I miss hugs. My arms ache for them. I miss giving them and I miss receiving them. My heart feels a little bit less full, a little bit sadder, for not giving out the hugs that I now realise 8 months ago I was offering out several times a day.
While I know I’m missing the sharing of the feel good hormone ‘oxytocin’ that we get from hugs, it feels more. I miss showing my love. I try to smile more from my eyes, I animate my face differently and I’m conscious that I’m now verbalising my hug to friends by telling them how happy I am to see them. These all feel really positive new strategies and yet, my arms feel the undispersed energy of ungiven hugs.
Our arms could be said to be our first source of expression. In utero, our arms developed before our legs. And they originate from our heart, which was beating and developing before our brain was even on the horizon. Watching the video below of embryo development, it looks to me like the arms express out from the heart and around the body in a big hug. A huge big hug from the heart saying ‘here I am’!
It makes sense to me now how much our arms are an expression of our heart.
Notice when someone talks passionately how much they use their arms to add more vigour and depth to their subject. The expression of grief as arms wring or lift upwards or hug around ourself to somehow hold the loss. And the opening of the arms in a hug to express our love in a way that words cannot.
In so many ways this year we have lost that expression of our arms, whether we are conscious of it or not. We spend even more time on technology working away with great finger dexterity, but keeping our arms quite close in to our body and expressing through our gadgets rather than with our body. And of course, we’re socially distancing, less able to hug, or offer out a gesturing touch or hold to show that we care. We can’t dance together with arms above our heads or around our space connecting with others through our dance.
I wasn’t always a hugger. I’d class myself as ‘arm-shy’ for many many years. It felt too vulnerable, too exposing. I see now I was protecting my heart. Through my training as a movement therapist I began slowly, first some gentle pushing and pulling and then a little swing here and there, and finally I found fully expressive hugs that I could sink into and fully hold. And now I really miss that.
So imagine my joy yesterday when my fellow therapist, Michelle, and I were both seeing clients in TRC Edinburgh at the same time and she had an idea! It was the first time we’d seen each other in person since February and the unhugged hug was palpable. So, she asked me to take 2 big cushions from the couch, as she did the same. She gave her two cushions a huge big bear hug. She gestured for me to do the same. “Caroline, I’m so so happy to see you. It’s so good to hug you” she said as drew the cushion to her heart. “Oh Michelle, what a beautiful hug. I am so very happy to see you too” I said. We hugged our cushions and we felt the connection. I know I breathed a little bit fuller and my arms ached a little bit less for the instinctive interaction. Michelle, you are a genius!
So in this time when just maybe our heart needs our arms more than usual, what can we do to give it a bit of a lift:
1. Grab your cushions and hug them as you tell your friend how much you care - just like Michelle and I did.
2. Open your arms wide and air hug with the fullest expression your arms can offer
3. Place both hands on your heart and feel all the love from your heart flood into your arms and come back round to yourself. The circle of giving and receiving.
4. Stretch out in your space – reach out and lengthen your arms as much as you can, raise them above your head and let your heart breath fully.
5. Dance with the music on fully, Shake your arms, move them in all directions and let your heart express itself.
We will hug again. I look forward to when we do.
As I write this, I can feel a sense of anticipation and nervousness going around about what changes might be ahead and a dog-tired feeling of how long all this might last. I’m feeling it too. I’m down in Dumfries & Galloway this weekend on the mountain biking trails and found myself smiling to myself as I realised the metaphor they presented to me as I rode them!
The routes we’ve been on have been particularly rocky, gnarly ones and it struck me as I navigated my way through them, just how much it felt like navigating through the ongoing uncertainty and rockiness of the pandemic!
Mountain biking asks you to keep going, even when you don’t know what’s ahead, even if you’re not sure how you’ll tackle the tough bits and even when you get tired.
You can’t look just at what’s right in front of you or you’d never go anywhere. You’d avoid the obstacles, detour them around and convince yourself it’s too difficult. You’d see all the divets & tufts as individual obstacles & the route would feel impossible.
