There’s this thing my body does…to release some of its pent up energy I guess. It’s not very comfortable. I don’t like it very much. In fact, I hate it, and I have to work hard not to fight against it. Or denounce it. Or me.
I mention it here because I figure if I have this reaction, maybe someone else does as well. And if I come clean about it, maybe they’ll feel better or less weird. Less out of control.
Because when my body jerks (which it does), or I wretch and convulse, and there’s very little if anything I can do to stop it, I feel bad. And weird. And I have to remind myself that I’m not.
I have to remind myself that it’s okay. That I’m okay. It’s okay that this happens, and it’s okay that I don’t know why, and I can’t control it. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. It doesn’t mean I’m damaged or out of control. In fact, maybe the fact that I can let the energy pulse and flow through me and out of me means that I’m quite whole. And strong.
If I’ve learned that “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be” and “Everything is always working out for me” – two mantras that have eased and saved my life – then it stands to reason that even as I jerk or wretch, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be and everything – even this – is working out for me. Even, especially, when I feel like it’s not.
The more I accept it, the more ease I have. The more I resist resisting it, the quicker it flows through my body. The more I give up the notion that it has to, one day, completely go away, the less power it has over me, and the less power it has to define me.
I am not my weakest moments. I am not my aftershocks. I am more, much more, than the scars on my psyche and the mis-assumptions and false truths that sometimes reverberate inside my brain.
And maybe, just maybe, I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, and I’m okay exactly as I am. And maybe, just maybe, even this is working out for me. Just as it is.
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