Dear readers:
The prompt for this week was spine, which is a topic so big for me, I got overwhelmed. Especially with everything else going on in my body lately, I didn’t have it in me to reach in and dredge up even more (more on that in my next post).
So I’m keeping it easy, and sharing three old pieces, instead of one new one. The first two are poems; the third, an essay. I hope you enjoy them, and I’ll be back next week.
The next prompt is: EYES. (Dear spine: I promise to revisit you again, soon.)
See you then,
Abby
What’s Left?
What’s left to say
after 23 years?
What’s left to wonder
when I’ve asked
every question,
questioned every decision,
decided it doesn’t define me, then
wondered again, proudly,
if maybe it does?
What’s left of those
24 bones
that used to move
so easily?
And what would be left
if we had just
let them be?
Lucky
I was braced before I was fused
and before that, I won
a contorsion contest.
Now, when I try to dance
or be sexy
I feel it clunk -
just one big bone
from heart to hips.
I laugh because it must
look ridiculous;
then I cry because
that’s what comes
after laughing.
It’s not a big deal, I say.
There are so many people
who have it worse -
and with only one surgery,
I really am so,
so lucky.
I could have had three, or five,
or none!
All of those would be worse,
I think.
When people find out
they say, But
Look at all you can do!
It’s true.
And still, I grieve
for the days I could paint
my own toenails,
or curl into a couch
or put on socks,
gracefully,
for the years I could fall,
gently,
and not wonder if I
might break.
My Spine, My Body, My Love
Sometimes when you live with something, you forget about it. It is such a part of who you are that you don’t think to ask yourself, “What is this thing?” Because it’s not a thing - it’s woven into you.
This is how I feel about my spine.
I can barely remember what life was like before I had scoliosis. I don’t remember what it feels like to do a deep backbend, to twist until my back cracks, to slump into a couch… I have a few pictures of me as a child doing these things, but I cannot remember the feeling. I think now that it must have felt good, except that I probably didn’t notice it then - my un-fused spine was just a part of who I was, and it didn’t feel like anything special. But now, what I wouldn’t give to be able to bend and twist and crack and slump! Now, my fused spine is such a part of me that it informs the way I do everything: how I walk, drive, and put on socks; which chairs I choose to sit in and which to avoid; how much sleep I need; how I talk to my body; and of course, how I practice yoga.
For years, it didn’t occur to me how much my scoliosis and fused spine informed me, or how much I have adapted because of it. Some people would note my “perfect” posture; others would comment on my uneven ribs, or tell me that one shoulder was higher than the other (as if I wasn’t aware); and only then would I think to say, “Oh, yeah - I have scoliosis and spinal fusion - that’s why.” But over the past decade, I have started to pull at some of these threads, to question what it has meant for me to have scoliosis and spinal fusion. I have started to ask myself, “How has this influenced me?” and “Who am I because of this?” At first, these questions were painful to sit with, but over time, I have felt my patience grow and my heart soften. And while the journey has not been linear, there are a few things I have learned and continue to learn, again:
I was extremely angry at my body for a very long time.
I need to feel, and express, that anger.
I love my body so much.
I need to feel, and express, that love.
My body is holding so much pain.
My body is holding so much joy, and so much pleasure.
I am connected to this world through my body - I am connected to others through this body - how could I not love this body?
When I think about why I teach yoga, the first thing that always comes to mind is: To encourage people to love themselves more fully. For me, this journey started with loving my body. When I say love, I mean the action - not admiration. When I say I am learning to love my body, I mean that I am trying to treat it kindly, to accept it as it is, to let it move, to let it rest, to listen to it patiently, to thank it for everything it does. I try to show my body love in the same ways that I try to show my family and friends that I love them. Sometimes it’s hard, sometimes I am just plain grumpy, or feel like my body isn’t loving me back, so why should I love it?! But I try to remember that we - and our bodies - are doing the best that we can. And we do better, not when we are shamed or shunned, but when we’re nourished, appreciated, and actively loved.
If you’re reading this, congratulations, for you, too, have a body! And whatever your body looks like, feels like, and has been through, your body, too, has a story.
My hope is that you, too, are striving to love your body, and to appreciate its stories.
My hope is that, if we treat our bodies with the care we need, we will be able to treat each other with the care we all need.
My hope is that we can work patiently, and remember that sometimes, it takes some unweaving to weave again.
Winter/ Spring Events w/ Abby
Mexico Retreat // Feb 24-Mar 2
Community Kirtan // Fri, Mar 22, 7:30-9pm
Friday Community Practice // Live-streamed every Friday, 7:15-8:45am