”I signed up for a ‘Woo-Woo’ retreat!” After reading my text message, my friend responded immediately, “Tell me more!”
It had been a long time since I’ve attended a guided retreat – the title and the description piqued my interest, and I took a leap of faith – joining a group of strangers in a remote area, knowing next to nothing about the group organizing the retreat.
Encouraged to bring an item symbolizing my story for a community altar, I planned to bring a shoelace. That evening, I realized that I only had one pair of shoes with me, and the shoelace was indispensable. As we sat in a hut, I improvised and pulled out an insole and laid it on the altar. To a group who only knew me by my first name, I spoke out loud, “I have committed to ‘running to’ rather than ‘running from.’”
And later, in a more intimate setting, I offered more details:
Therapy and a TIA brought me to early stages of a reckoning in 2018 – Who am I, and What do I want out of life?
Biz had only ever wanted to be a mom. Her desire to be a mom was formed primarily by her desire to offer the love that she herself had felt was lacking. She succeeded – but her grown children stumbled haltingly towards adult-ing, partially due to her faults, her foibles, and her failings.
Liz had only ever wanted to survive. Her desire to live was formed primarily by angry defiance. She succeeded – but in her most desperate moments, she never knew why she tried.
Beth had only ever wanted to please a god she learned about in an evangelical church. Her desire to please was formed primarily by deep-seated habits of obedience. She succeeded – but then logic and an intense relationship brought difficult questions, followed by unsatisfactory answers that she rarely dared speak aloud.
Eight months after my TIA, I signed up for a belly-dancing class. Belly-dancing is both delightfully fun, and my body-consciousness prevents the coordination necessary to pull off the core moves.
Nine months after my TIA, I signed up for a running class, and I found IT: the missing coordination, paired with uncontainable joy.
Ten months after my TIA, I walked into a swing dance class alone – each class session, my significant other declined to join me. I danced with strangers, using my newly found body confidence to relax into rhythm and music in a way I had never experienced before. In my sadness over attending classes solo, the cracks begin to show. I see the leaves dying on the tree, but I cannot yet accept them.
The Wheel of Time turns and I continue to run the path three miles to “my” lake. As the seasons change, I sometimes wonder what it would be like to keep on running.
The Covid-19 pandemic hits, and the cracks become a rift. More leaves dying, and still I cannot name them. Until…
Until when? When did I finally find the courage to welcome the juxtaposition of my vibrant heart beating while death surrounded me?
When did I stop running from and begin running towards? Towards self-respect, self-esteem, self-care? Towards the intuitive answers that have always resided inside of my body, my heart, my spirit?
Clearing out possessions that no longer bring me joy, I ponder that vibrant heart amongst the browned leaves. A gentle breeze rises up in my soul, and I let go. Although I am unable to forget, I find that I have forgiven: my future does not include her, and I truly wish her the best.
The Wheel of Time turns. Autumn’s temporary death creates space for Winter’s blanket of rest. Spring eventually brings forth eager new life, which ultimately settles into Summer’s lazy cadence before a new Autumn returns.
The Story-Teller and Meaning Giver gently points out that it doesn’t really matter when it happens. It matters that it happens. “What would you name this part of your story?” she asks.
My soul soars. Fully free. Fully me. I celebrate my newfound freedom, and I know her name: Libby.
Biz Has a Blog! 