Lessons learned in 2010 #reverb10

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#reverb10, gypsy warrior queen, honesty, lessons learned, loved, open-hearted bliss, Service, strange dogs, sword, Vulnerability

Lesson Learned. What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward?
~ December 17 prompt

I am a gypsy warrior queen – no point in denying it any longer really!

Vulnerability and honesty are my greatest strengths

It’s good to have a plan, something to make me smile when life temporarily resembles a huge stinky dung pile

If I want to feel loved, I have to start with loving who I am and where I’m at

No matter how honest I think I am with myself it’s still possible to hold on to dishonesty on some level, out of fear

(I’ve seen this both in my yoga practice and my day-to-day life)

My purpose in this life is to be of service in as many ways as I can

Whenever I feel frustrated or as though life is unfair, I just need to remember my service calling to put things in perspective

Teaching causes great joy for me

If I’m in a particularly good mood, strange dogs come up and say hello A LOT

The breath is mightier than the sword

I am completely and utterly obsessed with yoga

Avoidance is futile

There are certain things I am just not in charge of

We absolutely never know what’s on someone else’s mind, so we should just stop assuming (that thing about making an ass out of you and me)

If I think I’ve learned all I possibly have to learn about myself, I’m probably mistaken

I’m not that kind of girl, but I am many other kinds…

I AM a gypsy warrior queen and my kingdom is made of love, hugs, laughter, hard-won wisdom and open-hearted bliss

~Svasti

Yoga is a Blacksmith

Tags

belly dancing, blacksmith, Confidence, constant immersion, Depression, Eye contact, forge, handstands at midnight, PTSD, theatre, Vulnerability, Yoga, yoga for depression, yoga for PTSD, yoga teacher training

Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/the-lees/61448491/

There’s a thing that causes me to simultaneously feel dread and express tears of joy.

They are one and the same: the becoming of myself as a yoga teacher.

They’re two sides of the same coin. A coin that’s being heated, smelted, and forged into a new shape. Same raw material, but the qualities are shifting.

This re-working is an elemental process, creating change as a by-product of the end-result (which is really just another beginning).

But it’s not easy, just because it’s something I want. The wanting and the reality of the getting are entirely different.

The clamour of tools is distracting, and it’s tempting to not pick them up. Sort of. Actually, yeah. But then I look ahead.

Because it’s all about priorities. If I keep those in sight, then it’s easier to step back into the forge. Even if it means daily facing up to scary long-held patterns that scare me witless.

I’ve never seen you this nervous before, says the principal of my yoga school.

She says this after observing my very first effort last weekend, at leading a fellow student in a half hour impromptu yoga class (I was given fifteen minutes to construct a lesson plan).

Oh yes. Very nervous. Partly, it’s the hearing myself speak. And knowing the exact words to say, and being responsible for how other people move their bodies. Speaking emotively because that’s where we connect, that’s part of the work of yoga.

All of this has to come from a place of supreme openness and vulnerability, too. But also confidence and trust that speaking from this place will be well received and accepted.

So, there’s the confidence factor, which has never been one of my strong points. The vulnerability factor – I’ve spent the last four years or so feeling exceptionally vulnerable… and then there’s the thing with eye contact.

Dealing with PTSD and depression made me want to be invisible, unattractive, and hidden away from other people… it’s made holding eye contact very difficult…

So how is it I ended up doing a yoga teacher training course again? Oh yeah, because I love yoga. And because it was suggested.

Photo credit: http://digilander.libero.it/stebama/GoddessGallery.html

But y’know, this wasn’t on the pamphlet – thrown in at no extra charge, this training will help you burn through your shit.

Yesterday I had my second opportunity to lead my fellow students through a series of asana. Scary!

My extreme nervousness is a little strange because it’s not like I’m new to performing – years as a theatre actor and bellydancer took care of that. And this is sort of like a performance, right?

Except it’s not, it’s different. There’s no flashy costume or make up to hide behind. I am not being someone or something else. There’s no loud music to disappear into.

I am just me. Unadulterated. No filters.

So, this week I figured if I could just pretend like it was a theatre show and ‘learn my lines’, I’d feel more comfortable.

I spent all week preparing – writing copious notes on each pose. And practicing, even til late Friday night, trying to get some flow happening between poses.

[Note to self: handstands at midnight are just a tad too exhilarating!]

And making sure I had the right words to say, and avoiding gap-fillers: ummm, okay, what we’ll do next is…

In the process, I realised – of course!! – the key here really is preparation. Which requires constant immersion.

Because with yoga, to teach it, you really need to be living it. Theoretical knowledge simply doesn’t cut it.

But sometimes, I think it’s the immersion I’ve been running from. Because I know if I don’t, this change that’s coming will be irrevocable.