Trails need to be tackled by looking a bit further forward at what’s ahead, finding the line through it that smooths out the rough and then committing to that line. The more you do this the more you trust your judgement - or you learn from it. You learn to have faith in your ability to ride what’s ahead, even if you’ve never ridden the path before. You learn to gauge your pace, knowing that too fast & bullish means less control and too slow & cautious means too much control. You learn to roll with the rockiness and to bounce back & adjust when the rocks try to throw you in a different direction. You keep looking forward to where you’re going, and deal with the bumps & shoogles on the way, knowing they’ll come, but not letting them stop you from going on.
The trails you’ve never ridden before naturally hold more uncertainty. You’re nervous, but you give yourself the grace of having a go and doing your best. You adjust - maybe a little different in pace for now, maybe the easiest line you can find this time, maybe today you do walk down that particularly gnarly section that you can’t find any other line in. But you get on your bike, you ride regardless of not knowing what’s ahead.
Some times you DO take a thump, you might have a fall, or you might indeed get the collywobbles. But you get back on, you carry on, & you feel a certain pride in yourself for not letting it beat you. And at the end of each ride you revel in your sense of achievement, your new found resilience and the little bit more courage and faith in your ability that you’ve nurtured.
I know this weekend many of us are wondering what changes are ahead, and how long this ride will last. You might not be a mountain biker, but you can see what I’m saying, eh? And you now we’ve got this too, don’t you? We get back on it, we work our way through it. We ride together.
3 years ago, a great teacher* of mine taught me a phrase that I really love, and now often use in my own classes. She said:
“We know what the weather outside is. But how is the weather inside for you?”
The first time I heard it, I was able to tune in instantly, curiously and with no sense of judgement as to how I was feeling at that point in time. It is that latter point that was a completely new revelation for me. Tuning into my body had become second nature to me by then, and I'd become so much better at being able to identify how I was feeling on an emotional level as well as physical. Yet I struggled to not feel a need to do something in response to identifying my emotional state. I would judge how I was feeling to be positive or negative, and would either begin a process of trying to hold onto that feeling, or running away from it. Rather than acknowledging 'how' I was, I'd make a judgement about 'who' I was based on that emotion and change my behaviour accordingly.
Let me say this clearly: No emotion is a bad emotion.
We need to be able to tap into different emotions to give us our whole range of being human and to give perspective to each individual emotion. We need sadness, joy, guilt, anger, grief, embarrassment and the whole gamut of emotions. They are a fundamental part of what makes us human, and they teach us how to relate to and connect with others. Way back, before we had language, these emotions WERE the language we used in our social cultures and tribes. They were also our internal signals as to what we contributed to, needed from, and how well we were functioning in our tribe.
Now, I think I logically knew this a few years back. I'd probably seen the Disney animation 'Inside Out' by then (watch it and get your kids to watch it - it perfectly encapsulates our internal emotional system). So I kind of got it. But I certainly didn't really believe it within myself. It took an analogy for me to see my emotions more objectively and as a result to, ironically, feel them more clearly.
Considering my emotions and moods as internal weather allowed me to accept their presence and that they would pass. I saw the 'feel goods' like sunny days and rainy days (I absolute love the rain!!!) filled with energy, creativity and joy. I saw the 'feel mehs' as foggy or dull days where energy was lower or flatter yet things still happened just in a different way or at a different pace. And sometimes it was just a storm that would be messy, but it would pass. I realised that I accept all atmospherical weathers unquestionably and accommodate them accordingly, yet I hadn't been doing this with my own weather. I became kinder to myself as a result of accepting my emotions, and my emotions become more regulated and less extreme (at some point I'll wrote a blog about emotional regulation - a fascinating subject - but it's not for today!).
By accepting how I am, and FINALLY with no judgement, I now make better choices for myself with regards to how to best meet my needs. Sometimes the changes are subtle. A bit like knowing I'd best take a warmer jacket when it's cold, I might choose not to go to places that will make me feel worse or potentially dull my sparkle. Sometimes the changes I need to make are more substantial. I might need to have a difficult conversation or, yup, give myself a kick up the backside. Usually the big changes come when I realise certain emotions aren't passing as naturally as they might otherwise, and I realise I'm stuck.
