Shape-Shifter [Part 1]

Trigger Warning: This article includes my typical level of personal vulnerability and shocking inner honesty, but also goes into the gnarly details of my life using pictures of my Body (sans nudity, sorry-not-sorry 😉). Anyone not willing to read with an open heart and mind need read no further, and a sincere warning to those who might be triggered by body images both large and small, or the topic of sexual abuse.

Reminder: What do the Bold Blue Words Mean? (Click Me!)

Shape Shifter Table of Contents:

• Prologue [Part 1]
• Never Enough [Part 1]
• Rapid Descent [Part 2]
• Fearful Desolation [Part 2]
• Excess Baggage [Part 2]
• Perfect Fit [Part 3]
• Conclusion, or Just A Renewed Beginning? [Part 3]

How does one begin the story of their life in all its garbled glory? 

How can I capture just one aspect of what I've experienced, how it 'shaped me' both mentally and physically, in hope of raising the same awareness-expanding insights in others? I'm not sure to be honest, but I'll give it a hell of a go.... 🐇🔥

I've always wanted to write a book about my weight-loss journey; a sardonic cautionary tale I planned to title 'The Slippery Slope' capturing my transition from morbid obesity, to a brief pause at a healthy weight before plunging into an irrational void later diagnosed as an 'eating disorder not otherwise specified.' It was there I stayed for so long that I became too embarrassed to write about the amazing transformation I'd accomplished. I wasn't proud of what I'd done, I was regretful and ashamed. I honestly never thought I'd heal the mental demons I'd created as a consequence of mixing an addiction-prone personality with both a fear of re-gaining the weight and deep mistrust in my Body's ability to maintain it's new shape without rather severe oversight. Tragically, there was no ending to my book, so I couldn't write it...until now. 🙏💖

I became inspired one day as I contemplated a text I'd written to my Sister, suddenly all the entangled conscious and subconscious pieces began to fall into place. Nearly overcome with emotion, I realised there was finally a closing chapter to my damned book, one I could have never anticipated in my wildest dreams; one with a peaceful ending, if not a happy one 🌈. The slope that was once hopelessly lost to the abyss had miraculously ascended without my notice. With stunning clarity, an epiphany that only the light bulb of profound self-awareness can offer after exhaustive self-reflection, I marveled... I have always learned by shaping and moving my Body; somehow coming to terms with the mental, emotional and physical scars created by a turbulent childhood. This eluded me because from an early age my Body has mostly been a stranger to me. I couldn't understand how it communicated and refused to listen even when urges became increasingly demanding and could no longer be ignored. I lived life entirely from my head where it felt safe because logic ruled and emotions were suppressed. My brain, where I had control and power. I couldn't have known then, but that disconnectedness between Brain and Body was at least one of the driving forces behind the generalised anxiety, panic and compulsive thoughts that plagued me until my mid-thirties. It seems both obvious and ironic now, but how could a life lived solely from the neck-up have been otherwise? My brain was a like a run-away train thinking itself into a frenzy with no brakes, no sense of groundedness to the rest of my Being to slow it down.

Despite this proclivity for 'headiness' and perception of control, my Body's agenda remained underneath, subtle and mysterious, yet extremely influential. Throughout my entire life, I rarely felt like I fit inside my skin but could never understand why. Was that normal? It wasn't until I set out to willfully improve the connection and communication between my Brain and my Body in my early-30s that a true transformation began, supported by the book mBraining. Small wonder now that one of my most prominent blog themes evolved into Body Lessons, strokes of inspiration gleaned during exercise. For whatever reason, as I move my Body and put it in control rather than my Brain, phenomenal ideas and creative thoughts flood my Being. IRONY. 😂🐇.

Goodness, typical me, but I'm getting ahead of myself! Let's start from the beginning shall we?

Body State: Never Enough

Meet little Summie...

'What the f*%# happened?!' one might ask... To be completely honest, it wasn't until gathering pictures to write this tantalising tale that I even noticed this drastic difference in my childhood form with so little time between them. I summarised it well in my Journal the next morning, flecked with foreshadows...

