ELABORATING THROUGH SMALL BODY ACTIONS

Weight loss has been my nemesis.   Since I was 20, when I gained a fair amount of weight after a heart-breaking break-up, I have lost and gained countless pounds.  Erma Bombeck once said, “In two decades I've lost a total of 789 pounds. I should be hanging from a charm bracelet.”  I am afraid I have one up on Erma.  It seems like my life has always focused on what diet plan I was on.   Or what food was feeding me.  Or the numbers on the scale.  And as the years have progressed, my physical nature has seemed less available to me.
 

Or maybe I was less available to it.  Since that initial weight gain, I have married, divorced, raised two wonderful children, gotten several degrees, continue to have a fulfilling career, built countless friends in my Rochester home and in my childhood home of Cincinnati.  And I have not lost weight.  I have tried multitudes of weight loss plans and gimmicks, have joined a gym and have had weight loss surgery, to still have not lost the weight. 

Two years ago my daughter of 24 and I were doing Weight Watchers.  In the middle of this challenge, she began to do yoga.  Numerous months later, we were sitting in my living room drinking tea and she told me, “Mom, since I have begun yoga, I have found myself wanting to nourish and cherish my body.”  She talked about her being a vessel for her to live her life.  I was mesmerized by her message.  Yet, it was, at that time, not a message available to me.

That has changed.  This January I did something radical.  I threw away my scale.  I made a commitment to do yoga two times a week.   And I decided, with much grace that allowed, that what I would put in my mouth would nourish my body and my spirit.  I have trudged into my yoga classes, doing what I thought was impossible (and maybe if someone would watch me, they might think it still is impossible).  I put myself in Child’s Pose, Happy Baby and Downward Facing Dog.  I am in Warrior 1 and Two as well as what seems to be 3, 4 and 5.  I make adjustments as my body yells at me that I can’t go into a certain pose.  And three things have begun to happen.  

I find myself noticing my body.  As my instructor says, “Move your ankle slightly to the left so that you can feel the stretch in your upper calf,” I do the adjustment and feel the stretch.  My physical nature is being noticed by me.

I can do more with my body than I could do during my first January class.  During the first day in class, I left quite discouraged.  I could do much less than everyone else in the class.  My instructor talked about the yoga practice being one’s own practice.  “The practice of yoga is to listen to one’s body and honor what your body can do.  It is not a time to compare what can be done by others.”  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  The other students could do a vinyasa and  plank and I was stuck in Child’s Pose, recovering from vertigo and acutely aware that I was balance challenged.  

Yet, I came back after that first class.  As I struggle to get in Pigeon Pose and fall out of Warrior 3, as we go into Tree and I use the wall for balance, I let go and readjust to do what my body is allowing me to do.  And today, two-and-a-half months later, I can do more.  Within those small body actions, my physical nature is stronger.  I have begun to choose my yoga practice.  My practice is not what everyone else around me’s practice is.  It is my practice—stretching myself to my limit and listening to my limitations.  In this yogi space, competition stops and embarrassment or shame doesn’t exist. 
  

Finally, I find myself wanting to nourish and cherish my body.   I was cleaning out the nursing home of a beloved aunt who had passed away after a lingering illness.  The day and my heart felt heavy.  On the way home I wanted a diet coke, hamburger and fries.  I was on the way to the fast food restaurant, knowing that the food would nourish a need that I had at the moment.  Then I found myself asking, “What will actually nourish me?”  I chose a fruit shake made fresh from my yoga studio instead and found satisfaction in a choice that nourished more of me than an emotional need.

In writing classes I teach students  ways to elaborate—one of which is taking small body actions to enhance a narrative.  I have thrown out the scale.  I see the doctor in June and will then find out what the number is.  In the meantime, I am taking those small-body actions to enhance my narrative.