TRIGGER WARNING: this piece mentions self-harm and disordered eating.
At the cusp of a new year, I promised myself I’d push to the edge of insanity. I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person that does yoga. Yogis are limber, lithe, and breathy. They embody the strength and balance I often aspire toward in my attempts for control.
My therapists throughout the years almost always encourage exercise even in the middle of me telling them that I’ve gotten lost in my need for movement and that’s why I’m seeing them. I tried to convince everyone I was sick enough until the only time I bled in a month was when I snapped pink razor blades with my braceless teeth and carved what I assumed everyone thought about me on hips no one would touch. I was angry and shouldn’t share this much but two months ago a doctor told me I should try to lose weight even though I didn’t eat before the appointment or any day that week and once again I’m tired and trying to prove myself as worthy.
A month ago I made a promise to be soft. To unroll a mat and lean into what I hated about myself. To breathe out everything ugly in the hips I’d been so cruel to. Throughout January I became friends with my flesh and didn’t know how or what to feel.
I was soaked in self-pity. My life is overwhelming with abundance, but like my body, I was only ever able to see absence.
There are aches and cramps all over and my mom still wants me to see a physical therapist before my diagnosis expires in August and a professional from Wash U has to tell me all over again all the ways I fucked up my body for anyone to believe that where I’m pointing to hurts.
I haven’t done yoga in almost a week but I’ve cried and laughed over the same silly things people tell me to forget about. In every letter home I mention that it’s hard to tell that time is passing and they reply with sentences about gray and slush.
Maybe this resolution was a way to go into cruise control. Maybe it reminded me of the joy of being in a body. I want to get into the habit of a regular practice because I love burning hamstrings and opened hips but the days drag on and I could just as easily call someone. It’s all about balance.
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