As Brits we’re socially conditioned to talk about the weather pretty much most days. But I wonder how often, in general as a nation, we take time to observe our own internal weather. I suspect not enough. Maybe our starting point is to clock when we mention the weather of the day, and to have a wee internal check inside to our own feelings too.
As Billy Connolly once said "There's no such thing as bad weather - only the wrong clothes". Indeed there’s no such thing as bad clothes, just inappropriate or misinformed self care.
* thank you to Clare Gates-Sjoblom, known affectionately by us teachers as 'yin yoda', for this phrase and for your teachings. That simple turn of phrase hit me deep and changed much. <3 <3
Over these last few months, we’ve found ways to stay in touch and socially interact because our need to connect with others is a fundamental instinctual drive within us. This powerful need is hard wired into our system and we seek connection to experience feelings of safety, love, care and of being seen, valued and accepted.
Trying To Change Ourselves To Feel Connected
A lack of self-acceptance can lead to us trying to change how we are in order to feel connected and seen. We seek validation from others that we are accepted, to feel that we belong, and we may do that by trying to emulate what we believe others admire or value in a person. For those with a negative body image, this can manifest in trying to look a certain way, or cover up what they don’t like about how they look. I wrote previously about what makes up our personal sense of body image, which you can read here.
Throughout history, cultures have revered different body shapes and sizes; from the Egyptians to the Rennaisance period, to the 1920s and through to the current day. In the last century in particular, this has changed rapidly, each decade bringing it’s own apparently ‘ideal shape’ around which fashion is formed. The increased speed of these shifts coincides with rapidly expanding marketing, consumerism and selling. Advertising feeds on our insecurities and the promise that if we could somehow look like a certain way, then we would feel better about ourselves.
“Perfectionism is a self destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: If I look perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment, and blame.”
In this age of social media, multi-channel television, 24-hour news and incessant advertising we are now constantly exposed to these messages. Even with healthy levels of self-esteem, it can feel overwhelming, impossible even, to know how to navigate through these continual messages about how we are apparently supposed to look.
Why You Might Be Feeling Worse About Your Body Image
Life during the pandemic has brought new challenges to this conundrum.
Our increased lack of real contact has made us even more vulnerable to the messages around us. We may have used social media and television more to keep us feeling connected with others. Yet, it can also create increased anxiety and stress about how we might have been spending our time during the lockdown. Feeds and news stories have been filled with conversations around daily exercise, who’s eating what to keep healthy, and how we could be using ‘this opportunity to improve ourselves’.
It can lead to pressure to keep up with what we think everyone else is doing and a belief that just coping with getting through a pandemic is somehow not enough. Those who already had negative feelings about their body may find that these feelings are accentuated, and many who aren’t used to feeling insecure about how they look may be finding fault with their body or scrutinising their changing shape.
If any of this resonates with you then you may find these tips helpful:
“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Feeling beautiful has nothing to do with what you look like” - Emily Watson
Lockdown living for some has brought a liberating change of choosing comfort clothes over formal wear, relaxing hair and makeup routines or experimenting with different looks, colours and styles as going to the hairdresser was put on hold.
For others, it has raised concern about their weight or body shape and how it might have been affected by changes in their usual patterns and behaviours of exercise & eating. And as we now transition our way into more social interactions again, many are worried about how others might judge them because of how their body looks.
If you are feeling this way, then please know that you are not alone. It is important to understand that these feelings are not actually about how you look. Rather they relate to your perception, thoughts and feelings about how you look – your body image.
4 Aspects of Body Image
There are 4 aspects to body image. Knowing these can help us understand our own sense of body image:
Changing Your Perspective
Things that may be helpful to improve your body image are;
I'm asked reasonably often what it is that drew me to yin yoga, and why I teach it. People are sometimes surprised that I teach such a still, quiet practice, when, well frankly, I'm active and chatty and seemingly quite the opposite. Yup, yang comes fairly easy and naturally to me, yin not so much.....
