What will you gain?

I haven't watched TV in over 20 months. I would occasionally watch half an episode here and there of something-or-other if I stayed in a hotel, or with a friend. However, I can count those instances on one hand. Apparently, I've missed out on a lot.

Or have I?

For the first time in a very long time, I didn't have anything that needed to be done this afternoon, so I plugged in the TV and flipped through what I could find. I've been away from TV so long that all I wanted to watch was a good rerun! Then I started feeling awful.

I remembered why I chose to turn the television off in the first place.

The commercial tried to make me think it was loving. They tried to get me to think they really cared about ME, who I am INSIDE and about my well-being and joy. I should have known it wasn't true; I've known for a long time that the media lies, but it required me to abstain from it for almost a year. But today I saw a commercial that gave me some hope...it only lasted for 25 seconds. In the last 5 seconds, one single commercial reminded me of why I will refuse to give up discovering absolute beauty in EVERY body regardless of size, shape, weight, or appearance. Special K started out trying to convince me that there was more to women than size. Their recent #FightFatTalk campaign asserts that "we've been defined by numbers since the day we were born," and that it's time to stop that. Yet the commercial ended by asking women to write to them and "tell us, 'what will you gain when you lose'?"

In my opinion, their campaign to "end fat-talk" fell apart right there. They just started talking about it with different words. How about a campaign to end body bashing, body snarking, and body hatred? In my experience, the only things that I gained by "losing" were directly opposite to what this commercial seems to be assuming! If I'm honest, losing weight caused me more suffering than the entire painful process of regaining it and learning to accept it ever has. If I had greater self-esteem at a lower weight, it lasted only a brief moment until the intense comparisons to EVERY other woman I saw set in. Then I was miserable and overwhelmed by constantly comparing myself to the appearance of others. And joy? What the hell? There was absolutely no joy in constantly worrying about what the scale said every day! A piece of plastic and a few springs held my joy captive! Let's talk about real joy. Let's talk about REALLY learning how to love ourselves for every curve, bump, scar, and beautiful inch of self there is! Those are the gains I want! And if those come about by having to "lose" something, can it be from losing hatred, fear, and anger instead of weight?

It's true. We have been defined by a number since the day we were born. However, I think we have forgotten that despite these numbers, there are SO many other things that have defined us since the day we were born. Was it your weight or length that defined you in those first few moments when you arrived here on earth to your mother or father? Not at all. They waited in an anticipation that seemed to last forever not to hear how big or small you were, but rather to hear you take those first breaths of air outside the womb. They waited to embrace your little body and hold you close to their hearts to tell you through their tears and words how much they loved you. And you? You just longed to be held close and warm, and to be loved, and this does not change. Our whole lives long, we just long to be held in love, close and tightly to hearts that accept us for each and every breath we share. The greatest gift of all is knowing that we have the power to give this love to ourselves. When we do, we can freely share it with others who we know long for the same. And this my friend, has nothing to do with numbers defining us. If I'm defined by a number, please let that number be the number of hugs...and I hope it's too many to count.

Ethics?

"I believe in people. I believe in people’s ability to change the world, even despite our tremendous mistakes and suffering. I believe in goodness and in hope. I believe in these things because I believe in the power of making and admitting mistakes, and in the power forgiveness.  Everyone has the ability and the power to forgive both his or her own mistakes, as well as those of others. Forgiving does not mean that these mistakes were justified or acceptable. In fact, just the opposite is true. Forgiveness involves acknowledging that unspeakable mistakes caused pain and/or irreparable damage. This is an active process involving self-reflection, courage, and commitment to honor the sacrifices made by others, in a loving dedication to learn from our mistakes. Forgiveness can both impede and allow great progress."

Wipe out...

It took me about 15 minutes to reacquaint myself with the art of rollerblading this afternoon. The weather here in Wisconsin has been unusually beautiful (I am NOT complaining) for this time of year. Usually, October isn't quite this beautiful. I can't seem to get any homework done when it's so nice out. The warm breeze and the fall colors don't just whisper my name, they shout it. The smells of fall bring back so many memories for me. Not all of them are good. In fact, I have not enjoyed this crisp, vibrant season for many years because of memories. Research tells us that our sense of smell is the strongest sense tied to memory. I didn't need research to tell me that. There seem to be a number of things that I thought I needed research (or at least some sort of tangible, empirical evidence) to tell me before I would accept. Gradually, this is becoming less and less necessary for me. Honestly, I can say confidently, in this moment, that there are things I simply neither need nor want to know. I am absolutely content in knowing only how I feel.

