be a body

 Our bodies betray us.

We get sick, hurt, ache and tremor. Are our bodies a reflection of our minds or are they an individual entity which can only be helped and pushed in a way that may or may not stand the test of time?

I have always thought of my body as a reflection of my emotional self. I feel strongest mind and body when I'm physically fit. I'm strong in body, I'm strong in mind. I tear into my body in an attempt to break it down and build it back up. I've always been athletic and set tests for myself that were both strenuous and exhausting. I used to fly through the air in cheerleading and gymnastics. I would ask my lungs to expand to great capacity by running until my legs gave out from underneath me. I twist and bend and challenge my limbs to hold me steady and still as I change poses in yoga. But when my body betrays me, my mind usually follows.

There are things that are out of our control. Neck aches that steam from stress, broken bones due to accidents, pins and needles in joints and headaches that pulse to great extremes. I have to trust my body to take me to the place I need to go but what if it cannot?

I work on my body as if it were a machine. Certain parts need replaced or fixed up - dents and nicks worked out of its exterior, a new valve, whatever. The part that is at the center, my engine, my heart always needs the most work. 

For over a year now I've been very quiet when the yoga teacher asks if there are any requests in class. Now I can clearly identify that I need constant attention to my heart. I ask for chest openers. I trust that my body will hold me, I question my heart. Because when my heart fails me, my body follows. Just as an engine fails, the rest of the machine cannot complete it's task. I'm understanding that working on my exterior is actually making my interior stronger.

hero

 

When I was young my dad used to pull splinters out of my hands and feet. I don't know where I used to play where this was a common occurrence but I remember him putting my hand under a big magnifying glass in the garage and using a needle. He was unnaturally gentle and being the wimp I am, it takes a ton of trust especially when I'm hurt, to allow anyone to touch me. Quick and painless, the splinter gone and there was instant relief. His reassurance of fixing up his daughter was easy for me to read, it spread across his face. I learned dad liked being the hero.

I know all this modern woman stuff is telling us all to buck up! who needs a man when you have a college education, smart phone and good pair of shoes. Me. I'm the one shyly raising my hand. I'm not tall enough to reach the top shelf and strong enough to hang that 50 lb. mirror that I bought last spring. The truth is I miss that feeling I used to get where dad would get the splinter. When his pride and happiness from helping me filled me up with love. I could have gotten it eventually but seeing him help me was so much more rewarding. That hero moment- it's not just little girls and disney stories - I truly feel guys like it too.

Because let's be honest, when you help someone else, their appreciation and gratitude fills you up and you feel just as good. You can tell me to ask for the help of a girlfriend but it's not the same benefit. Sometimes whether it's opening a jar or pulling out splinters, a part of me wants that hero-like outcome. I'm not "modern woman" enough to say it.