"I got rather a fright when I realised my 'skinny' kid picture and my 'chubby' kid picture couldn't be more than 2 years apart. It seems so obvious now that my body had a reaction to Mom leaving...no doubt because my brain couldn't cope so I literally 'swallowed' the trauma... To say nothing of what happened afterward, which perpetuated that cycle."

For years and years I pondered the explanation for my childhood obesity on and off. The only attributable cause that stood out was the memory of never feeling full, my hunger felt insatiable. Unwilling to confront the details of my childhood and that unappeasable sensation however, I opted to pin it on some natural tendency towards being overweight. Wonky hormones, simple as that; yet after many tests nothing abnormal appeared in my body chemistry. Anyway, 'baby fat' is cute, right? Though not so cute when it stayed with me through young adulthood, and left me feeling more than a bit hopeless with regard to romantic prospects. 

Once I became brave enough to confront and reflect on myself as a child and the circumstances of my environment, I identified a few things that might account for my inability to feel sated, and the resulting chubbiness. First, let me be crystal clear, I DO NOT BLAME ANYONE for what I'm about to write. Blame belongs within the victim-mindset realm, a bleak landscape I've fought to flee all my life. Blame, a fickle mistress that leaves us both disempowered and optionless. No thanks! Life is not kind to anyone, everyone does the best they can with what they have, sees situations through the filter of their lifes' experiences. Parents, grandparents, gaurdians are fallible. Instead of blame I focus on gratitude, because as pitiful as the following points may seem, each and every one led me to becoming the f&$%ing magical Gypsy that I am, who I was always meant to be. 

That said, the facts were these (from the lofty vantage of 20/20 hindsight), any of which likely contributed to my Body seeking its 'well-padded' state.

• My parents split up when I was 4-years old, my Mother left home and my Sisters and I stayed with our Father until middle school age. Though not wholly unhappy with the arrangement, I remember counting the days of the week in accordance with when I'd be able to see my Mom. My emotional appetite for her attention was as insatiable as my physical hunger, and through no fault of hers, I could never get enough. Being the giving Mother that she was, she saw that food made me happy so she always gave me what I wanted and never once shamed me for eating to excess or questioned my food choices; she loved me no matter how big I grew. Despite the struggles that would come later upon losing the weight I remain thankful that I didn't have those types of demons to contend with, as many other young adults do unfortunately.
• To my young mind, who couldn't understand the emotional complexities of the situation, I misinterpreted my Mother leaving as rejection; I took it personally. I logically concluded that it must have somehow been my fault, which began a vicious cycle of subconscious self-rejection. Many years later when I asked my Sister what she thought about how I felt, she hilariously humbled me by saying, 'Summer, I hate to tell you, but you're not that f%#@ing important!' 😅
• Ok, here we go... no joke, I've been avoiding writing this bullet point for about an hour now... Not long after my Mom left my Father hired a babysitter to watch us after school, and sometimes her husband and son would be there as well. All my life I held a half-memory involving her husband, one that would shut down as mysteriously as it appeared from time to time... I wasn't ready to know the truth. What I did clearly remember was that my Sisters told an explicit lie about said babysitter to bait my Father into firing her, and it worked. I also knew that my physical sexual senses were somehow inhibited, but always assumed it was based on some biological malfunction. The enigma of this phenomena remained until one day decades later, seemingly out of the blue whilst running, this half memory filled itself in; though upon reflection it was more that my body was finally ready to release its' trauma to my brain so I could process and finally let it go. I'm sorry, I still can't explicitly say what happened, I'll leave it open for obvious interpretation. But how might this relate to my budding obesity as a child all those years ago? Well, I grew up convinced (very wrongly so, I might add), that if I were fat then I'd never [again] be a victim of sexual abuse... because fat people aren't attractive and/or their girth makes them more difficult targets. Trust me, I know how horrific that sounds, it's abhorrent, but it's truly what I believed and it also explains one aspect of my persistent expansion.
• Once I was old enough to decide where to live for myself, I excitedly went to live with my Mom; finally! Unfortunately, for reasons I now assume had to do with her own trauma driven by the profound pain of having to leave her 3 little girls for the sake of self-protection, she had taken to drinking the way I'd taken to eating. Two-sides of the same coin, really. More misperceived rejection for my part reinforced the subconscious beliefs I already held, I still wasn't good enough or worth being around, and so the cycle perpetuated.