My first experience of 'general' yoga had an incredibly profound effect on me, leaving me feeling like I'd been smacked across the cheeks with the change I felt in myself. I was so disconnected from my body, from myself, and yoga gave me the connection that I'd never experienced before. I left not knowing what had happened to me - I couldn't articulate then that I'd connected, felt and inhabited my body - I just knew that it felt good and that somehow I felt better about everything in general. I didn't know then that I had found a way to feel better about, and within, MYSELF, but in reality that was what was happening.
I grabbed yoga by the horns and went regularly to classes. I relished the routine that came with ashtanga yoga, the flow that came with vinyasa and I found teachers that I liked and I could feel at ease with. I relished in the new-found strength I was feeling in my body and I decided I was going to 'nail' yoga - from forward bend to arm balances and back down again. (hmmm, and just maybe my tight hips might eventually loosen up a little bit too)
My first experience of a yin yoga class was not the life altering event that my first yoga class had been. Quite the opposite, infact. I went along because I'd heard it was good for active people like me, a good compliment to my sport, and that it worked with the connective tissue. Connective tissue meant nothing to me then, but I thought it had to be a good thing to be working with it?
The reality of my first yin class was that I left 90 minutes later wondering what that was all about! I wasn't entirely sure what we'd done other than spend time with my head which I wasn't at the time so convinced was a good thing. Someone at the end of the class asked me how I'd found it. I'm not sure how I responded, maybe I just smiled, or maybe I said I found it good - I know it wasn't a question I actually wanted to answer.
But yet, the next day I felt surprisingly good. Like, REALLY good. My run felt bouncier and things felt different. I felt a bit more steady on my feet, and seemed to have less tension.
Now, I'd love to say that I was sold, embraced yin and never looked back. But that wouldn't be the truth. Yin crept up on me, found it's way within me and finally I came to love yin, and the yin within me.
It was a long time before I went back to a yin class. But I discovered that the bits that I enjoyed most about yoga classes, and the bits that I felt most benefit from, were the slower sections, the longer held poses, the breath work and the stillness. My overworked and punished body was allowed to slow down and be cared for. The volume of my harsh inner critic reduced and I could hear kindness inside my head. As my practice of yoga slowed down, I found my way back gradually to yin yoga. It was about 3 years before I went back to my next yin class!
This time, I could cope with being still with myself. I could be with my head, and my thoughts, while feeling the sensations in my body. I relished in the permission that I had been given to stop. I loved the concept of meeting my edge. Bizarrely it fitted so much with what sport meant to me. In my triathlon racing I loved the place where I sat on an edge - never so uncomfortable that I needed to stop, but never so comfortable that I didn't have to focus on keeping myself moving. It was a place of flow for me. In yin the edge was different. Where could I be in the pose to maintain stillness, yet still feel sensations of stretch? How could I be with myself, accepting all of my being, without the negative thoughts creeping in, or judging that I had to change myself to be better in some way.
Learning to accept of myself and find peace with who I am has come though my practice of yin yoga. I learned to meet my yin side - my femininity, my creativity, my introvert, my soft side. I stopped trying to push away the times when I just wanted to stop and reflect or rest. These parts of me were of course the compliment to my yanginess: the athlete, the chatterer, the girl that relishes a challenge and is none too uncomfortable with the odd bit of time with an audience. And I'm happier and more grounded doing these yang things now that | bring my yin-side with me. I found my balance and I know when they get a bit out of whack either way.
I resisted teaching yin (infact yoga of any kind) for so many years because it was my thing that I kept for me. The yoga teaching crept up on my much like the yin did. Eventually I did my training because it 'just made sense to'. I have times when I do the odd bit of yangy teaching, but for me yin is where my teaching's at just now. I hope what I bring to my teaching is a space that lets go of outcomes and judgement and instead fosters acceptance and presence. I hope that I bring an appreciation of each person's experience in each class, whatever that may be. I hope that in some way I can help busy minds find a little bit of calm. My ultimate hope is that I can help others to meet their whole self, in stillness and peace, and that they learn, and love, who that person is just a little bit more.
