Yoga body

I used to work out because I was angry; losing weight was only half the goal. I was angry with my body for failing me. Angry with it for being so full of emotions that I didn't know how to speak of. Angry with it for not looking like it was supposed to. Angry for its weaknesses, for its constant pain. I had to punish my body for being hungry when it obviously didn't need nutrition.

Push push push. I've been pushing my body past its limits for 6 years - no time to stop when it hurts, no day off. Yes, I greatly improved my scale reading, that magic number that every woman rules her life by. Surely I thought I was doing the best possible thing for my physical self, and my health did improve immensely: no more narcotics, no more antidepressants, no more smoking, and all lab values returned to normal. Yet despite pushing myself harder and harder still, that scale number has fluctuated across the same 10 pound range for 2+ years now: 20 pounds over where I strive to be. But I'm only more hungry. And not just for food.

I've started to understand lately how much more there is to the story of the body. There is a second realm to health: the heart that inhabits the physical. I've rebuilt my health, but broken my spirit in the meantime. I've actually done damage in the ignoring of my body's wisdom. Without truly understanding or acknowledging how desperate I was inside, I found a massage therapist a year ago, who was near speechless as she found adhesion after adhesion, scar tissue after knot after calcification, throughout my body. Without being in pain, I often found (find) myself weeping as I feel my body being released from its tension.

I followed her sessions with a new chiropractor. And acupuncture.

I started using essential oils. I know, I know - hocus pocus. I thought so too. Until I started using them.

I replaced late-day coffee with tea, Benadryl with melatonin and lavender, ibuprofen with epsom salt baths, so I could sleep through the night.

I segued my Pilates DVD into a study of yoga, astounded to discover an equally intense workout, yet with so little pain. My body responds so willingly, if I just slow down and listen. Tree pose often brings me to tears; joy literally floods down my arms and into my heart when I give my full attention to the pose.

I have been fat my whole life, and as such have always avoided any sport or public display of athletic ability. I remember the heart-wrenching things that were said to me throughout my growing up, and I forgive myself my fear. Still, I was terrified when I signed up for an actual yoga class last month. Where would fat Amanda fit in a class full of Barbies? I only knew I had to. My body wanted it. My spirit needed it. And the price through community ed was ridiculously affordable.

So I prayed through my anxiety and went to my first class tonight. I could have cried with relief when I saw women and men, ages 25 to 70, all completely normal looking. I made a new friend, Jane, who laughed with me as we poked at our less-than-flat midsections. And when our instructor (a relaxed, makeup-free woman with wrinkles and folds, just like me) ended our practice with an affirmation about the inherent goodness of the body, of its loyalty to our demands, and honoring our physical-ness and our spirit in every daily activity, I actually did shed a tear.

Angry with my body for not looking like its supposed to? No. It looks exactly like it should, given the abuse I've heaped on it. I was proud of my body's strength tonight, and started to forgive all the imperfections it bears because of my demands. She has served me well.

Joy is making itself known in my body for the first time in 30 years.  It is so welcome.

Now I only hope it is calm enough for me to keep my plans to join the singles ministry at church next week. Pray for me?