• Now an adult body carrying childhood insecurities and trauma-driven attributes, chronic self-rejection and attention-seeking prime among them, I ate to fill an emotional void, to subconsciously manifest the external rejection I internally came to expect, or to gain some sense of deranged self-protection; each of which are decidedly f&*#-ing BLEAK. Well into my twenties these energies inside me sopped up every morsel and still wanted more, I felt starved though I was obviously not physically lacking for calories. 

Surrounded by this quite literal defensive barrier, I couldn't accurately feel myself in a physical sense, couldn't HEAR or KNOW myself. Of course I left all this shit hidden away in my subconscious, my brain was pitifully attempting to protect me. So long as they remained underneath however, I couldn't heal and break the unhealthy and self-defeating cycles they influenced. Only becoming aware 🐇 of the truth could do that, but being honest with ourselves on that level takes courage. ✊💪

F$#%... let's move on shall we? I promise there is light at the end of the tunnel. It's going to get a bit more dire before the Sun finally shines through the other side, but hey, that's life. 🌩🐇🌅

[Stay tuned for Part 2]

Original Publication Date 21 May 2022, Revised TBD

Against the Wind

Ever since I could remember I've disliked the wind blowing on me, and that dislike escalates to near rage while I'm running. In fact the wind is basically the only excuse I use to head inside, opting to use a treadmill; even then the strong fans in the gym can irk me and I switch them off. 💨👎🐇

Fully aware of how ridiculous this aversion is, I went down the cautionary rabbit hole underneath 'The Why.' I found that the constant sensation of fighting to move forward, being held back and pushed around, while my hair flies about my face and into my mouth does my f*^$ing head in. On certain days when it feels like it slows my already tortoise-like pace to a mere crawl, it's enough to inspire a full-on pity party and the only propellants that power me through are blind rage and pure stubbornness. It's bad enough that I actually fear sounds of wind on mornings when I do my long marathon training runs, a knot tightens in my stomach; dread. I head out anyway of course, but I typically need to mentally prepare myself for 'the blow.' (Pun!) 😅

Despite hating the wind I've lived in the notoriously windy state of Kansas, New Zealand's gusty Palmerston North, and endured the hurricane-force gales of South Taranaki where the term 'breezy' basically means 'will turn an umbrella inside out, but won't strip someone of their clothing.' Makes me wonder if I haven't fatefully chosen windy environments to challenge myself... Yeah, that sounds like a bit of me... 😂😇🐇

Anyway, in one instance an easy 8km recovery run resulted in a self-discovery epiphany I could have never anticipated. When I left the gym the wind was eerily calm. Knowing that Hawera can get windy astonishingly fast, and with my planned route in mind, I wanted to ensure that the two longer legs would be with and not against the wind should it kick up. I did the 'intelligent' thing and looked up the direction of the wind on my phone, 6 kmph NNE, barely a whisper. After a quick assessment in my head I decided which way to start my loop and set out. 

Guess what? My intelligent assessment turned out to be completely f*&$ing backwards; NNE doesn't mean it's blowing TO the north, it means it's blowing FROM the north. Ironically, I would've realised this if I had bothered to step outside and actually feel which way the wind was heading instead of making my super smart decision whilst sitting in my car. When I turned to head north along my longest stretch, there it was... feeling more like a roar than a whisper; my foretold aggravation gaining momentum. This time I paused my reaction however and thought, 'Well, I'm not going to stop so I might as ruminate on the bright side of the situation.' Ever the optimist that I am... 🌞🙄

Here's the synopsis:

