Be Still

Just Be

When I was in Renfrew, I developed a love/hate relationship with yoga. Though I always incorporated it in my workout routine, yoga was never the main focus. It was always just a warm up, something to do to get my body ready for the real stuff. Being that over exercising was a huge symptom of mine, I was placed on exercise restriction the entire time I was in treatment-- and it annoyed the hell out of me. I was eventually allowed to participate in yoga, which I was very sore about. What was I supposed to do in yoga? Stretch and balance and then...? It was pointless to me to do what I considered to be warm up exercises if I wasn't going to transition into a very vigorous workout. What a waste of time. I did decide to go one day and I hated it. It was torture. It was like giving me a taste of something I was craving and then snatching it away. We did stretch after stretch after stretch, never once going into intense calorie burning exercises. It was awful and frustrating from beginning to end.

In the Day Program, one of our weekly groups was a movement therapy. And that was quite enjoyable. I had an eye opening experience in one of the sessions; I could experience my body and move it without forcing it through some grueling workout. I didn't always have to be so harsh. It was amazing and refreshing. Since I've been out of treatment, I recently decided to engage in yoga again at a local YMCA and let me tell you, balancing on one foot and going into and holding Warrior poses is not always easy (or fun). Yoga really does require a lot of strength and control/discipline. But I remember how great I felt to just let my body be in Renfrew and I wanted to feel that again. I wanted to experience my body through rest. I've spent way too long experiencing my body and mind through pain and hurt and anguish. Now it's time for me to just be.

But, um, I don't know how to do that.

So I've started counseling again at my church with an amazingly wise and down to earth woman. She gets me so well and knows so much that I wonder why she doesn't have her own practice. I love her. Last year she asked me to meditate on the scripture of "Be still and know that I am God." But everything felt too loud and overwhelming for me to do so. So I didn't, I couldn't. I was explaining this to her on my most recent session with her. I told her how I used to be able to sit so comfortably with God in mental silence when I was younger (which may have to do with the fact that I was highly symptomatic and could distract) but now I can't do it. I can pray for others and around others and I can lead worship and even sing when it's just me and God. But allowing myself to just be in His presence... that I can't do anymore. There is too much noise, internally. Things are too loud when I try to be quiet and I can't stand it. It's as if I am talking on a cell phone to a friend but all I can hear is obnoxiously loud static. Eventually, I'm going to hang up. All of this sounds really awful, but this is real.

Beth, the aforementioned great counselor, asked me what the noise was. I told her that I didn't think I could put it into words. She encouraged me to journal about it and put a name to it, to explain what it is. She said that it was controlling me. Truthfully, I have yet to do that. It's not only loud but it's aggressive and wild. It's a monster locked up in a cage with sharp fangs and long twisted claws. It reaches for me but as long as I keep my distance, it can't ensnare me with its cruelty. It can't stab me in the back and drag me into its lair of misery. As long as I can remain as distracted as possible, I can block it out. And this is what we've been working on in counseling. The noise.

I usually try to end with an encouraging statement but I'm going to try something different.

What are ways in which you find yourself distracting from the noise and are you aware of the reason/s behind the behavior/s?  Many times, the first step to change is recognizing we need to.