What sensations and thoughts do you run from?

on layers, wounded butterflies, and spaciousness

Dear reader, 

What sensations and thoughts do you run from? 

Stock photo by Isi Parente on Unsplash

Wombed in warm water, hand on my sternum, I stayed. 

I secretly pray that the phrases I repeat again and again in my yoga classes will land like incantations in my subconscious, changing the way I move through my mind and the world - Can you stay with the sensations, even if they’re uncomfortable? 

What do they have to tell you? 

My frontal lobe was lit up, a pinball ricocheting through its walls. My nose felt warm, my throat clogged. I wanted out of the water, which was really an urge to get out of my mind. Out of these feelings.

What are you telling me? 

Blushing self-doubt. The fear of not being enough. The nervous anticipation of failure. 

I stayed. 

Eucalyptus bath salts, flickering candlelight, and clutter on the counter. 

Eyes shut, I saw myself. I wore layer upon layer I’d picked up from the outside world. They weighed down on my shoulders. My head floated above their mass, seemingly removed from a nonexistent body. Slowly, I began to peel off the layers, dropping each to the earth. Walking forward. Hearing the weight as it thumped - too slow. Not enough. Not a good fit. Some layers weren’t words, but expressions. Some layers weren’t expressions, but actions. Some layers I patchworked together myself, artisan of my own cage. 

Suddenly, I stood in front of Little Me. During Kindergarten recess, her friend found a dying butterfly. They took it back to the classroom, committed to finding a way to heal it. But for leaving the group, the teacher scolded them. She turned their lights from green to red. Little Me crumpled in sinking, burning shame. The all-consuming feeling of inadequacy propelled her next actions.

She sat up straight as she could, arms folded, lips glued shut. She waited, wishing for her goodness to be seen. To be redeemed. She allowed, as she was taught, her worth, reputation, and actions to hinge on the teacher’s system, devised to condition the students to behave.

Looking at Little Me, Adult Me had no blame for the teacher. I knew she needed a way to create order for the sake of safety and learning. Many systems I fit my body into as an adult do the same. But my heart splintered for Little Me. Her worth, I wanted her to know, was not determined by the systems designed to manipulate her behavior for collective convenience.

I took Little Me’s hand and walked her out of the classroom. “You have nothing to prove,” I told her. She thrilled at an adult inviting her to break out of school - out of what was expected from her. 

I took her somewhere safe - to my adult backyard, but if my adult backyard was the woodsy wonderland I want it to be. Trees cocooned us from the noise of the highway. Lush moss, horseherb, and mushrooms coated the ground in color and coolness. A stream bubbled clear and fresh. Little Me had full faith in her intuition here. She sensed the presence of fairies. Tenderly, she took the wounded butterfly in her hands. With complete attention and otherworldly gentleness, she set to healing it.

I left her to it, returning to my own realm. Stripped free of all that burdened me, I stood naked before a fire. I felt the heat on her skin, the wind in my hair. Wild, compassionate, and strong, I felt no urge to cover myself. 

In the bath, my arms tingled. The pressure on my throat released. I felt spacious and rested. I felt poems in me. 

What do you experience when you stay in your discomfort?

Until next time, 

With love, 

A

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