I’m not a particularly spiritual person, but sometimes one has to acknowledge the signs.
Yesterday morning I read a bit of Choose Your Stories, Change Your Life by John Sautelle in preparation for a class starting Wednesday, and I was reminded that the stories we tell ourselves (often based on the stories told to/about us) can shape how we move through the world. If we look deep within ourselves to examine those stories, we can then make choices about their truth and, indeed, change our lives. “Oh right, yes,” I thought. “We talked about that in coaching school. Good stuff.”
A while later I watched Sope Agbelusi‘s video about clients that say “I’m too old to change” and the role of fear in that statement. When we make bold and limiting pronouncements about ourselves, we can remain safe and comfortable behind them. Sope’s video ends with “What areas in your life are you making excuses for now?” I gave it a thumbs up and commented, “If I’m feeling bold later, I *might* consider what I’m making excuses for. Maybe.”
That afternoon, not satisfied with 15 minutes of Yoga Nidra from Insight Timer, I turned on Day 3 of “Build Energetic Boundaries for Healing and Protection” (hey, I’m not spiritual, but I am a bit woo) and was dumbstruck when the cheerfully calm voice in my earbuds instructed me to get out some paper and write down beliefs I carry that don’t serve me. I gave the universe the side eye while grabbing my pen. At first the sentences started stilted and familiar (“Capable people don’t ask for help”) but by the bottom of the page this came out.
I have not lived up to my potential.
I will never live up to my potential.
My body is a lost cause.
I will never be whole again.
Yeeesh! I just wanted another 10 minutes of peace and instead the universe and my subconscious delivered that steaming pile of dear-god-what-do-I-do-with-this?! I cried a little, turned the journal over, and walked away.
Alas, one cannot really walk away from revelations like that, and they’ve been echoing in my head ever since. As a grown up starting a new career in her mid-forties, I am generally delighted by the twists and turns my life has taken, but there is a haughty little 18-year-old inside me who is at the top of her class, running three clubs, and rehearsing a play, and she is certain that I should at least have a Master’s degree and written a book by now. “What have you done with our potential?” she moans. “We’re so far behind!” So I drag my heels on assembling the paperwork on my coaching certification. I decide to update my website next week (no, next week… and so on). I answer queries about business development with a shrug, because why bother? I am never going to live up to that glorious 1995 potential.
Then there are the other two bombshells. Life with Multiple Sclerosis is a delicate balance of hope and reality. Each time I awkwardly lower myself onto the Pilates mat it is with hope in my heart that my moderate exertion will make me stronger. When I zoom out and consider that years of moderate exertions have made no noticeable improvement, that I didn’t make it through even a day last week without needing help getting up off the floor post-fall… well, it’s hard not say fuck Pilates and curl up with a bag of Cheetos and a big glass of “My body is a lost cause.” (And wine, of course.)
I’ll be honest. “I’ll never be whole again” makes me tear up each time I read it, and may be too precious to unpack publicly (even for an open book like me who writes about orgasms and incontinence). Frankly, all of these beliefs hurt some and make me feel a little silly for holding them, but I know I’m better off knowing they’re there. Now I can do the hard work of making choices about them.
I hope you’re happy, universe.