Then, that’s what I want, right? But with that change comes a free-fall from what I’ve known (even if its stuff I’m not happy with) towards the unknown…

A Svasti that lives and breathes yoga with every fibre of my being. And a Svasti that knows my stuff, and can help spread the gift of yoga to others.

So, yesterday’s session went really well! Not perfectly of course. But about a 150% improvement on the previous week. And it was such a high!

Afterwards, I was trembling, close to tears, grateful, humble and just… feeling entirely like someone else: that other aforementioned Svasti.

As I’m leaving my teacher remarks: So you’re looking so much better lately. There’s something very striking in your eyes. I noticed it last week as well. What’s going on? You look so much happier.

I replied: It’s this work. It’s changing me. It’s helping me face up to myself and burn off more of the negativity that’s been in my life for so long. PTSD destroys your self-confidence and here I am finding it again.

Then I told her that as well as general yoga, and yoga for women I’m really interested in yoga for those who deal with depression and PTSD, as I have.

Seems I’ve chosen a specialty of sorts, and the Blacksmith’s fire is still burning…

**Update: The wonderful BlissChick alerted me to the existence of an article on Yoga and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PDF file, 435kb) from The Trauma Center in Brookline, MA. An excellent read!!**

~Svasti

Break down

Tags

Empathy, Exams, Failed high school, Heartbreak, Lonely, Maths, Physics, Teacher, Vulnerability

One day Mr J, her Physics teacher asked (let’s not get into why a creative type had been shoe-horned into a science class) – Just what the heck is wrong with you anyway?

At the end of the day, at the end of the last class of the day. He was fresh enough at teaching to still be completely optimistic. She was in the first class he ever taught. Right out of university.

In that moment she trusted him enough. To tell him about N.

She cried and he cried too. For her. With her. Tears rolling down his cheeks, openly. Such gentle empathy expressed in his eyes. Kindness. Shock. Disbelief.

She told him how empty and desperate she felt. Not in those words exactly, but he got the gist. And she told him how sad and lonely she was – none of her friends could understand, and no one talked about it at home. Like it never happened.

Except the impact was ongoing for her. Made worse by the silence, though she couldn’t speak of it. Til now, years later. Still confused by what happened.

And still overflowing with feelings there wasn’t really a place for. No one wanted to know. But it was with her every day, all the way through high school. She felt dirty and didn’t know how to feel better.

Then, a teacher cared. He saw her, beyond the bravado, the joking around, the silence. He saw her struggle and he cared enough to ask.

And they talked for over an hour, and somehow, just saying it out loud, it helped.

Thank goodness for Mr. J!

His reaction showed her it wasn’t weird she felt the way she did.

But then, as much as it helped that night, she realised giving away her secrets made her feel even more vulnerable. So, now when she sat in Mr. J’s classes, or saw him looking at her, she knew that he knew.

And she couldn’t stand it.

So she distanced herself from him, she wouldn’t let him get that close again. Not all the way through those last two years of high school.

Between her brother’s daily torment, and her heartbreak, the wheels were coming off. So slowly, no one noticed. And she just tried to keep going. School. Swimming practice. Friends. Trying to avoid her brother. That was life, that’s all there was room for.

But the whole school it seemed, was shocked when she failed her final year of school. How could that happen?

Everyone knew she was smart. Really smart. But her smarts, if properly assessed, would have been better off in English Literature and Drama classes, instead of Maths and Physics. She tried to tell them, but no one listened.

Not even Mr. J, who perhaps, just wanted to keep her in his class.

But as hard as she tried, her Physics and Maths grades just got worse. Her parents’ response? Hire a tutor, who hopelessly attempted to explain things that refused to compute. She wasn’t coping in the least, and still, no one listened.

Then, final exams. And she was stressed, knowing those two subjects for her, were doomed. Then, she messed up another one, not seeing the final page of the exam til it was too late. Ensuring a poorer grade than she would have gotten otherwise.

She failed year twelve.

And all those plans made on her behalf, dreams of university (though she had no idea what she wanted to study) were gone. For now.

Very little was said at home. No one asked her – what happened? Although it was a complete surprise to everyone.

Her parents’ first assumption – she’d repeat the year. No question. She agreed, for a while.

But she wasn’t going back to her old school. Way too embarrassing. Everyone knew she’d failed – the news whipping round the student body like wildfire.

One of her old school friends (a very loose term) incredulously said – Wow, so I passed and you didn’t!

To this layer cake of torment, sadness and heartbreak, add shame. A cream filling of feeling stupid. And the icing on top – incredible embarrassment, just for being who she was.

~Svasti

Please note: I am writing here about the past, and mostly its in the past. I do this to help shine the light and illustrate where I was, and how I got to this point. This is no longer stuff that torments me.