religions of the world and the other half we discussed death, dying and loss. I went on to study it in more depth during my college and graduate school years. Laying in bed last week, unable to sleep from the pain it wasn't college texts or hospice internships that came to mind ... I remembered reading "On Death and Dying" by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in Mrs. Lussier's class.
The Kubler-Ross model of grieving talks about five stages one might experience during a grief process. Rather than being a continuum of how one is going to feel, folks actually go in no particular order. Some people may bounce around between them, skip a stage completely ... even come back and re-experience the stages again when reminded of their grief.
Denial. Bargaining. Depression. Anger. Acceptance.
Click.
Living with chronic illness, chronic pain or a disability is living the Kubler-Ross stages. Not occasionally ... it's living them for as long as "chronic" means. But hold on, that's not as bleak as it sounds.
Sure, it means that some event is going to blind-side you and bring on the loss, the grief, the depression again. You're going to be in denial and over do it and stupidly waste energy you desperately need, or worse, injure yourself. The key is to remember that it is all part of a cycle ... and that some day again you will find peace in acceptance. And while that acceptance won't be forever, neither will the rest of it.
Cycle.
So I found I could do this. I could be sick again and hurt again. Knowing that some day I would be at a peaceful place in my cycle of grief, knowing that some day my fibromyalgia would cycle back into a less painful, more energetic state ... those realizations brought peace to my heart. And I slept.
During graduate school I had the chance to help a family cope with a complicated situation. A teenage girl was in a bad car accident. Thankfully she was going to be fine but she had extensive facial bruising, and an arm and a leg both in casts. The family's biggest concern was how her grandmother was going to take seeing her in that condition. I can't remember if she had anxiety or heart issues but my supervisor in the Child Life department had the idea that the grandmother bring in the teen patient's little sister for her first visit ... and before the young girl went into the room, I would prepare the child for what she would see. In front of her grandmother.
This gave the older woman a chance to be prepared for what SHE would experience in that room, but through the eyes of a six year old.
"Have you ever had a a really bad bump when you fell? How did it feel? What did it look like?"
"It hurt alot but after a while it got better. And it turned funny colors for a while."
"Well when your sister was hurt in the car, something bumped her in the face. Her face has some funny colors on it and its sore but just like your bump, it will get better."
And on, discussing casts, what they are for, what can we do to make her casts look pretty etc.
By the time we finished, the grandmother had visibly calmed down and was able to handle the visit as well as the small girl. And I learned an amazing lesson.
Recently my fibromyalgia has been getting much much worse than its been in years. I've been trying to help my children understand the changes and support them but as the pain increased I started thinking about myself. Was I going to slip into grief again? Over-do things in my anger that I have limits?
Suddenly a new lens clicked into place. I remember being a senior (I think?) at Arlington Catholic High School and taking a theology course with Mrs. Lussier. Half the year we studied religions of the world and the other half we discussed death, dying and loss. I went on to study it in more depth during my college and graduate school years. Laying in bed last week, unable to sleep from the pain it wasn't college texts or hospice internships that came to mind ... I remembered reading "On Death and Dying" by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in Mrs. Lussier's class.
The Kubler-Ross model of grieving talks about five stages one might experience during a grief process. Rather than being a continuum of how one is going to feel, folks actually go in no particular order. Some people may bounce around between them, skip a stage completely ... even come back and re-experience the stages again when reminded of their grief.
Denial. Bargaining. Depression. Anger. Acceptance.
Click.
Living with chronic illness, chronic pain or a disability is living the Kubler-Ross stages. Not occasionally ... it's living them for as long as "chronic" means. But hold on, that's not as bleak as it sounds.
Sure, it means that some event is going to blind-side you and bring on the loss, the grief, the depression again. You're going to be in denial and over do it and stupidly waste energy you desperately need, or worse, injure yourself. The key is to remember that it is all part of a cycle ... and that some day again you will find peace in acceptance. And while that acceptance won't be forever, neither will the rest of it.