For many of us, staying at home means we have more time available and more space in our day. Perhaps this offers an opportunity for us to do some of the things that we have been wanting, meaning, to do for some time. Perhaps instead this new found space and time offers up less of the distractions that we unconsciously create to shut out our inner critic, and we find we're unable to get away from the one person we don't want to be stuck with - ourself.
Too much time to think, too many changes to negotiate our way around and less interaction with others can be breeding grounds for our inner critic. We find ourselves self soothing in various forms - food, drink, binge watching - or creating new distractions to keep us away from ourself - cleaning what's already clean once more, visiting the supermarket 'just because', or online shopping for things we 'need'.
Now, this comes with no judgement from me - I get it! I seem to have cultivated a new passion for duvet covers and pillow cases that I didn't know I had!
But I do also know what it feels like to be full of dislike for yourself and to sit with yourself when you'd rather run the other way. It takes courage. It IS challenging to self soothe in kind ways and to show ourself love and attention when we'd rather point out all our flaws and make a list of how and when to eradicate them. And it does take strength to notice who we ARE and accept all parts of Ourself. I also know that ultimately until we learn to do that then we will continue on the same old, same old cycle.
Now, let's be realistic, we don't make one big leap from disliking ourself to being filled with self love. That's a hell of a big ask I reckon.
So, we start small! I've recorded and attached this short activity that you can try. Just maybe it can help you can discover that actually some part of you is ok and worthy of some kindness. You may find that it feels nice to do this activity and you feel good for taking the time to look after you. Maybe it's the start of getting to know your body, building a relationship beyond the distractions and disconnection. Maybe you do it once and never again! But maybe it's the first step in making friends with yourself and being ok in your own skin.
You will need some hand cream, or lotion that you can rub into your skin. If you don't have anything like that at the moment then you could also use a couple of drops of olive oil or cooking oil.
Life, as we know it at the moment, has limitations. The space that we each inhabit with our daily patterns and behaviours has decreased to a smaller range as we stay at home and reduce our interactions. We interact with screens and we spend most of our time in our living space. We cope with these limitations in our individual ways and we seek, and find, a new normality.
So too do we respond to these limitations by moving differently. As we go about our daily lives we express, respond and react with movement. We gesture, we habitually move from one place to the other, we move according to our emotions and to our interactions with others and the world around us. We move unconsciously in different ways and in different directions every single day of our life. So as we stay at home, living differently, our patterns of movement are changed, the variety of our movements are reduced, and, without being aware of it, we reduce the full expression of our self. Couple this with challenging feelings we may be experiencing as a result of lockdown, and we can find ourselves becoming stuck in uncomfortable patterns. How we feel affects how we move, and how we move affect how we feel.
What this means however, is that we can use movement to unstick our patterns and change how we feel. By consciously expanding our movement we can expand our expression again. By moving in different directions - bending / stretching, squatting/ reaching / rotating - we can bring back some of our 3D self again. We open into the space we are in, rather than locking into it. .
By moving through a few really simple movements we can shake off the physical feeling of lockdown that might be adding to already challenged emotions.
The attached video takes you through a short movement practice. It's 5 minutes long and opens and moves the body in 3 dimensions. You don't need any special clothes or kit, just you, your body, yourself.
“Well, now I’m DEFINITELY not doing a 10 year reflection” said the rebel inside me when it saw lots of 10 year photos and 2019 successes and achievements flying about on social media. “If everyone else is doing it then I’m not” it huffed! The reflector in me dropped its head coz really I wanted to, and of course, it was inevitable it would because I absolutely cannot help myself.
So once my rebel side had done its feet stamping for a bit, I eventually began my 10 year contemplation on a longish car journey. Very quickly I found myself sat with tears in my eyes.
