Dear Tia,
I’m stuck. During the past three years I was rocked hard by a series of small, but big to me, traumas. Mostly they were physical and related to pregnancy and postpartum experiences.
I appear to be a normal, functioning, kind, pulled together person, and I am. But I have experienced incredible lows, and such rage that I’ve been unable to feel any of the ups. There have been many positives lately—professional success, the birth of my healthy daughter, a new home.
My grief is around what has happened to my body. I’m not talking about the extra 15 pounds, yes there’s that, but it’s the sickness and damage to my pelvic floor and thyroid imbalance that has rocked me. I know it’s all here to give me a gift, I do believe that. I trust that this is my chance to evolve. Yet, I’ve been so pissed about it that I’ve done everything in my power to stall my own healing… until just recently.
I know I’m not dying, and so part of me feels unworthy even mentioning these issues. I have a long complicated history with my body, one I rarely share, which is weird because I’m usually pretty open with personal information. I’m ready for change.
I’m tired. I’m so tired—of talking about this, of living it, of even writing about it here. I don’t want it to be the narrative my daughter hears. I want it to be an old story, not a present one. Sometimes I worry that my brain has been wired to my grief with all this, like a certain souring has happened and I can’t undo it, ever. I feel I need to actively unwire this, and remind my brain of how to look for and expect goodness.
Part of me died during this time. Don’t worry, I’ve had professional help, and now I can sense a new opening. I can feel old core beliefs about myself and my body falling away. I’m scared. I don’t know if I can birth this new person, this new me. I have many tools to do so and great support, but I’m scared of how those around me will react. I think that they’ll make some innocent comment about how I’m “looking better” and I will interpret that as “I looked bad before” and so I’ll want to fuck the system and rebel and sink back into self-sabotaging behavior just to prove to anyone out there that they better love me as I am. I refuse to make myself into something they deem more lovable.
This shit runs deep, obviously. I’m tired of my rebel. I don’t think I need her anymore. But she’s comfortable to me. How do I let go of her? How do I tell her that she can cool down, that I don’t need her anymore? How can I become a new, healthy, vibrant version of myself and STAY that way, without needing the security of being damaged? Part of me doesn’t believe it’s possible. Part of me feels like this is just how I have to be for the rest of my life. I wonder if I will ever be full of life, energy and physical vitality. I'm only 35. This all wears me down, every day.
Thank you for any ideas,
Self-Sabotuer
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Dear Self-Saboteur:
I’ve read your letter many times, and I get a powerful hit of three things:
Grief
Gratitude
Resistance
The grief is around the truth that after childbirth, you will never be the same. You'll never experience your pelvic floor the way it was, you'll rarely get the sleep your thyroid needs to thrive, and you'll always be a mother, not just and simply an individual wild roaming woman.
You know that as a mother you have been called to be and do and show up and organize yourself in new ways. It’s phenomenal that a little screaming creature can catapult us into growth that would otherwise not happen. We grow because of our kids in ways we wouldn’t if it was just us. Allow your child to call forth your fierceness, and then ride that wave as far as it will take you.
The Gratitude you spoke of rises from your success; at birthing, at writing, at being present for others. Gratitude is the magic potion that fires up your prefrontal cortex, where creativity and love and connection and problem solving can happen. Stay grateful, and you will continue functioning in flow.
And the Resistance? Well, that’s where the interesting juice is. Resistance is energy we toss around to block growth. It most often arises from fear. There are countless kinds of resistance: avoidance, denial, addiction, etc. The resistance you are speaking of is self-sabotage. You actually named it already, I’m simply reiterating.
The great thing about resistance is that once you become aware of it, it can’t have such a powerful hold on you. It can’t churn like an unconscious and sinister undercurrent because you’ve exposed it to the light. With your letter, you exposed it big time. Now this unconscious force must operate in the spotlight, and that’s much much more difficult. In fact, it’s practically impossible.
What I’m suggesting is that writing your letter was enough to begin turning the tide on self- denial, self-sabotage and old paradigms that have snagged you up in their force field.
You introduce the edges of your disordered comfort zone when you write “the security of being damaged”. How beautiful that you can see that hiding place, and how lucky that you’ve had this coping tool when you’ve most needed it.
However, with new developments in your life, your damaged security blanket has now become your prison; a self-imposed box constructed with overused, outdated ways of defining yourself.
Have you ever heard of Jeff Foster? He’s a young-and-wise-beyond-his-years teacher who has an incredible ability to boil an idea down to it’s concentrated form, and offer it up in poetry. Here’s something he wrote that made me think of you and your epic struggle to stop identifying with your wounded self:
THE FEROCITY OF LIFE
A thought popping out of nowhere.
A physical sensation, an explosion in the vastness of space.
Everything is alive here, and everything is included.
A wave of grief. The sudden, unexpected upsurge of anger.
The most delicate sense of vulnerability greeting you as you wake.
All are friends, here. All are old friends.
It is ferocious, relentless, wild. Life, life, life!
Everywhere you look and everywhere you don't.
Yet so gentle, so tender, intimate. Never any distance.
It is a place where there is strength in surrender,
and softness is a virtue.
And in your brokenness lies your ability to love.
And in your doubt lies great certitude.
And though everything is falling apart, everything is solid.
And you are so alive, on this day.
- Jeff Foster
He talks about a ferocious life. I love that word ferocious. In your letter you have the seeds of just this ferocity. For example, when you say:
“I don’t want it to be the narrative my daughter hears”
“How can I tell her (your rebel) she can cool down, that I don’t need her anymore”
“I can feel the old core beliefs about self and body falling away”
“It is here to give me a gift, it is my chance to evolve”
You know all these things, intellectually. Your body is wanting to also live this truth, and it will in time. The way to support the shift toward body/mind congruency is with kindness. To yourself. To yourself. To yourself.
How are you kind to yourself?
A practice is something one does to slowly build skillfulness. It is long term, and any shift that happens builds over time. What is your practice of kindness to yourself? If you don’t have one, get one. This practice isn’t your work, or your fitness routine, or playtime with your child or partner. This is all you, receiving kindness, directly from yourself. This is how you heal. When you are able to be with yourself in kindness, even for a moment, you open to others helping you heal as well.
You said you want to "birth a new vibrant version of yourself and stay that way, letting your rebel die."
I encourage you to let go of this particular narrative. Your rebel is a useful, important and fabulous part of you, and you’re going to need her. Shift the goal. Befriend rebel girl. Be with her in a new way. Love her for her spirit. And, invite her to occasionally step aside and sit quietly, because there are more characters now and she can’t be front and center every minute.
This is also a kindness, to welcome all parts of yourself, and to change your relationship with some parts so they can live on and contribute to your amazing life in ways that you can feel.
In your new narrative, nobody dies. You get to love all parts of yourself, especially the wounded parts, especially the hard-won experienced parts. They all get to contribute.
And you get to experience your life from an integrated place, and show your daughter all the parts of you, so she knows to honor all her ways of being.
Welcome to the journey of motherhood, Self Saboteur. You--all of you--will be brilliant.
In Kindness,
Tia
