A “Safe Space” With a Purpose

Posted on by stilllearning2b

One of the most precious gifts I received during my divorce was the gift of safe spaces. I had my dear friend’s kitchen floor, where I could cry and curse without judgment while surrounded by the comforting activities of normal family life. I had my team at work who seemed to know whether I needed a hug, a bite to eat or simply a moment by myself. I had my family, who although spread around the country, would send me emails of support and understanding (liberally peppered with humorous anti-ex sentiments).

Those safe spaces were so treasured because the larger world was anything-but-safe. I had acquaintances question what I must have done to have deserved betrayal and abandonment. I had men at the gym view my fragility and naiveté as an invitation to pursue me long before I was ready to consider a new relationship. And social media? Ugh. It seemed like every message of well-stated support was followed by something well-meaning but clueless (“Don’t worry, honey. There are plenty of other men out there. And you’re still not too old to have babies.”). And then there were those that treated me like a pariah, as though divorce was somehow contagious and by consorting with me, they risked bringing it into their own homes.

There have been many groups that provide a safe space for those undergoing divorce. Each one strives to be a place free from the blaming and shaming that so easily follows the end of a marriage.

Divorce Nation is a little different. It is the safe space, offering virtual community so that those experiencing divorce don’t feel so alone. But unlike most other groups, they don’t just want to help you heal emotionally; they want to help heal your body too. Which from my experience, is a critical component to divorce recovery.

Exercise has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. And so when faced with the enormity of the challenge of coming back from the beat-down of divorce, it was no wonder that it became a significant part of my tool kit. Through fitness, I learned how to release the trauma from my body. The cage erected around my still-bleeding heart began to relax, allowing the lungs to again expand. Running released the excess anxiety while providing a welcomed sense of movement and progress. And yoga, my blessed yoga, continues to teach me that strength can exist alongside vulnerability.

I don’t think I could have made it through the divorce without the benefit of exercise.

Maybe exercise hasn’t been a part of your life. Or perhaps your once-welcoming gym now feels like a danger zone filled with happy-go-lucky youth or predatory singles. Divorce Nation wants to help you bring exercise into your life and teach you how it can help you heal and move forward, stronger in both mind and body.

I’m jealous of those in the Cleveland, Ohio area. A physical gym is in the works that specifically caters to those working through the end of a relationship. The vision is a safe space, a welcoming community with therapeutic support and the opportunity to allow the body to help heal the soul.

 

Here are the pertinent links for Divorce Nation:

Website

Instagram

M&P Fitness 

 

 

Bust a Rut

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Regular gym-goers have a tendency to dread the facility in January. Every machine and every corner is occupied from pre-dawn to well after dark. It can become frustrating when the new exercisers make it difficult to use a machine, invade your personal space in a class or elongate your workout due to the extra wait time.

I used to grumble every year about the influx of newbies. Some years, I even avoided the gym for much of January, only to return once the numbers dwindled down to a more reasonable level.

I don’t complain anymore. After all, we cannot always change our circumstances, but we can always change our attitude. The people are coming, I might as well learn how to accept it:)

I actually really enjoy seeing people embark on a fitness routine. I love seeing the determination and I celebrate their success. I am often more inspired by the people setting foot in a gym for the first time than I am by the people who visit every day. It takes some real guts to start something new, especially when you feel like an outsider. (A la Sephora)

What I don’t like is that my routine is inevitably disrupted.

I don’t have a prescribed set of exercises. I change things up. But I prefer to change them up on my terms.

January doesn’t allow that to happen.

Overnight, I go from being able to choose what exercises I want to do to having to think on the spot and do whatever I can with whatever I can.

It’s a rude awakening, having to relinquish that control.

But I actually kind of like it.

Let’s be honest, if not required by necessity, I wouldn’t bust out of my fitness rut. I may change things up, but I only change them within my comfort zone. In January, there is no comfort zone. It’s already filled with guys doing bench press and ladies doing core work. Rather than alter just a few exercises, I’m forced to start from scratch every time.

It’s frustrating. But also revitalizing.

You don’t see the rut until you’re strong armed into busting it.

Often, when we face change on our terms, we seek to control it. We move slowly or at least in measured and thought out increments. In some ways, change on our terms in easier since we feel like we are in the driver’s seat. Yet, it can also be more challenging as you have to battle with your own fear each step of the way.

Sometimes life doesn’t allow us to change at our own pace. Sometimes it comes as a great big unwanted shift that requires adaptation and acceptance.

Or complaining and resistance.

It’s really your choice.

And for all the gym newbies, I wish you the best. I hope to still see you in February. Just please don’t hog the squat rack:)

We All Feel That Way Sometimes

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I have a…thing coming up that requires that I be coiffed and groomed. Those are not skills I possess. I mean, I shower and all but I am more wash n go than Barbie.