• My 'duh!' moment made me laugh; I frequently over-analyse situations only to find I've landed on the wrong conclusion. For a smart person, I often do phenomenally stupid shit.
• The direction I took may have put me face-first into the wind, but it also kept the sun out of my eyes so I could see the path in front of me without burning my retinas.
• The face-on wind helped keep me cool on a very warm day.
• I envisioned the wind and I clashing together and combining to form a tornado as we moved in opposite directions. Creating something powerful with the energy I put into moving forward raised my spirits. 💪
• Though it felt strong, the wind was hardly blowing at all. This lead to a humbling esoteric acknowledgement that I tend to 'blow' things out of proportion (Boom! I'm on a roll!). I hate being hindered in my efforts in general, though slowing down typically prevents me from making a fool of myself in the 'long run' (Oh the puns just keep a-coming). 
• Despite the weather conditions, length of the run, or how skeptical I feel about my body's ability to finish, I remember that so long as I take one step at a time I'll reach my goal. I'm grateful that I have the inner determination and drive to keep going. Sometimes it comes from self-empowerment and other times rage directed at an invisible nemesis I can't control, either way I keep moving forward, inspiring pride and reaffirming motivation.
• I spent so much time in my head creating this inane essay that before I knew it I had run the length of the road, turning in a different direction and out of the wind. I even missed it a bit... 👋

Oh, I do love puns!

But wait, thanks to marathon training, there's more! As I faced a fairly gnarly headwind during a 32km run on a different morning, a couple more points came to me:

• I heard the wind as soon as I awoke and the idea of attempting my longest training run, EVER, did not excite me in the least. I began to worry about my ability to complete the run, but I was determined to set a new personal record and knew I had to give it a go anyway wind or no wind. This served to reinforce my sense of resilience and helped me to realise that fear necessitates bravery, and in a similar way, mistakes necessitate adventure. What would be the fun in an easy life without challenges? 🌊💩😅
• The wind reminds me to slow down and keep a sustainable pace. Instead of seeing it as impeding me, I shift my perspective and see how its serving me in its own annoying way.
• Take each gust as it comes; staying pissed at a gust that held me back or worrying about future gusts that may never come is pointless, I can't control it and does no good to fight it (though this is MUCH easier said than done!).
• Despite the wind, despite ANY obstacle, thanks to goal-setting, effective planning, and brute-force resolution, I smashed it and achieved my personal best for distance (until I later completed the marathon). 😎🏆🏃 

All that just to come to this point: By traversing the rabbit hole I found that the wind was a physical manifestation of my own emotional issues. My reaction to the wind largely depends on my inner emotional state; some days I resign myself to it and submit, other days I fight it. I fight like hell to control the uncontrollable. I may run with it in beautiful harmony one day, but it'll break me the next. Though this is a true account of what I experienced running against the wind, upon reflection I see how the wind also functions as a significant metaphor in an emotional sense. As humans we often feel like we're pushing shit uphill, running against the wind; the struggle is real. We all have triggers that push our buttons, and we may or may not understand 'The Whys.' A simple situation, a whisper of wind in the form of an utterance, can cause a torrent of emotions to erupt. 

It seems so silly that I would be so easily enraged by an act of nature that I can't control, but that's also precisely why it bugs the hell out of me. The wind pushes me around and slows me down, it controls me. Historically I've fought against being controlled with every fibre of my being, opting to vehemently fight for control instead of surrendering and reserving my energy for a worthier ambition. It took me years of self-development work to discover that my obsession with control was a coping mechanism for feeling insecure. Deep shit, wounds from previous forms that hadn't fully healed. So some days my emotions are stable, the wounds have scabbed over and are partially concealed... I can cope. Other days those scabs have been ripped off for any number of reasons, they're raw, exposed and delicate; turning a wisp into a gale that knocks me for a six, turning me into a Grade-A Asshole.

These observations and reflections allow me to prove to myself that I can CHANGE my old habit of resisting control and fighting the wind. However foreign it may feel, I can consciously choose to challenge myself, to find gratitude in a situation where I would typically feel angry or victimised by a lack of control. Life is full of such opportunities. It takes courage, but we can all run into the wind.

