Sometimes it has to hurt to feel better. A simple concept at first glance becomes a lesson I learn anew each year in a different way. Sometimes you have to dig deep and what you find may not be sunshine and kittens. Old habits must be broken before new ones can be implemented. Scar tissue must be broken up and flushed out for muscle tissue to reclaim its space. The ashes of past often fall to our feet as we walk into the future.
I, like many in this day and age, was not taught to take time for myself. Preventative care wasn't even on my radar. I understood basic concepts like eat well and exercise, but the actual becoming process of health alluded me until pain and illness had already knocked down all my walls. I see this too with many of my clients. Often, people don't seek help until their pain is unbearable or has started to inhibit daily activities. Whether they don't want to be a bother or don't want to be seen as weak, people often belittle themselves for the sake of “getting things done.” If we don't make space for ourselves sacred, our days are easily filled. We forget and push through.
As we trudge on, our bodies fill with this rubble: emotional knots we bury deep, lactic acid and cellular detritus that builds up in our muscles, cycles that settle into our nerves shooting pain themselves in perpetuity. We expect more of ourselves than we would the most powerful machine. From cars to phones to kitchen appliances, we expect a certain amount of upkeep and maintenance to be a part of the deal. We buy them cases and oil changes. If we don't protect them, they burn out. Yet, this concept seems almost foreign when applied to the extraordinary organic machines we use everyday.
It's okay. We're not broken and we can learn to live again. We can learn to live better. We can be better to ourselves. Healthy eating and living movements are gaining momentum, but one area in which I feel they are utterly lacking is addressing what has come before. It is hard to build anew if we do not clear the rubble first. We must truly confront who and where we are if we want to move forward. Sometimes that can really hurt. Still, we've had a lot of practice at working through the pain and I think we can do it.
I, like many in this day and age, was not taught to take time for myself. Preventative care wasn't even on my radar. I understood basic concepts like eat well and exercise, but the actual becoming process of health alluded me until pain and illness had already knocked down all my walls. I see this too with many of my clients. Often, people don't seek help until their pain is unbearable or has started to inhibit daily activities. Whether they don't want to be a bother or don't want to be seen as weak, people often belittle themselves for the sake of “getting things done.” If we don't make space for ourselves sacred, our days are easily filled. We forget and push through.
As we trudge on, our bodies fill with this rubble: emotional knots we bury deep, lactic acid and cellular detritus that builds up in our muscles, cycles that settle into our nerves shooting pain themselves in perpetuity. We expect more of ourselves than we would the most powerful machine. From cars to phones to kitchen appliances, we expect a certain amount of upkeep and maintenance to be a part of the deal. We buy them cases and oil changes. If we don't protect them, they burn out. Yet, this concept seems almost foreign when applied to the extraordinary organic machines we use everyday.
It's okay. We're not broken and we can learn to live again. We can learn to live better. We can be better to ourselves. Healthy eating and living movements are gaining momentum, but one area in which I feel they are utterly lacking is addressing what has come before. It is hard to build anew if we do not clear the rubble first. We must truly confront who and where we are if we want to move forward. Sometimes that can really hurt. Still, we've had a lot of practice at working through the pain and I think we can do it.