“This last decade was the one where I lost myself” I told my husband ‘“and I’m not sure that I’ve fully found myself yet”. My wet eyes filled more and I staved off a full on tear off.
“No babes, you unravelled yourself”, he replied “You are the most you that you have ever been, and you know it”. My god, I love him! Because as much as I don’t always like to admit when he is right, he absolutely was right with this one. And he also knew that putting it back on me to acknowledge what I did already know to be true would stave off the potential sorry fest that might otherwise happen beside him. Darn, he’s good......
Looking back on the last 10 years, they did feel messy, disorganised, a bit all over the place and sporadic. Whilst I’d definitely done some amazing things, I felt so aware of the times when I really had no idea what the fuck I was doing or where the fuck I was going. So many times that I sat with my head in my hands not knowing how to move forward, where to go or what to do. Far too many times that I heard myself say to friends, my hubby or a therapist ‘I don’t know who I am anymore and I don’t know what I want for my life”. As someone programmed for vision, focus, forward motion and direction, that felt like being lost in the wilderness. It felt disorientating and often my only map and compass was knowing what I didn’t want to do, and who I didn’t want to be.
There’s a quote by Paulo Coelho that says “maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about un-becoming everything that isn’t really true so that you can be who you were meant to be in the first place’.
Well, that’s a process that sounds a bit challenging and maybe also a bit messy and disorientating too. Maybe it’s synonymous with being in your 40s, that you lose the trappings of everything that you think people have wanted you to be, and you truly become yourself. Is that mid-life crisis?? Maybe it just so happens to be what and when I needed to do. Whatever, I think I’m going to name my 2010’s as ‘The Great Unravel Years’!
I came into them fit as hell, in training for Ironman Austria on the back of a decade of being immersed in competitive sport. I’d not long finished a year long training in rehab pilates, and was delighted to be working with some of the most reputable physios in Scotland. My diary was filled to the brim with clients and I was a coach for the triathlonScotland performance squad. I was driven, on the go constantly, and if i didn’t have a goal then I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was doing a little bit of yoga here and there and I was hell bent on ‘achieving’ the pilates repertoire as soon as possible.
It’s fair to say that I entered the 2010’s feeling pretty darn good about where I was in life. I knew where i was going and I was hellbent on getting there. I without doubt realise now that I felt I had a point to prove to the world. The chase was on for the next success and the next achievement.
Ironically, I can’t now remember half the goals I set myself back in 2010 and I have no actual idea if I achieved many, or even any, of them. What I gained instead in a decade of getting older were things that I could never have planned for. I learned to feel, not just do. I learned the beauty of stillness. I learned to savour the sweetness of the tiny moments. The decade actually taught me about life, my relationships with the world, with others and with myself. I am not leaving the decade a different person, I’m leaving it as a wiser, more whole version of my true self. The high achiever unravelled and the artistic intuitive gradually stepped forward.
There are some real defining moments of the decade when I look back. Let’s call them the big ‘smack me in the face’ moments of change:
Crossing the finish at that Ironman and thinking ‘was that it, that wasn’t difficult’ and realising that I’d already undertaken the biggest challenge I’d ever take on - battling my mental health issues and getting out the other end alive. I got a ruddy big tattoo on my back a few months later as my own medal of achievement.
I know I am enough
Going home one day to tell my husband that I’d lost what I thought was the secure work I had and that I essentially had to start up again from scratch and hope that I could do it. He was full time uni, I was pretty much the sole earner. 1 month later I set up my own studio in the west end of Edinburgh and my diary quickly filled again.
I know I am resourceful.
Learning to snowboard. I’d always said I didn’t want to. In truth I was too scared. Laughing and laughing as I fell time over again and again and got back up and threw myself once more down the slippy slopes both feet tied into a board - WTAF!!! Oh the bruises!!!
I know I am determined.
Sitting on the side of Cairngorm mountain breaking my heart with my husband sitting beside me. I cried for such a long time, hard and heart breaking. When I thought I was stopped I went again. It just had to come out. Years and years of holding myself together and being scared of losing control.