Original Publication Date 13 January 2021, 30 October 2023

The Strength to Start

Reminder: Italicised words are 'From the Journal'

"Ah, the same fear I always feel before a big Sunday run... and especially after I 'failed' the previous Sunday by not hitting my target kilometres. Will I make it? Will I quit again? 'Fall over' from lack of adequate nutrition? I don't know... I never do. As intuitive as I am, I can't see the future. But I do know I've done by best to prepare, I know that my legs are strong and I'm physically capable of completing the training run. No question there... Strength, it all comes down to strength, and there's so so many forms of strength to consider... 🐇🐇🐇

• The strength to push myself both mentally and physically 
• The strength to support and encourage myself instead of thinking I might fail... like last time
• The strength to let this run be this run and not compare it to any others, to practice agility and resilience
• The strength to accept that last time; no, I didn't hit the k's but I did what I felt I needed to do to take care of myself, and I can be proud of that dammit
• The strength to get started; to take the first step, despite the fear, because that's the hardest part!

I used to tell my personal training clients 'the hardest thing you have to do is get here, walk through the door, everything else is easy!' Wise words I've so often forgotten to apply to myself in many different facets of my own life.

... Yes, the strength to get started... to overcome hesitancy, and fear of either failure or success; to grapple with thoughts of all the other things we'd like to do or think we should be doing instead. All those other 'things' piled up like a huge heap of shit placed in front of our start line... but who put it there?🐰 At times it seems like life put this shit in our way. When we dig deeper however, we may find that it is composed of a lot of little choices we've made along the way without realising the consequences. What matters most is that we recognise that only we have the power to move past the stinking stack regardless of what it consists of or how it appeared. 

Ironically, whether we do or don't is of little matter... what matters is that we perceive it as a choice and practice the power of making that decision with awareness. Own that shit! 💩

For me, and my high-kilometre runs, it helps to simply choose to take that first step; nothing else matters. I tried, I practiced finding the strength to start. A different sort of muscle perhaps but one well worth flexing! I find it's also true for my work and writing on my blog. I spend time and precious energy thinking myself into paralysis, so much to do... where do I start?! But often just checking one email, looking up one set of data, writing down one word... Two hours later I find I've been working away contentedly if not passionately, my previous apprehensions or hesitations quite forgotten!

It occurs to me that this resistance to making a start is not only completely natural but abides to the very laws of Physics. There are two common forms of friction, static and kinetic. The force required to overcome static friction (moving something from a resting state to a mobile state) is always greater than kinetic friction (the force required to keep a moving object in motion). This is common sense to anyone who's pushed like hell against a couch to move it, using all their strength to heave it out of it's inert starting position; then we fall flat on our faces once the f*ing thing starts going! Physically, this is because the static friction is greater than the kinetic friction. Further to that, different objects and materials have different frictional values, making them easier to move and get into motion... A ball vs. a block, or sand paper vs. silk... The less 'rough' the easier it is to move... 

If I apply this logic to my training run, or God forbid my personal development adventure, there's a big benefit to smoothing the edges... easing the transition from stillness to motion... what would that entail? Perhaps one drafted email left intentionally behind in my work account to get me ticking along in the morning... A cruisy 7k before hitting a 16k more challenging route... A meme for a blog post I haven't written yet or an intriguing topic left floating at the top of a jounal page begging to be esoterically explored... 

And F* it, if none of that works take a deep breath and forge ahead; take a conscious view of the inner fear, hesitancy, 'should-dos' and any other source of internal friction and proclaim: 'Move over bitches, here I come!'"

Months later, the day before the Auckland Marathon, I was basically shitting myself. Due to some extremely persistant and worrisome chest congestion I hadn't been able to take a full breath in a couple of weeks. I was slowly convincing myself that I wasn't going to be able to finish the race. Conscious of these words I had written, I went to a pharmacy and got some eucalyptus oil to help my lungs and told my husband that I needed him to get my ass to the start line; these were my chosen mechanisms for easing the frictional forces in my brain telling me that I'd fail. I knew, however, if I could just make a start, take that first stride, my body would naturally do what I'd been training it to do for the past 4 months... I'd cross the finish line no matter what it took... and 42.2km later, I did. 

