For Christmas, I got a Fitbit. I was ecstatic.
True to my Virgoan nature, I love numbers, spreadsheets, logic. This equals that; if this, then that. Calories in, calories out, scale goes down, and all is well in the world.
True to my Witch-Priestess-Divine Alchemist nature, I returned my Fitbit as soon as stores opened the day after the holiday.
I have a history of disordered eating and compulsive over-exercising. I crave control over my body, and if it doesn’t do what I want, I have been mercilessly punishing. My capacity for cruelty toward myself has staggered me in hindsight.
This type of behavior is an addiction to me. Counting calories, tracking activity, and the inevitable feeling of crushing defeat when I am not losing weight. Because that’s what becomes the goal to me if I let it: Losing weight, regardless of how much I’ve lost or if I need to or what else infinitely more interesting is happening in the Universe.
This is not to say that this type of behavior is BAD. Do what is empowering and encourages you to live more fully in every moment! For me, this is like booze to an alcoholic: Booze is not bad. For the addict, it is not in alignment.
I cannot engage, because I know this is how I lose My Self.
The Self that luxuriates in her body and the bodies of others.
The Self that loves to move and be strong and breathless because it feels fucking vital and alive and amazing.
The Self that has an enormous capacity to give and receive pleasure and exquisite presence because She’s not worried about what she ate today.
The Self with subversive thick, strong thighs and a soft belly, despite enormous efforts to diminish them. (Diminish nothing about Her, ever.)
I have worked so hard to come back to that Self, and I cannot let Her go.
My work right now is not to be hard–I’m really, really good at that already.
My work right now is trust of the process, rest, surrender, nourishment, and softness.
To the sweetness of surrender, loves.