Feel. That used to be worse than the "real" "F-word" in my life. Now, I don't, and can't do things that don't feel right in my heart or in my body. I can't even pretend. Yet the most predominant feeling for me lately? Fear. Most people don't believe me. I am not lying when I say that about 85-90% of everything that I do, incites fear and trembling into the trillions of cells in my body. If you have the opportunity to know me in person, sometimes you can physically see or hear those cells quivering with fear. My hands shake, my voice cracks, and the reason I lock my knees so often, isn't completely because my body is accustomed from 15 years of ballet. No, many times I do it to keep my damn legs from shaking! However, most of the time, I am the only one is privy to my fear. I feel almost as if my breath is being dragged up and down a flight of stairs inside my chest, tumbling with uncertainty down each step or hesitantly resisting its next increment upward. I am thankful that I can really talk myself lovingly into just doing it and pretending I am not scared. True confession. 

Back to this afternoon and rollerblading. I have only successfully done this 3 times in the past year. That number reflects fear. I'm scared of looking stupid and clumsy, I'm scared of people looking at me and wondering why I would even try this, I am scared of seeing someone I know, I am scared of getting to and from the paved trails on my bike, and of course I am scared of falling. I'll really look stupid if I fall. I've been told my fears are "real, but not true." I feel them, but the things that I fear may or may not be true. Most of the time, they aren't presently true, nor will they ever come true. Once and awhile, I can smile into this fear and just let it be there and do what my fun-loving spirit wants to do. Today was one of those days. I was feeling pretty good as I biked to the trail I planned to cruise. That changed when I felt the awkward stiffness of the rollerblades. My shins staged a revolt and my balance was off. I had just about gotten a feel for the swaying, weight-shifting, and pushing off required to move smoothly across the pavement. When I relaxed my arms and let them play into the balancing dance required to propel me forward gracefully, I thought I had finally gotten it. Well, in my equation, I hadn't calculated a disruption in my velocity and forward motion. This disruption: a stick. Yep. Wipe out. Of course someone saw me. A man on a bike slowed a bit as he passed and gave me an inquisitive thumbs up, as if saying, "you're ok, right?" Truth is, I was. I had some pretty great "road rash, but ironically, the fall had not hurt. I confidently responded with a head nod and a firm thumbs up that said, "yup, I'm getting up right now." 

He continued on his way, but I moved three inches into the grass and looked around. I realized that the musty smell of leaves, and warm autumn breeze felt safer. The sounds of football helmets clacking and referee whistles screeching in the distance, brought a smile to my face instead of the familiar clenching of my jaw and fists. Those feelings had become so familiar in the past 13 years. I wasn't drifting rapidly into dark memories, even after feeling familiar shame and embarrassment in the wake of wiping out on the pavement. No, as I looked to my left, and directly in front of me, I saw how beautiful colors and smells were bathed in the bright, glittering sun as it began to drop slowly down in the western horizon. I had to fall in order to find the beauty in what was already right there. I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even thinking about my fear. The fall was just the way to where I really needed to be at that moment. Maybe wiping out is the way to wipe away some of this fear. I know it did today. And what I saw behind the fear was pretty spectacular, both inside of me and in the beauty that surrounded me.

If this is the view from the bottom--I love it

the mirrors that show us

Despite the impressive grains and strides that I have made in improving the relationship I have with my body, one thing that can still really mess with my head is a good mirror. Or should I say, a bad mirror can really mess with me? The truth is...there is no truth when it comes to a mirror it seems. No matter if I like what I see or not, I'm still scared of them. Honestly, once I leave my house, I try to avoid them.

I like to think that I am realistic in my assessments of my body. Perhaps I am, but perhaps it's the willingness to embrace and truly love that this body is my body. This is ME. Me. What does it feel like to see all of me? Is that even possible-- just to see what is there, and not wish for more or less?

broken mirrors--broken lies.

I've avoided the mirror--I've avoided looking at the beauty that's there, because I was too scared of the flaws. What the hell, Mandi? The fact of the matter is, there is no single one of us that is either all bad or all good. End of story.

One of the most profound things that I experienced during my Nia White Belt Intensive this past July was the lesson in seeing all of life as art. Life IS ART! Art is meant to be seen, to be expressed and to be enjoyed. Art isn't just a painting. The way people dress is art, the way they walk with each other is art, the way we speak differently depending on where we are...it's all art. My eyes don't look exactly  like anyone else's on the face of this earth, and that astounds me and blows my mind.

There are more things that are right about my body, than are wrong with it, but every time I have looked in a mirror since I was 8 years old, I have looked for what is wrong  or to make sure it was ok. Who asked that piece of glass anyways? If I really, honestly don't care what other people think of what I wear or look like, then why do I care so much about what that glassy reflection says? It's because I've made it confirm the negatives that are in my head. I've made the mirror into the evidence that confirms the false stories that I tell myself about my faults. I am befriending the mirror from today forward. From now on, we shall only talk truth. We shall be as realistic as life...which means, there are far more amazing and beautiful things about me and about my body than the flaws and mistakes.