Time to play 'Where's Summer' 😂

Update

Two years later and I'll be honest, not only did I completely forget what I had written about in this article, but I also haven't run more than 20km since that marathon! This is obviously an anology using running, because that's kinda my thing, but getting ourselves to start something, anything, is bloody hard. This is especially true when we know a change is needed but deep, shifting the World or our identity as we know them, so we resist it until life annoyingly puts it in front of us so many times we can't ignore it anymore. Anyway, I caught myself writing something in my journal the other day I felt worth adding here, and it fits quite well especially considering that when I ran that marathon what made it easier to start was simply following the people in front of me, led by the energy of the crowd, all people who I trusted to have trained for the event... 🏃

Life is never easy for long, and sometimes the tasks ahead... or the choices to be made... feel so daunting, so overwhelming, so consuming, I don't want to face them... It feels easier to either run away or stick my head in the ground and pretend it'll go away (both methaphorically, of course)... I FOOL myself into thinking it's not what I want to do, that it feels wrong somehow, that maybe I need to take a different path... confounded by hesitancy and discomfort... when really I only need to choose A path, not necessarily THE path. There is no right or wrong decision, but the confusion stalls me while the sensation of stagnation, of 'being in a rut,' grates like sandpaper against every cell in my body. These feelings have taught me an important lesson... When I don't feel I have the Strength the Start, to lead myself through, it's ok to follow someone else who I can trust to get me moving. 🙏💖

Original Publication Date 28 December 2020, Revised 13 November 2022

Growing Pains

As I ran up a particularly nasty hill this morning I thought 'oh boy, this may cause some soreness tomorrow,' and was fairly surprised to hear 'that's ok, that's kind of the point!' from my body in return.  Yes.... that's right.... pain indicating that I'm getting stronger .... growing pains. Such a seemingly insignificant phrase was enough to fling me down a pretty deep rabbit hole. 🐇🐇🐇

Suddenly I was about 7 years old awkwardly climbing out of my mom's car complaining about not being able to breathe. There was a sharp pain in my diaphragm every time I tried to take a breath. Such a vivid memory, we were at a state park in Alexandria Bay for a hot air balloon festival, I even got to take a wee ride in one! I remember many others times when this mysterious pain would randomly appear throughout my childhood. It was always the same, a razor sharp shooting pain if I tried to take a full breath. Instead I'd have to take very small inhales until it ceased as mysteriously as it had begun. My mother told me that night that they were growing pains, likely due to my extra rib floating around and poking me, which completely freaked me out. I became terrified that this stray rib would some day pop one of my lungs and end my young life. I've always been extremely proficient at worrying about shit I can't control.

So yes, physically, growing pains make complete sense, though despite earning a Masters of Science in Developmental Biology I'm still unable to validate my mother's 'extra rib' hypothesis. Regardless, we can certainly experience these bittersweet growing pains after a great workout. Who the hell goes to the gym with the goal of avoiding soreness or the satisfying feeling of exertion? During my personal training career I asked my clients to rate every session on a scale from 1 to 5 (5 being the best) and was continually astounded to find the more they complained about the pain and how gruelling the workout was, the more likely there were to give it a fully enthusiastic 5; all while cursing me with an ear-to-ear smile on their sweaty faces. I even had one client ask to adjust their previous sessions' score, wanting to raise it to a 5 from a 3 because it had caused them significant pain for 2 days! It sounds like masochism, but gym buffs and buff-ettes know very well that soreness after a session indicates we've sufficiently challenged our muscles to cause tearing, repair and growth as a result of the effort. The pain, by extension, evolves into sensations of both power and achievement.

