So I’m back to square one. Again. Don’t ask me how I got here : I can’t never really tell. It’s often slow, bit by bit, bite by bite, that I end up losing weight.
This time I stepped out of my comfort zone, and went on a wild ride in home sweet home CA, then again out of my regular routine for another three weeks by the sea. On these adventures I learned to let go, to trust, to try a new way of living.
Or perhaps it’s just the heartbreak. It runs in the family, losing appetite when we are sad.
Or maybe, maybe, it was meant to be all along. As I’ve learned to sit still more and more, harnessing my anxiety to show her that there was really nothing to be afraid of, as I’ve dropped the HIIT and embraced the slow pace of self-discovery through calming motions, I’ve let go of more than the agitated state of mind that usually charaterizes my personality. Some weight came off too as I was shedding my old skin, morphing into (I hope) a more loving, compassionate being.
That’s okay, but not okay. I’m a lightful soul yes, having a human experience (duh). The human experience part is very important. It means I need some anchor into the physical realm. A strong, powerful foundation, a safe place for Spirit within me.
It’s not the first time it’s happening. I always have to be careful about my soul wanting to fly out of my body, liberating herself from the home too soon. I have to remind her that it’s not time yet, that there is more to come. Even if she’s sad, even if she doesn’t feel like it.
I’ve been through this process so many times now, losing then gaining pounds back, I got used to it. I know the way. Over the years, the way has become the home. It’s not so frightful anymore, because I know that what’s waiting for me at the end of the road is even more delicious than the path to get there.
I guess some people completely recover and go on to live their life. My path is not so linear. Whenever my heart is feeling alone, it shows in my body. I’m accepting that I will probably always have this fragility. And I mean it the way I wrote it : not weakness, fragility. I’ve learned to accept this anxious part of me as one that shows up in times of incertainty, whenever my soul is moving towards expansion through darkness.
No big deal. I simply get back on track, back into treatment mode. I call my support team, I boost my meals (hello, longtime friend ice cream) and watch carefully my exercise. The goal is always the same : gain the weight back, deal with your anxiety, feel your emotions.
Except this time, I’m trying something new.
From the outside, not much has changed. You might believe that again, I’m back to square one. But every time I revisit this place, I’m a different person. I’ve learned and grown, and I come in with more strength, more peace and more faith.
This time, the treatment will be different, because the disease is offbeat. I’m not even sure it’s Ed. Does sadness look like Ed? Usually, he’s more frantic.
The way it feels is not the same, and the outcome I’m reaching out to is not either. This time, I’m pursuing freedom, happiness and joy. I want my life to be full, and it starts with bringing more pleasure whenever I can. My heart is not into eating so much these days, she had a rough pass, and I need her on my side. Therefore I’m letting go of the rigid structure I usually get back into when I think about treatment, and simply eat more of the foods I feel like having.
With care and love, because I’m going through the process with a solid foundation: the strong belief that I’m worth it, that I deserve a beautiful life, that life can be sweet, that I can be sweet with myself.
This is big, my friends. Usually, I try to control everything on my way up, know what’s going on at every step, still fully in charge. I’m surrendering, choosing instead to go one meal at a time, trusting my intuition to guide me towards what I need (I’m not craving cucumbers, don’t worry), having faith that I’ll know when I’ll get there, without needing to measure or weigh anything, including myself.
If it doesn’t work that way, then so be it. It’s part of my human experience, and I’d rather fail trying to grow and free myself than not try at all. Acknowledge the lessons, and keep on walking towards the small but persistent warm light guiding you on. It’s not a battle, neither a struggle. You can’t fight fire with fire. It’s a slow, steady, walk towards home. It’s my journey through recovery.