In order to teach Nia, I need to befriend myself--my true self--the self that I don't know too well just yet. So, I am going to break the rules of any body-image improvement strategy I've ever read. I am going to look in the mirrors now. I'm going to look at all the beauty that is really there, for me and for the world. I'm choosing to see my whole self, and what better way to do that than when I feel most like my true self--in Nia, present with my body, mind, spirit and emotions. To finally feel whole is the most indescribably wonderful feeling there is.

 

The Nia Technique-A sensory-based movement and dance practice that leads to health, wellness, and fitness of body, mind, spirit, and emotions. Dancing Nia was the way I found my joy!

Only if you dare

I don't know who you are out there. I don't know anything about you. But if you're reading this, you must need someone to remind you that you're strong, and that like me, you won't step down from a dare. So tonight, beautiful souls, I dare you...





In this game of Truth or Dare... you already know the truth, so I dare you...

I dare you to be the woman refuses to hate her body. The woman who says, "What? Of course I love my body! What's not to love? I can't believe you don't. You must be crazy!"

I dare you to be the woman who refuses to buy "tummy-shaping," "control top," "slimming," or "minimizing" anything. Ever.

I dare you to be the woman who refuses to participate in body-shaming, fat-talking, or good food/bad food debates.

I dare you to be the woman who dresses her body like a beautiful work of art, in whatever way her heart desires, every day without holding back.

I dare you to be the woman who dances even when people are watching because dancing through life brightens days and brings joy in its steps.

I dare you to be the woman with so much passion and confidence that she becomes the most magnetic and intriguing person in the room

I dare you to be the woman that loves and treasures herself so much that her love for others and to the Earth flows freely and without condition or expectation of returns.

...and now I double, even TRIPLE dare you;

I dare you to be the woman who makes a difference with her beauty. For when beauty lives inside you, deep within your heart-that's the kind of beauty that can change the world!

Space

I've been a writer since as far back as I can remember. No matter how many different teachers, friends, therapists, mentors, and even strangers I have encountered throughout the various transitions of this life, the comments about my writing persist. A second-grade teacher was the first one to tell me that I was a storyteller. I still have that piece of prose. I used powerful and flowery illustrative language even at 8-years-old.

I don't know if I am really a writer, a storyteller, or just a careful word-chooser.

I do know one thing for sure. In the past year, I've realized that I am an artist. My art takes various mediums and forms depending on the day, the weather, the season, or my mood. I don't think of being an artist as a hobby, occupation, or even a lifestyle. My art is life. I just see things differently. I hear different words, and I look for the things that others miss. Life is the artist, and I am just its mirror...I capture moments and pieces in tiny freeze-frames that people call "art." I can't take credit for that.

Remember.

I was old enough to be terrified on September 11, 2001. It's hard to believe that it's been 12 years.

For the first time in 12 years, I did not watch even one second of TV on September the 11th. I know what happened.  I had nightmares about it for years. When my 11th grade Economics teacher turned on the television in our second period class on September 11, 2001, she no more than had stepped aside from the television set when along with Peter Jennings, ABC News, and any other American watching at the same moment, 25 teenagers watched as the second plane careened into the World Trade Center on live television.  I remember feeling as if I heard and felt the collective gasp of disbelieving horror across the country. I felt it in Peter Jennings' voice as it cracked on live TV. I swallowed tears for people I never met. Until that day, I had honestly say I didn't even know what or where the Pentagon or the World Trade Center were. I vividly remember leaving school that afternoon.  I stepped out into a warm, cloudless September afternoon, and looking up into the sky as I walked to the parking lot.  Nothing was there. No clouds, no planes, and no answers, I thought.

Every year, I've watched memorials, tributes, and remembrances on TV. Every year, watching footage takes me back to the day I first saw it, and feeling the profound grief and shame as I wonder how humans have this horrific capacity to carry out such hatred and harm to each other. Every year I feel the urgency to change the hearts of my fellow humans. And every year, I am reminded of the peers of mine who joined the military in the post 9-11 surge of patriotism, (I was 17) and have died fighting the elusive war on terrorism, or come back so badly wounded emotionally and/or physically that goes seemingly unnoticed. This thirteenth year since the attacks begins today. I didn't begin it this year with the images of hate, but instead with a yoga practice, a Nia class, and a beautiful conversation about change and transformation with a dear, heart- friend. It isn't hopeless. Don't think, "who am I, I cannot change 'the way things are?'" It may be small, and it may be only in my own heart somedays, but love and healing exist, even in the midst of our confusion.