Two steps forward

Can I tell you a secret? I haven’t read a single blog in over seven days. Not one. Not even those by friends and acquaintances, or the design and art blogs that I find so inspiring. It started with the lack of reliable internet, but even when that returned I’ve found I haven’t been too bothered to dip back into the blogosphere. Instead I have been learning how to dance again in my real world, in the bricks and mortar reality that surrounds me. I’ve replaced my morning blog-reading time with – and you might want to hold on to your hats for this  – going to the gym. After 35 years of sitting on my backside using the Fingers-Crossed Method of body maintenance, something has finally shifted.

I was the girl who always had her period when it was time for gym class at school. I was the girl who was always picked last for the rounders/netball/lacrosse teams. The word exercise was not part of my vocabulary back then and that continued into my twenties. I was a skinny thing in those days and oh boy, did I take that for granted.

And then my thirties arrived, followed a few years later by grief, and with that came the daily bottle-of-wine-consumption, comfort eating and chain-smoking. And lo, I have the body I have today, one that carries a lot of emotion and pain in it. Actually, just writing these words I now see what is going on – it’s time to lose the weight I’ve been carrying, literally and metaphorically. My body has been trying to get my attention for a while, and because I’ve felt so disconnected from it I haven’t heard its cry. It took the hormone army taking over my system and declaring war on my peace of mind (along with their allies, the liver enzyme battalion) for me to finally surrender to its demands.

Get into shape. Lose the flab. Strengthen your heart and lungs. Build your muscles. Regain your stamina. LOVE ME, your body … love yourself.

I’m at the tail end of a couple of very dark months, and there’s been some heavy stuff happening in my world that I have needed all my energy for (and isn’t there always heavy stuff happening? I don’t know why it surprises me – after all, this is what life is at times – light and dark, sun and rain, joy and tears) but these jaunts to the gym, with my sunshiny friend K in tow, have been helping so much. Because they are making me stronger. Because they are going to help me live with the PMS… and because they are the biggest affirmation yet that I am able to look after myself. With every length I swim, every weight I lift and every mile I run (and every cigarette I *don’t* smoke), I feel more connected to my body. The essence of me – thoughts, ideas, inspiration, obsessions, memories, nightmares, daydreams, wonderings – is feeling more rooted in the physical me.

Every time I uncover a new layer of healing I think it’s the last one, but there is always more, the everlasting unravelling onion that is me. The healing had reached a plateau and for a while i thought I was going backwards. The depression was not unexpected, but it was brutal. So this new place of body-awareness and nurturing self-love is new and so very timely. I’m not out of the woods yet, but I’ll tell you this: dancing around the pool during an aqua aerobics class will help you to forget your depression for a whole 60 minutes. If you can drag yourself to the pool, I swear it’s more effective than Prozac.