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| photo creds go to my v. fancy self-timed iPhone |
In the last few days, I've had a surprising number of conversations about bodies and body image. My own mental narrative about my body has sucked lately. I've been practicing yoga (virtually) with a couple of my friends for almost twenty days now, and most days I still feel just as weak as I was before. Seemingly, I am no stronger or more toned on Day 19 than I was on Day 1 - just as shaky, but more sore. Yesterday evening, halfway through my practice, I thought about giving up. I was so frustrated by my body.
"Why can't you just be good at this?" I stormed internally. "You are so bad at yoga and you have a bad body and you do everything wrong and you look awful and I hate you."Let's set aside the fact that I should never speak to anyone that way, least of all my body, and the PMS hormones that were writing this script for me. I really, really wanted to quit. My muscles (still sore from a day on the water this weekend) cramped up. My hips were insanely tight. My upper arms shook as I "rested" in downward-facing dog while tears pricked my eyes. It was still so hard for me, even though it was a "fun" practice and I'd taken any modification I could get my hands on. I was completely over it, on the verge of quitting, mid-practice. Already behind in the challenge after taking a rest-period over the weekend, I would just fall farther behind if I quit now. But that's what I am, I thought. A quitter. If I wasn't a loser with a loser body, then this would be easy for me and I would show up to the mat every day wanting to work out, and I'd have a good body and I wouldn't be here, like this. A bad girl with a bad body who's bad at everything.
Bad.
Loser.
Ugly.
Every time.
Never.
Always.
Harsh and drastic words; in the moment, I meant every one on them.
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