I’ve been thinking about my bum shoulders a lot as I prepare for a summer of COVID. And guess what, they aren’t even giving me too much trouble this week. Not an entertaining topic you say? Well, suckers. It’s only going to get more full-bodied from here on down…
Beach season!
Bikinis = AHHHHHHHHHH. Nightmares on repeat. Why does my stomach look like that???
Is that more gray hair?
Why do I have so many (more) wrinkles? I bought that expensive creme…
Wait. My stomach still looks like that even though I worried about ‘other’ things for a minute?
I spent the better/worse parts of COVID hibernating (#staythefuckhome) with comfort foods (and streaming TV). My bowls of cereals did for me what my physical friends and loved ones could not; a never ending waterfall of loving milk giving enormous bear hugs to the pillowy exterior of Puffins. Nom nom nom. Did I mention the brownie recipe I’ve been making?
Those abs I envision through the sweat of my cold weather workout gear were just waiting to emerge when the calendar flipped to June….. Unfortunately, Puffins and pasta, my sanity and lots of couch sitting seem to have surrendered this over to, indeed, being just a vision. COVID summer 2020: abs of sanity?
So, question: Where does the shoulder come into play? Well. It’s an easy connection now that I’ve been noodling over this for the past few weeks (Mmmmm, pho and Xi’an Famous Foods). My efforts to not get too journal-y will fail me here, but I will plainly state that body shame has been a very real and, at times, debilitating state for me. When you’ve spent so many important moments in your life crippled by not being able to look the part, live the feelings of the part, and then you injure yourself so you’re unable to even do the part that you once could….F$CK. It’s a hard triple whammy.
My shoulder injuries tie very tightly to my internalized body shame. It will be something I will have to practice living with the rest of my life; in all it’s various versions. The ebbs and flows of life move differently with the seasons, so here we are moving into high summer and my shame is at its highest tidal peak.
What do you do when a disconnect is rooted so deep in your structure that any act to conduct the now knowing with the then unknown feels like an aggressive betrayal? Shame, shame, shame. It keeps us all on the inside track, running in tight circles to ensure no one, no knowledge, no action can allow a wider view to eliminate the dizzying spin.
With some consistent (yoga) rehab where I’m working to connect breath (prana/life force), thoughts (visuals/distractions), movements (asanas), I am able to come to my own personal version of connection (samadhi, beginners level). I’m not levitating and it’s not every day that I feel the prickles of electric circuitry. But I’ve felt it before. I know the shocking spark.
When we choose growth over perfection, we choose empathy and connection.
Brene Brown
Does this all sound a bit like yoga? It does to me. But I guess that’s kind of obvious, b/c I practice. Not perfectly. But I practice bits and pieces every day. Doing what I can, feeling how I feel, and learning to love the look of practice.
So I’m going to take back the bidding. I want to be the auctioneer of my uncut gem-strewn structure. I’ll even throw in my wit, rancor and overall amazingness in the deal, too. My summer bod is one I’ve never seen before; my mirror is still vibrating with the reverb. Not out of the disgust I initially mind crawl toward, but vibrational energy of practicing to see what I have for so long convinced myself was not worthy of sight. The rays are blinding; a sparkling dance of connectivity.
roadside yogi 