I know I can lose control and still be loved.
My first panic attack. Lying on the floor of the kitchen not knowing how I could face the next minute never mind the next hour, day or week.
I know that feelings pass.
My last panic attack this year and bursting into laughter half way through it, laughing at myself and knowing I probably wouldn’t have these attacks anymore.
I know I am safe.
Kayaking underneath a waterfall in Doubtful Sound, New Zealand. Looking up at the water, seeing the sunlight through the water and feeling complete and utter serenity.
I know peace.
Standing up at an event and telling 40 people about the moment I almost died because of my past mental health problems. Feeling the shame leave me forever as people listened, cried, and held the space for me.
I know I am supported.
Losing 2 brother-in-laws and wondering what life is actually about.
I feel sad.
Standing up at my first lecture at Edinburgh University, beside my now dear friend, quaking in my boots as I taught over 100 Sports science undergraduates about eating disorders.
I am passionate.
Walking barefoot in the sand at Clachtoll in Sutherlandshire, never wanting to leave, feeling close to my father, his mother, my ancestors footsteps. Feeling it in the air and knowing it like a salmon knows where it must go back to.
I know home.
And then there are many many profound little moments over 10 years: as yoga, pilates and talking therapy soaked into my bones and enlightened me, as I spent time with friends and family and was really present with them, as I let myself relax, as I let myself love, as I laughed, cried, cringed with embarrassment, got myself frustrated, gave myself a shake, gave myself a break, learnt compassion (for others and for myself). 10 years of going through every emoji possible. 10 years of unravelling, 10 years of growth.
The Great Unravel Years taught me not to direct my compass to the externally driven path, but to direct it within, to listen and to feel my way forward. It’s no wonder I felt lost - I was learning to use a new tool and to harness a new skill. Feeling lost was all part of that lesson.
So I’m going forward into this next decade with no goals as such. I’m not pitching a 10 year plan, or making decisions about where I want to be this time in 2030 (shhhh, I said that year quietly). Instead, I’m setting some direction and I’m going forward with hopes and dreams. I hope to enjoy good health and happiness. I hope to travel to places I want to see. I hope to finish the qualifications that I’m doing as a psychotherapist. I hope to do good in this world. I hope to take a few more risks when I need to. I dream of a more peaceful world. I dream of creating a new treatment method for eating disorder recovery, I dream of seeing the cherry blossom in Japan and the northern lights. These name just a few.
And what I hope for you in whatever the decade ahead has in store, is that you experience life in its whole tapestry of colours and textures, but mostly that you appreciate yourself and all that you are.
Here’s to our human-ness in all its bloody marvellous messy glory.
Happy new year everyone.
CT <3 xx
I'm just back from a 5 day trip away camping up at Loch Katrine. We could not have picked a better weekend! The Sun was shining, evenings were cool and breathable, and we had limited phone and data signal at our campsite. I enjoyed being off the phone so much that I forgot to take any pictures - just this one of the hubster during our 40k mountain bike on Monday.
We had a full on few days of activities and for the first time in many years I ‘double-did’ on some days (i.e something sporty in the morning / something else sporty in the late afternoon). We did such a mixture: road biking, road running, mountain biking, fell running, hill climbing. We rolled out our mats and yoga-ed.
And we both commented on how much we felt like we’d got ‘us’ back again.
Since we first met, hub and I have been big movers. We thrive under high levels of activity, and the ruggedness of adventure. Our first decade together involved trips to mountainous regions all over the world to trek and climb peaks plus getting out on our bikes for hours to explore the Scottish landscapes. He climbed higher and harder, I cycled further and faster.
Our challenge has often been resting and staying still!
We’ve been working on this and have been trying to find the balance these last few years. At times during this process, we have both felt like we have lost our adventurers within. In reality we’ve just not wanted the big challenges we thrived on in our younger days, and we’ve struggled with how to find the motivation without the ambitious goals. He no longer wanted to climb the world’s highest peaks. I no longer wanted to race all over the world. Our priorities changed. I turned to yoga, hubby turned to study and learning. We evolved, but an essence of ‘us’ lay dormant.