I decided that it was time to invest in some makeup that is designed to look good under lights and on film. And, I do mean invest. Those few small bottles cost more than the groceries for the week. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Not only is the world of the fancy makeup a foreign one to me, I am actually afraid of it. I couldn’t fathom walking into the store without prior knowledge. I needed a Rosetta Stone class of sorts so that I could at least speak a few words of beauty. So, as with all burning questions in the social media age, I started my query on Facebook.

My friends came through with lots of suggestions. Many of them even called makeup “fun.” Who are these women?:)

So yesterday, I steeled myself and walked, head held low, into Sephora, the land of all that is beauty. I immediately felt like an intruder, unwelcome. Even the men had on more makeup than me. I walked through the aisles of sparkles and spackles until I found the product I had decided upon.

And then I was a bit stuck. There were 25(!) shades to choose from. And I was starting from scratch. I looked around for an open assistant, but they were all occupied, many helping girls the age of my students.

And then one approached me. She smiled. Was friendly. Was well-groomed but not perfect. I liked her. She led me over to a station where they use a small computer/camera to take a picture of your skin for color matching purposes. I found this oddly comforting; it reminded me of buying paint at Home Depot, a familiar endeavor.

Once matched, I collected my product and inquired about application techniques. Bless this woman, she wasn’t trying to sell. She actually encouraged me to try hand application first and return for a brush if I felt like I needed it. Unfortunately (to my wallet at least), I decided that I needed it after hearing the pros and cons.

And then stupid me inquired about concealer. Which led to another tub of goo and yet another brush. By this point, I had a small basket of product. I no longer looked like a tourist. But I still felt like one.

When the cashier asked if I had a loyalty card, I actually laughed and explained a bit about my general beauty attitude and my discomfort in the store. A male employee (with the best eyebrows I’ve ever seen) smiled and quipped, “That’s how I feel in the gym which is why I’m so skinny.”

I could have kissed him.

Not only did he relate, but the example he gave was where I feel most at home. We joked for a minute about him helping me with makeup and me helping him with pull ups.

We all feel that way sometimes, like interlopers. Pariahs on the outskirts of the group. But that separation and discomfort is in our heads, not reality. We all have areas where we are more comfortable and we can use those times to reach out to those who appear to be struggling.

I wished him luck on his workouts and exchanged a spirited fist bump before leaving the store. This time, with my head held high.

Related: Say Stress to the Dress

You Up For Something New?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

That was the text that came to my phone at 3:30 this afternoon. Of course, there’s only one appropriate response:

“Sure.”

The text came from a friend of mine that I frequently refer to as my “sprinting buddy.” We first met at the gym a couple of years ago. He was in the early stages of trying to regain his fitness after a knee surgery that ended with a staph infection and landed him in the hospital. When we met, he had been cleared by the physical therapist to lift weights again but his leg was still weak and shaky. I admired his spirit from our first meeting. He wasn’t moaning about the years he lost fighting for his leg. He didn’t complain about the loss of fitness he once had. Instead, he talked about his dream to play tennis again and, even more, to sprint again.

Our casual gym discussion eventually turned into a weekly “leg day” workout. I delighted in coming up with exercises that would challenge him and his strengthening leg. He never complained (only would text me the next day to let me know if his legs were sore or not). Although, I did sense a wary look when I pulled out the Bosu Ball or the kettlebell:)  We did squats and lunges. We balanced and jumped. And his leg grew stronger while we shared giggles over the customs associated with our mutual Norwegian roots.

Throughout that time, he still dreamed of sprinting, something he enjoyed and excelled at in high school when he was on the track team. His first tries that year fell flat. He just wasn’t ready.

At the end of that school year, I switched jobs and gyms. We lost touch for a few months. Then, I got a text asking if I wanted to meet up to run sprints. I was thrilled. We met at a nearby park where I watched as he wrapped his knee in a couple of layers of protective gear and jogged a couple of test laps. The mind was ready to run, but the body still needed convincing.

The look on his face while running that day was amazing as he ran the dream that had kept him going through the ordeal with his knee. The joy was contagious. I found myself pushing myself harder and having more fun than I ever had before while sprinting.

We continue to meet up to run sprints whenever we can. He has since well surpassed me (I think there may be some cheetah mixed in with that Scandinavian blood). Every time we run, it leaves me feeling so refreshed and relaxed, even through the wheezes as I struggle for air.

The parallels between our recoveries these past couple years have been interesting. He was cleared by his physical therapist about the same time I was cleared by my psychiatrist. We were no longer “sick” yet we had quite a ways to go before we were fully operational at the levels we were accustomed to. We both tried to push the healing process along on our own timelines only to be reminded that it wasn’t within our control. And finally, we both came through the other side stronger and more grateful than ever before.

So, what was with the something different? Normally, we run 100 yard sprints. He had worked his way to 200 yarders while I was training and recovering from the marathon (sneaky!). Today was my first stab at them. And, I gotta say, they were pretty awesome.

I love the feeling of running while giving 100%. I love the satisfied exhaustion I feel after sprinting. I love having friends in my life that are an inspiration. But most of all, I love to see people accomplish their goals and delight in the fruition of a dream.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish catching my breath:)