Cycle.
So I found I could do this. I could be sick again and hurt again. Knowing that some day I would be at a peaceful place in my cycle of grief, knowing that some day my fibromyalgia would cycle back into a less painful, more energetic state ... those realizations brought peace to my heart. And I slept.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The story behind my sweet bread adventure...
Forgive me if this is not the most smooth account, but I wanted to record this before I forget it all!
I never met my great grandmother, Maria Carreiro. Many people don't but for me there is special meaning in that. You see, my mother's and father's parents had known each other socially for years. My mother spent many years hearing about Teddy and my father heard all about my mother. It was at my fatehr's grandmother's funeral in 1969, however, that they finally met at adults. My father recalls seeing a stunning woman with a black mantilla covering her long, thick black hair. He decided he needed to persue her ... and did so that very night, stopping by her home to thank her parents for their condolences. They were married in 1970 :)
Maria Assumpcao Borges Carreiro (1894-1969) was married to Camillo Carreiro. I believe they were both from Sao Miguel in the Azore islands of Portugal. They went on to have three children, my grandmother Mary Carme, her sister Tillie and their brother Joseph.
My father and my cousins fondly remember Grammy Carreiro's Massa Cevada - it was a special treat only made a few times a year. Traditionally Massa Cevada is made at Easter with a whole egg in the shell baked in it. My mother grew up enjoying Grammy Carreiro's bread as well ... as friends of the family, they were treated to her wonderful baking. It really resonates for me that my family has been making this bread for (most likely) at least a hundred years!
At Thanksgiving my grandmother mused that I might be able to manage this recipe so I decided to attempt it for a Christmas Eve surpise. I contacted my cousin Michele and she kindly sent me what she had.
My great grandmother, like most, never used a recipe or measure out ingredients. Her method of teaching my grandmother and her daughter in-law (Michele's mother, Dot) was to bake with them watching, throwing in a bit of this and that ... and she also didn't speak english well. This recipe was written down on two very old index cards and I give Michele toooons of credit for copying it all over for me :)
My mom, grandmother and Aunt Dot all referred to this recipe as hard to make because it was a particularly sticky dough. Ironically I've spent the last three months learning how to bake with wet, sticky doughs. When I compared her recipe to the ones I have been using, I realized I could apply the same techniques to make this do-able. For someone unfamiliar with wet-dough baking, I can see how challenging this would be.
My biggest question regarding the accuracy of this recipe is the yeast measurements. They are the ONLY edits I have made to the ingredient list, as most bakers no longer use yeast cakes. One important thing to know is that my method of baking is very forgiving regarding yeast discrepancies, so precision isn't vital.
Here are some cool links I stumbled upon while researching the history of yeast ...
A Short History of Yeast
Food History Resources - this is a wild page, check it out!
I never met my great grandmother, Maria Carreiro. Many people don't but for me there is special meaning in that. You see, my mother's and father's parents had known each other socially for years. My mother spent many years hearing about Teddy and my father heard all about my mother. It was at my fatehr's grandmother's funeral in 1969, however, that they finally met at adults. My father recalls seeing a stunning woman with a black mantilla covering her long, thick black hair. He decided he needed to persue her ... and did so that very night, stopping by her home to thank her parents for their condolences. They were married in 1970 :)
Maria Assumpcao Borges Carreiro (1894-1969) was married to Camillo Carreiro. I believe they were both from Sao Miguel in the Azore islands of Portugal. They went on to have three children, my grandmother Mary Carme, her sister Tillie and their brother Joseph.
My father and my cousins fondly remember Grammy Carreiro's Massa Cevada - it was a special treat only made a few times a year. Traditionally Massa Cevada is made at Easter with a whole egg in the shell baked in it. My mother grew up enjoying Grammy Carreiro's bread as well ... as friends of the family, they were treated to her wonderful baking. It really resonates for me that my family has been making this bread for (most likely) at least a hundred years!
