When I was a toddler, I used to try to walk through the sliding glass door. Repeatedly. The coffee table was simply an apparition that should bend to my will and allow me passage. Even the bulk of the couch was no match for my will; I assumed that it too could be bested if I tried long enough and hard enough.
As I approached adulthood and learned about the states of matter,I realized that my chances of walking through solids were pretty slim. However, this did little to temper my will and stubbornness. These traits saw me through many challenges in my life; I succeeded because I refused to give up. I worked to make myself stronger, both physically and emotionally to see me through the challenges that life had to offer. I had perseverance and reliance in droves.
It wasn’t enough. At least not for the long run.
My strength got me through the early days and months of my divorce. I looked to my fortitude to help me push through what seemed like insurmountable obstacles.
Then, one day, I realized the external obstacles were gone. All that was left were my interior barriers, and try as I might, I couldn’t simply lower my head and barrel through them. This was not a time for strength.
I found wisdom in the teachings of yoga and meditation, areas that I had been exploring, sensing that they could counter my natural strengths and bring me more into balance. In yoga, you are taught to find your edge, accept your edge, explore your edge (not to pretend it is not there and continue forward nonetheless, as I was wont to do). Pain is not something to be denied, rather it should be acknowledged and investigated. I learned to recognize my edge and slowly, softly shift it. I became more comfortable just being with the pain, softening my attitude towards it. The process of healing from the trauma made me softer, and that in turn made me stronger and more whole.
Strength found its balance in softness. The two together are so much more powerful than each alone. Try as I might, I still can’t walk through furniture, though.
Our traumas help to form us, but we do have to let them define us. You are not what happened to you. You are not your suffering. The first step in healing is taking ownership of your reactions and choosing to respond in a manner which will help you let go of the past.
You will always see the event as a delineation in your memories; there is a “you” before and a different “you” after that has been changed by the trauma. When you become stuck, you view the repercussions of the event as malevolent and place the responsibility for the changed self on the event.
It happened. It hurt. It changed you. By letting it define you, you simply give it more power. You have the ability to create beauty out of the pain.
One of the most powerful images I held in my mind during my divorce was that of how I handled a fallen tree in my garden. I had a large tree come down in an area where I had cultivated a beautiful woodland garden. Those delicate plants were now exposed to the harsh midday sun and would not survive. I mourned the loss of the area for a day or so and then I went to work. I dug up and moved all of the shade-lovers and replanted them in new areas that would still give them the shelter they needed. I then loaded up my car with sun-loving plants from the nursery (yes, this was the fun part!) that I never had space for before. I was able to create a new, different, but even more beautiful garden where the tree had fallen.
Are you letting your divorce define you? Do you give it (or your ex) the power to control your life now? This is a choice and you can change your mind.
I was never an athletic child. I always had various bodily complaints: asthma, joint problems, allergies, and I found it way too easy to pass on physical exertion due to these issues. Strangely enough; however, one of my long-standing complaints ushered me in to the world of sports and exercise.
I had always had pain and weakness in my hands and wrists. When I was 14, I had a carpal tunnel release done on the right hand after a nerve conduction test revealed a substantial decrease in nerve function. I had a hard road back from the surgery and I needed rehab beyond physical therapy. I had always loved the Monkees (RIP Davy Jones, my first crush) and was particularly enamoured of the episode where they fenced. (Okay, so maybe I was also influenced by Cary Elwes in tight pants in The Princess Bride. Back to the story…)
So in my 14-year-old brain, I came up with the following:
play with swords + strengthen my hand + get to hit people + hot guys in tight pants + mask to hide bad hair day = “mom…I want to try fencing”
Luckily, she agreed. I began to train at Salle Pouj, run by Gerard Poujardieu, a French fencer with a sharp wit and a tongue to match. My years training with Pouj were amazing. He knew how to support me and encourage me at the same time (translation: a swift kick in the butt). I learned what my body was capable of as I began to gather medals and I learned what my mind is capable of as I worked to overcome fear and pain. Here are just a few of the lessons I learned on the strips of the salle.
Commit
The big day had arrived. All of the fencing gear that I had ordered had come in. Pouj was going through each item, describing it and inventorying it. When he was through, he picked up a patch from his desk and showed my mom and I where it needed to be placed on the shoulder of my jacket. “KTB?,” my mom asked, “What does that stand for?” With partially chagrined look (yes partial, if you had known Pouj, you would know that he would never be fully chagrined about ANYTHING), he replied, “Kill the Bastards.” My pacifist-leaning mom looked shocked. I grinned.
He went on to explain that it meant to not do anything half way, to commit to your actions. In a lesson, he would say “through the spine,” meaning not to hesitate or back off. If you’re going to do it, do it right. Sometimes when I doubt myself, I can be heard muttering, “KTB” under my breath.
If you’re in a battle, it is a battle against yourself
Fencing is a bit deceptive. You face off across a thin strip, mano y mano, waving swords in each other’s faces. It would seem clear that your opponent is the masked person on the other end of the strip. I soon learned that my true opponent was myself. Each bout I strove to be better than I was before, regardless of who held the other weapon. They were almost inconsequential.
The true battle was in my mind. Against my own fears. My own voice telling me I couldn’t do it. I discovered that if I worked to win the battle in my head, the one on the strip usually worked out in my favor.
