I woke up this morning overcome with anxiety. It was awful, a feeling I haven't felt in weeks. Needless to say, I skipped my class and even crapped out on a consult. That didn't make the anxiety any better, but I finally allowed myself to let it go, knowing that today needed to be spent for myself.
A quick self-inventory revealed what should have been painfully obvious: I haven't stopped moving since before I went to New York. That was 15 days ago. New York was non-stop go (and very little sleep to boot), and upon my return my life has consisted of catching up. There was work, plus my doula mama had her baby, and I've been spending time at Occupy Greensboro cooking and helping out in whatever way I can. Everything that has kept me strong over the past few months - good food, down time, yoga - has taken a backseat.
Not that I'm complaining. All of the aforementioned "stuff" that has kept me in a constant state of motion has been wonderful. I am truly happy these days. But I need to remember to take the time to sit with these experiences whenever possible, even only for just an evening.
It's kind of like running or any sort of cardio workout for that matter. The real pain comes when you stop. If you don't stop at your body's first cue to do so - out of fear or just the inability to sit still - you're just delaying the inevitable. But the pain will be worse.
Let me back up a bit. First off, I have come to realize that I have fallen out of love. This isn't any big new breaking thing; like these things tend to go, it has been in process for probably weeks now. But only in the past week or two have I realized what it was: falling out of love.
Since coming to this realization was so liberating, my take on it has been almost completely celebratory. Drinks with girlfriends, etc. Charlie signed a lease on Friday, and that in and of itself made me want to celebrate. Things are moving forward, and I no longer feel that they're going in the wrong direction.
Of course, none of this is 100% good. Had I taken the time to scratch the surface of what has happened, I would have realized the intense pain that also comes with falling out of love. And so, with the good feelings and celebrations behind me, I allowed myself to feel the other side. Obviously, it wasn't nearly as pretty.
There were warnings... last night, I went to a fun Halloween vinyasa practice that was as irreverent as it was challenging. Lots of prana, lots of ujjayi, lots of crude jokes and laughter. Sitting with that practice in savasana, I realized I was crying. Or not. My eyes were watering, a lot. I wasn't sobbing or weeping or anything like that, but there were definitely many tears streaming out of my eyes. It felt very therapeutic, and I left with a renewed sense of clarity. My biggest mistake was that I didn't sit with it longer, and as a result woke up this morning with a slight hangover and a lot of anxiety.
The whole experience was buffered by the fact that the person I'm falling out of love with is a lovely person, and when I called he was ready and willing to talk me through it. He'd been through the exact same process only several months ago, after all. We talked for a while, and it made me realize how lucky I am to have such a great person to go through this with. As I've said, none of this is malicious. There's very little resentment, and only the occasional screaming match (which is to be expected).
These ups and downs are to be expected, but I know I can ease the anxiety factor by allowing myself to sit with things more frequently. Major life changes are usually wonderful and scary all at once, and I know I can do better for myself by simply letting things sink in before moving on to the next big thing, even for only five breaths.
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