At Thanksgiving my grandmother mused that I might be able to manage this recipe so I decided to attempt it for a Christmas Eve surpise. I contacted my cousin Michele and she kindly sent me what she had.
My great grandmother, like most, never used a recipe or measure out ingredients. Her method of teaching my grandmother and her daughter in-law (Michele's mother, Dot) was to bake with them watching, throwing in a bit of this and that ... and she also didn't speak english well. This recipe was written down on two very old index cards and I give Michele toooons of credit for copying it all over for me :)
My mom, grandmother and Aunt Dot all referred to this recipe as hard to make because it was a particularly sticky dough. Ironically I've spent the last three months learning how to bake with wet, sticky doughs. When I compared her recipe to the ones I have been using, I realized I could apply the same techniques to make this do-able. For someone unfamiliar with wet-dough baking, I can see how challenging this would be.
My biggest question regarding the accuracy of this recipe is the yeast measurements. They are the ONLY edits I have made to the ingredient list, as most bakers no longer use yeast cakes. One important thing to know is that my method of baking is very forgiving regarding yeast discrepancies, so precision isn't vital.
Here are some cool links I stumbled upon while researching the history of yeast ...
A Short History of Yeast
Food History Resources - this is a wild page, check it out!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Deconstruction of a Huff.
Yes, its nearly one a.m. and here I am sitting on the couch in a huff. Not one of my most mature moves ever, but hey, at least I had a long nap today.
So what the heck happened? I'm going to try writing this out with specifics and then revising it to be more global, not about the minutae but about me.
I had a disagreement with someone and they ignored me rather than acknowledge what I was saying. Sigh.
So why did I get so upset? That's why I'm writing ... to try to figure out my end.
I know a few things really upset me.
~ We had an agreement they ignored it just hours later. This bothers me because I feel like they don't take commitments to me seriously.
I want to matter. I want to be taken seriously and see it in people's actions.
~ Its about a choice, a compromise. If they refuse to compromise to protect their physical comfort, I am caused pain and lose function.
Compromise is an action that shows my needs matter.
~ I feels like they just don't REMEMBER what triggers pain in me.
Remembering is an action that shows I matter.
~ They used silence to avoid showing me they were hearing me, they did not acknowledge my frustration.
Acknowledging that I am heard and understood shows I matter.
~They ignored attempts to discuss it and would not share their side.
Having a dialogue with me, even an angry one, until we reach a conclusion shows I matter.
~ I'm afraid we will end up estranged like we were before.
I am afraid of not being taken seriously. I am afraid of not mattering again.
I'm really hurt from experiencing a period where I didn't matter and not sure how to feel safe again.
Feeling like people take me seriously is something I have always struggled with.
So what the heck happened? I'm going to try writing this out with specifics and then revising it to be more global, not about the minutae but about me.
I had a disagreement with someone and they ignored me rather than acknowledge what I was saying. Sigh.
So why did I get so upset? That's why I'm writing ... to try to figure out my end.
I know a few things really upset me.
~ We had an agreement they ignored it just hours later. This bothers me because I feel like they don't take commitments to me seriously.
I want to matter. I want to be taken seriously and see it in people's actions.
~ Its about a choice, a compromise. If they refuse to compromise to protect their physical comfort, I am caused pain and lose function.
Compromise is an action that shows my needs matter.
~ I feels like they just don't REMEMBER what triggers pain in me.
Remembering is an action that shows I matter.
~ They used silence to avoid showing me they were hearing me, they did not acknowledge my frustration.
Acknowledging that I am heard and understood shows I matter.
~They ignored attempts to discuss it and would not share their side.
Having a dialogue with me, even an angry one, until we reach a conclusion shows I matter.
~ I'm afraid we will end up estranged like we were before.
I am afraid of not being taken seriously. I am afraid of not mattering again.
I'm really hurt from experiencing a period where I didn't matter and not sure how to feel safe again.
Feeling like people take me seriously is something I have always struggled with.
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