Somewhere, sometime, not so long ago, one of us realised that we needed outdoor adventure back. Life just didn't feel the same. Something was missing. So we put up the photos that most epitomised ‘us’ and we longed to feel the life in that essence again.
This weekend as I cycled through the forest and hills I reflected on how good it had felt to be able to once again manage several long days of adventure. We were able to say ‘let’s cycle to there’ without wondering if we’d actually manage it without feeling broken for days. We were able to say ‘ aye, sounds good, lets go for a short run along the lochside’ as well as ‘nah, just fancy reading my book’.
It felt good to recognise familiar feeling of cumulative load on my body.
A familiar feeling, but with a completely new balance to it. And with a new sense of fulfilment to it. It felt as good to sleep in the sun and do nothing as it did to spend time pedalling, walking or running up and down the rocky hillsides. I felt tired but not broken. Ready for rest, but not floored. Adventuring for the love, not to prove a point.
It made me realise how much I’d needed to find the WHOLE of me, not JUST the adventurer. And in order to do that I’d needed to put the adventurer to the side until I found the rest of me. This ‘adventure into myself’ was necessitated several years back when it became blatantly obvious to me how much I was breaking myself down with my compulsive need to physically strive. I was physically full of injuries and my mental state was becoming increasingly fragile. As I turned the volume down on this part of me, I found other parts that had lain dormant for years and some that I never even knew about. I found a softer side to me that loves to create, to draw, to read a book. Memories of doing this as a child were now, as an adult, accompanied with the smell of a citrus candle in the background. I discovered a joy of cooking and a love of 60s fashion. My body softened and found a greater flexibility and mobility which felt incredible. As I’ve strived less, my body moved more dynamically and I learnt that I love to dance.
But in amongst all those good things, the adventurer never went away. It popped up every so often when I learnt to snowboard, and it’s there when I go out on my mountain bike or head up a Munro, but for both me and the hubby there was just something missing. We wanted to be able to go on holiday and be amongst the environment for hours. Not just an hour alongside the lake, but really IN the landscape. We wanted to be able to explore the nooks and crannies of the forests, hills and mountains and be able to look at a map later and saw ‘wow, we saw ALL that, and felt it in our lungs and legs’. We wanted to get away from it all and be able to sit and eat our favourite sandwich on a hillside, covered in sweat, looking down at the busy-ness below. These were some of the things we’d really missed, not the achievement of triathlon medals or mountaineering certificates.
Also for me the missing bit included regaining my endurance. I missed the prolonged effort that came before in order for me to see these views while eating cheese and pickle sandwiches! I missed looking at the map, wondering if we could do the route then deciding ‘fuck it, let’s give it a go’ because we reckoned we had enough fitness in the bag to pull out the effort it might need. I needed back ‘I can!’, not just ‘not sure, maybe....??’.
Movement is so important in helping me to be me. It’s like a mirror held up to me with all its metaphors: yoga helps me to regulate, pilates helps me to hold my space, trail sport connects me to the bigger picture and helps me cope with the rough and smooth, road sports help me deal with repetition and find newness in the mundane, swimming returns me to my breath and to my origin. And it's my ability to maintain a constant effort and endurance that I needed back - to remind me of my ability to keep going even when I'm not enjoying the bit of the path that I'm on, but knowing where I leads to. I need a good dose of regular reminders that I'm a determined wee bugger and that I can achieve anything when I put my mind to it! I have really missed feeling that side of me.
But also this need for adventure is for the pure and utter joy of spending long periods of time in nature and with my best friend. It's how we have laughs together. It's where we both feel completely free. The adventurers in us never went away, we never quite let go of them. I just took us wandering off to discover different bits of ourself for us to finally realised what it is that we actually need from these adventures. Then the essence of it lit once more and integrated easily and healthily with the rest of us.
I am Caroline Toshack. Movement is my passion, my mirror, my creative source and outlet. I am a teacher, educator, writer and coach.