So what of personal development and growing pains? That's right, holy shit is it painful! But this pain is a catalyst, a powerful stimulus for deep and meaningful change within our mental, emotional and spiritual psyches.

Challenging our conditioned and habitual thoughts, emotions and behaviours to grow into wiser people, taking deliberate control of our lives through conscious awareness, owning and loving the not-so-flash attributes of ourselves to remain authentic to our fundamental and heart-felt intentions is uncomfortable at best. 🙏💖🐇

I catch myself saying it a lot in my podcasts.... nothing I talk about sounds like a walk in the park or fun, but I always assert that it's well worth the effort. Why? Because I'm a completely different person,  but f#$* if there weren't some serious pains in my ass along the way! A lot of people insist that others can not change. I insist that is utter BULLSHIT!. It's extremely uncommon because it takes courage on a level that is inconceivable to most, but it is very possible. I've demolished my sense of Self and rebuilt it multiple times, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not-so-much 😅. I've experienced complete mental and emotional breakdowns, and somehow, each time I bounce back stronger and wiser for having had the adventure. Hell, sometimes it's simply worth realising the hilarity of the situation once I'm through it and can enjoy a hearty laugh at myself. Particularly note-worthy are the tales of my first ever panic attack, addiction to caffeine in Uni, and brush with various psychologists; indeed, these are the most popular articles from my previous blog.

For me, the most important consideration is the 'chicken and egg' nature of the personal growth and pain relationship. Figuring out which came first is not always easy. Sometimes we grow from a painful situation the Universe confronts us with, and sometimes we make a painful decision that leads us to grow (though it may take years!). A partner leaves us, we realise we need to leave our cushy high-paying career to practice authenticity even if we're broke as a result, a tornado rips through our home stripping away everything we've built, we need to pull the plug on a loved one.... In any instance, learning with a grateful heart is our best hope to pull through as a thriver instead of remaining in a victim mindset. Seeing them as opportunities to know ourselves better, modify our coping mechanisms and expand our resilience through a greater sense of inner strength and capability. We all do the best we can with what we have, we're Good People; practicing compassion in the face of pain based on that modest fact is enough to grow into a more whole, balanced and secure being.

Four years later.... Nearly to the very day!

As I foreshadowed in the conclusion above, while physical pain leading to growth is rather obvious this is most poignant in light of the type of gut-wrenching pain that leads to increased self-awareness and growth of our psyches. The very type of pain most humans endure years of discomfort to avoid, ironically. Now after another of my own humbling life events, I reflect and observe the true evolution of myself mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. There is a subtle difference this time however, this pain was not born of my typical cycle of self-sabotage, but rather a risk taken in full awareness. How else am I to practice what I preach? 😅🐇

I now understand that growth is a mindset, an ethos, one in which those courageous enough lean-in to whatever the situation is, cognisant of the risks and willing to take them; not out of some sick form of self-punishment but rather from Knowing that we're strong enough to handle the worst should it happen. 

And so here I am... I feel neither shame nor regret, only Gratitude. Gratitude on so many levels... for the adventures and love we shared, for experiencing challenges and growth together, for the ability to offer a smile with tears in my eyes and hurt in my heart, for the integrity it takes to walk away with nothing but my fundamental beliefs in honesty and trust, and for the emotional highs and lows that serve to deepen my healing pilgrimage and realising I'm finally able to float where I once fought and floundered.

If nothing else it's worth observing my inner fortitude with renewed respect and admiration. Extreme bravery is required to be fully vulnerable in life; it's the thrill, the fear, of a trust fall into the Universe... into myself.  This is the ultimate Marshmallow Test, a willingness to experience pain for a greater purpose even though there are no guarantees, just TRUST. Without such stimuli, as painful as they may seem, it can be difficult to see the profound shifts we've achieved, the new mentalities and more mature emotions that now govern our actions. I no longer fear the grief of heartbreak as though it were Death itself, I embrace it... beacuse even as it breaks me, I can feel that pain create space for something new to grow... something stronger. 🍃💖🐇

Original Publication Date 02 February 2019, Revised 05 February 2023