On navigating things ungracefully

and why it's OK to give yourself a break

Hi everyone! Sorry for the repost — I was trying to figure out how to remove the paywall and deleted this original post. So here it is again.

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When yoga and meditation became a serious endeavor for me, I remember unconsciously (sometimes consciously) thinking that this time-tested system would help me figure life out. I didn’t exactly aspire to be enlightened, but I thought that with deep, faithful study, I would just know how to handle any challenge that arose. I would be graceful, self-assured, and equanimous, just like I imagined my yoga teachers were.

I felt similarly when I started my journey with a good therapist. She seemed so clear-minded and unflappable. She exuded confidence and seemed to have all the answers.

My aspirations to move through life more gracefully came from years of feeling so phenomenally out of sync with the world. (I can see now that I’m neurodivergent and that was likely the cause of a lot of childhood angst; but that’s not the topic for today!) From my earliest memories, I felt constantly swamped by my feelings. I was labelled “too sensitive” and “shy” as though these were things to be ashamed of. I believed that I was totally ungraceful when it came to break-ups, job interviews, long-term friendships. I was messy and I didn’t like it.

Looking back, I can see that I was, indeed, ashamed of who I was. I felt weak when I wanted to be strong. I felt dramatic when I wanted to be practical. It was patently obvious to me that others my age were more confident and self-assured and that my inner narrative about myself was not doing me any favors. I had a lot of work to do and when I found systems that made sense to me, I wanted to do that work.

This is not all bad — yoga and therapy did help me find myself. Doing work in both of these systems profoundly changed the way I relate to myself and the world. But beneath it, I also hoped that eventually I could access allll the answers to life.

Alas, yoga and therapy haven’t made me superhuman as I’d hoped. The past few months have included a health scare, so this reminder has been shoved in my face.

Sidenote: I’m sharing this story with you for a few reasons: First, I’ve been absent and have been massively overthinking my first post back, to the point where I’ve had writer’s block! I think I have to tell this story in order to land back here with you.

Second, because I want you to know that there are no yoga teachers or therapists out there who completely transcend suffering. And while I don’t think my early teachers intended to sell me a bill of goods, there is an aspirational quality to yoga that, to put it plainly, drives me bonkers as I get older. Why? Because it’s bullshit. Because we’re human and if we happen to suffer or even create suffering for ourselves, it doesn’t mean we’ve failed. It just means that we’re human.

Starting about a year ago, I had a health scare. I was told that the finding would likely resolve within a few months, so I should return for testing. I did so in April.

Thennn…on May 1st (which just happens to be MY BIRTHDAY), I got a call from my primary care doc. He sounded tense, he asked me a bunch of questions about my breast cancer history, and said the word leukemia about four times in the span of a five-minute conversation. Suffice it to say, I did not properly celebrate my birthday this year.

I had to go to a hematologist for deeper testing. I was fortunate to find a compassionate, reassuring hematologist, but the additional tests would take 3 weeks to get back.

This is the part of the story where the twenty-something me who was embarking on her internal quest of spiritual perfection would picture current me sailing through these three weeks of waiting for a life-altering test result equanimously, perhaps levitating above my cushion or doing a daily pranayama practice that would sustain me for 24-hours at a time.

Nope, nope, nope. Not so. I did have certain tools I leaned into — I exercised really vigorously each morning and it helped immensely…for about an hour until the intrusive thoughts came back.

I did gentle yoga classes for the first time in my entire life and they felt amazing…for about an hour until the intrusive thoughts came back.

I’m not gonna lie here folks — I called my old psychiatrist and asked how much anti-anxiety medicine I could take to help me sleep because I am old enough to know that sleep is vital in times like these and I was not able to turn off my brain even with the help of Rod Stryker on Glo in the background.

I was messy, guys. I was really, really messy. I cried a lot. I screamed ferociously in the car at the thought of any kind of cancer visiting me again. I worried so much that Jason was worried by my amount of worrying. I overcompensated heavily when my kid was around by being so hyper I might as well have walked around going “jazz hands!!!” in her face because my mood bordered on absurd.

I ate very little. I walked a gazillion steps. I made Jason take full mornings off of work to walk the dog and get coffee with me (where I drank decaf. So sad).

I even called the doctor’s office and asked if a nurse could call me with the results a week ahead of my appointment. I knew the results were in my chart, but I was too scared to go online and look at them. Then I called them back and told them I changed my mind; I was too scared for anyone to call me back. The incredibly kind receptionist on the phone looked at my chart and said, “I’m going to have them call you back. I think it will help.”

It did. I got the all clear. As you can well imagine, I’ve been living my best life ever since.

And I can laugh about it now. Sort of. But the truth is, I have spent a fair amount of time over this entire past year wrestling with questions like, ‘Am I a yoga fraud? Shouldn’t I be better at navigating uncertainty at this point? Shouldn’t I be able to calm my nervous system on command and drop in easily at all times? Shouldn’t I just be better at all this?’

Maybe other yogis or teachers are better at navigating health scares, but I am not. It’s that simple. I am sensitive and emotional and I’m not ashamed of that anymore; it’s my superpower. I’m messy at times. I am also powerful and strong and insightful at times. I have very real PTSD from having had very real cancer and this experience has served as a reminder.

I am thinking about finding a somatic experiencing therapist because it might feel good. But I don’t fool myself into believing it’s going to permanently rid me of my trauma. I guess I just don’t roll with those big, rosy aspirational life promises anymore. Instead, I’m trying to accept myself and embrace the reality that life is, at times, super messy no matter how hard we try.

If you’re still reading, I hope this story encourages you to give yourself a break the next time you are suffering. You are a whole, complex human living a beautiful and difficult and complex life.

Love,

Andrea