This is Pouj BEFORE a competition. He was touching each medal in turn, saying, “This one’s mine…and this one’s mine…” He was highly confident:)
Sometimes, you simply cannot prepare enough
I ended up being pretty good at fencing. I frequently placed in the top 3 in the state for my division. One year, Pouj convinced me to compete in the Junior Olympics. I was confronted with the reality that Texas is not the fencing center of the country (I mean, who knew?). I trained hard for that competition, but it was not enough. I faced three left-handed in a row, and I had very little experience with the topsy-turvy world of fencing against lefties. All those fancy moves? Yeah, they don’t work anymore.
It was a hard lesson to learn. I had gone from being near the top to being inconsequential, a mere blip on the screen as my opponents continued to advance. I realized I had to let it go. Some situations are not winnable no matter how much you prepare.
Size doesn’t matter
Okay, get your head out of the gutter. We are talking about when I was in high school, after all.
As you may be able to tell from my photos, I am rather vertically challenged. Fencing is a great equalizer amongst athletes of all sizes. I routinely beat men who topped me by a foot and were much stronger. I learned to become confident in my body and feel strong and powerful, regardless of my pants size. How big you feel is so much more important than how big you are.
Don’t be too predictable
There was one particular pattern Pouj taught me that I really liked. It worked well with my height and my unexpected strength (in fact, I routinely disarmed Pouj with this particular move, which was no small feat!). As you can imagine, I used this sequence a lot. Too much, as it turns out, as my opponents began to anticipate its use. I had grown too comfortable, too predictable.
For my next trick, I taught myself to beat one rhythm with my left hand on my back leg while I fenced to an entirely different drummer. That kept them guessing:)
Analyze the slow and trust instinct when the speed picks up
In a lesson, Pouj would have me analyze and practice a move over and over, first in slow motion and then at speed. This was comfortable to me, as I like to think and stay in my brain-space. I did well, until the day of my first bout came. I tried to think through every attack and plan every counter-attack. The problem? I was still analyzing the initial attack and my opponent would be on his second.
I had to learn to trust my instincts. Believe that the body knew what to do.
If you hold on too tightly, you lose your ability to move
I fenced with what was called a French grip (which Pouj insisted on, go figure). The grip was a singular piece of metal, about a quarter of an inch on each rectangular side. My instinct when I first held the weapon was to grasp the hold tightly in a fist, especially because the 2 1/2 pound weight of the foil was quite a burden for my rehabbing hand. Pouj shook his head at me. “No, no. Not like that at all.” He pinched the grip between my thumb and forefinger and coached the other fingers to lightly wrap around. He explained that this limited grip was where all of my movement and control came from. If I was to hold on too tightly, I would not be able to move. By letting go, I gained more strength.
Hmmm…I think that lesson wasn’t fully mastered in the salle. Maybe that’s why I’ve had to repeat it.
And, finally, don’t drink too much water before putting on all of the safety and scoring gear for a bout
Pretty self explanatory.
In memory of Pouj, who taught me more than he ever knew.
I was engaged in my usual Sunday cook-a-thon last week when I faced a small dilema. I wanted the smoked paprika (fancy, I know) for the recipe, but it was out of reach. I keep this particular item on the top shelf of the spice cabinet due to its infrequent use. Normally, I simply climb up on the counter below to reach the items on the top shelf. At this particular time; however, my very full and very hot slow cooker was occupying the exact counter real estate where I would need to place my knees.
At first, I became frustrated. I felt like the recipe wouldn’t be perfect without the addition of the smoked paprika. Then, I glanced up, spying the perfectly normal and perfectly accessible paprika right in front of me. It would do just fine.
Some days and some situations are not about trying to achieve perfection. When you’re in a rough patch, trying to maintain a high standard can be daunting and add unneeded stress. It is okay to redefine your goals and adjust accordingly. Sometimes, it’s all about what you can reach.
And, for the record, no I did not think about pulling a chair over to reach the paprika. There is probably a lesson in that too…
Yup, that’s right. A vegan milkshake. Well, actually, a vegan protein shake that just happens to taste like my favorite flavor of ice cream. And, did I mention it contains spinach? And that it comes in either a low-fat or low-carb version? Don’t be shy. Pull out your blender and give one of the options below a whirl. Just be aware that you may have to fight Popeye for the first taste.
Look at that lovely green color:)
Vegan Mint Chocolate Chip Milkshake
Low Fat Version
3 ice cubes
small banana
1 scoop vegan vanilla protein powder (I use Vega) *
2-4 mint leaves or several drops peppermint extract
1 tbsp chia seeds
spinach to top of blender
unsweetened vegan milk of choice (I use vanilla almond) to blend*
Blend on high until leaves are pulverized. Then add:
1 tbsp mini semi-sweet or dark vegan chocolate chips
and blend to mix.
* You can use whey protein and/or cow’s milk if you’re not vegan.
Vegan Mint Chocolate Chip Milkshake
Low Fat Version
Replace the banana with 1/2 an avocado.
Banana version: approx. 420 calories, 42 g carbs, 34 g protein, 11 g fat
When I was a toddler, I used to try to walk through the sliding glass door. Repeatedly. The coffee table was simply an apparition that should bend to my will and allow me passage. Even the bulk of the couch was no match for my will; I assumed that it too could be bested if I tried long enough and hard enough.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 