The Exercise, Part 1

I've been waiting to post this for a while and by a while I mean since December of 2013. That was when I began to pull at the delicate strings of why I had stopped exercising 6 months prior. Where had time gone? And now, it's been over a year since I first wrote my way into it. By sharing where I was, it allows me to see where I am and to move forward. It is interesting to note, I don't have a real resolution as to why I stopped exercising, at least not one I can articulate. Though before more time passes, I'm honoring my intuition to share this post (and it isn't just to clear out my blogging draft folder), so here it goes. 

December 2013

At first I thought, "I'm too embarrassed to admit that I haven't exercised since July." And that feeling is real, though it only brushes against what is really there. Then I thought, "I'm afraid of what others will think of me when I share this." And yes, that goes to a place too. And then I asked what was behind that, because those weren't at the heart of the matter. And even writing this now, I'm not sure I understand it yet either.  
I've taken time, nearly half a year, before I could even write about this. Trying to uncover what is underneath my pause in exercising. My own fears of acceptance and love touch on the delicate outlines, my feelings of worthiness are there too. And as I write, it's me looking to honor the space within. 

Act of Courage

A willingness to explore what is sticky, to see the places I've paused and to look beyond the excuses. To share what is on the heart and in the head. This act of writing has become a compassionate companion, rather than a fearful foe. But even this post was harboring a fugitive. And for those of you that understand the depth of my journey, you see that this is a doorway into my soul. Sharing what is, what has been and what I hope for, places me in this vulnerable space. And often, it isn't until all parts of my being, are at the very least willing, that space and time lead towards sharing.

Sometimes I am not ready to acknowledge the door, let alone open it. I realize my truest concern underneath what others may think, is what I think and feel about myself. And in writing this, I acknowledge that I have felt unworthy of healing this piece, so I haven't blogged about it. And when I find myself trying to "fix it" the best course of action is to pause. To allow for me to become more loving with myself. For me to make the choice for this process to be less painful. 

So I begin here, where I am at, not knowing where it will go. Allowing this piece of me - this door into my soul - to be opened with love to let light in.

July 2013 - The Last Day I Exercised

I remember this day as if it were yesterday, though really the calendar proves that it was much longer than that. Armed with time off from work and a determination to find clarity, I eagerly approached my upcoming road trip to reconnect with several friends. I brought along my Yoga Booty Ballet DVD's and yoga mat, ensuring that I'd find time to do this exercise that I loved. It was my go-to exercise, combing yoga core strengh, cardio dance moves and ballet beauty.

The first morning of the trip I woke up and could feel the longing for my body to stretch. In the basement of a college friend’s house I practiced Yoga Booty Ballet, Latin Flavor and that was the last time I’d worked out with Yoga Booty Ballet. A door was placed infront of body movement and I stopped, I just stopped doing it.

6 Months Later

One day became two and two days became three, until now I sit here 6 months later. How had I started making excuses that I was "too busy" to make time for a 30-45 minute workout? What was stopping me from body movement?

In some attempt to keep moving, I tried to find a replacement. I attended a yoga class once a week for a few months. There were several reasons I liked this class. It opened a doorway for me to feel comfortable to physically move my body in front of others. The instructor was warm and inviting. The group size was small and I felt safe. 

It even offered some relief. When I started moving, parts of myself and my body longed to be held in the breath and so I’d stay there for a moment or two. And when my left leg crossed over my body, I breathed into the space and tears rolled down my cheek. I didn't want to be “that gal” and so I stifled them in. When we turned onto our stomachs the instructor asked if I was doing ok. I responded “I'm fine physically, it's just my emotions.” She smiled lovingly and said, “It’s alright if you cry here.”

So I was doing a form of exercise, though I could tell my body needed more and I didn't want to see that then. I also was avoiding the real reason why I wasn't moving. It wasn't that I needed a new form of exercise, rather, something else needed to be acknowledged, a door opened and I just didn't want to.

Was exercise something I was afraid of? Or was it that I knew what rested behind the door and I chose to let it stop me? And in time, will I find out what to do with that? I hope some day, when the time is right, I will.

With Love, Jan