The Unfair Burden of the Strong Friend

6/21/2018

“Check on your strong friends.” That sentence sweeps social media every time a new suicide hits the news. People suddenly urging each other to go check on the “strong friend”, as if the “strong friend” shouldn’t have been checked on before. People worried that the one who displays the least vulnerability, may be on the headline of the next news article. Friends hurrying to text their “strong friends” because they’re now forced to acknowledge that the people who portray contentment may not actually be content. People suddenly reminded that the “strong friend” endures, too.

I despise the rhetoric of the “strong friend”. I wonder what the standard of the “strong friend” is. Who the heck is assessing a friend's strength or weakness? Are they 'strong' because they keep things bottled up? Are they 'strong' because YOU don't see what they're enduring? Are they 'strong' because they help you with your mess?

I was the strong friend for most of my life, and I was not being checked on. I was contacted when problems arose; reached out to when people were emotionally distraught and had nowhere to turn. I was the friend with the best advice and the most attentive ear. But I wasn’t very strong at all.

I was the dumping ground for my friends’ problems. I was the one who carried their burdens the best – showing the least bits of weakness and smiling through the most amount of pain. I wasn’t strong, I was hiding.

Being the “strong friend” wasn’t an honor nor a reward. It was lonely. The friends that came to me most didn’t have the decency to replenish me. Time after time I poured myself out to lend advice and counsel to women and men who didn’t have the capacity themselves to return the favor. After a while I stopped expecting reciprocity. Instead, I carried the burdens they laid before me, along with my own. I didn’t speak to anyone about what I endured, because I knew it would yield nothing. No advice, no help, no support. That didn’t make me ‘strong’, it made me heavy.

I embarked on every new friendship with the idea that everyone would be the same. Every new friendship I started would take more than it provided. I didn’t trust the friends I had to counsel me or love me properly, and consequently I wasn’t open to being vulnerable with them.

I forged friendships based on fun, rather than actual community and companionship. And when I happened to stumble upon a friend who would listen, I replicated the unfairness placed one me – pouring out my burdens for them to pick up. Ironically, this friend usually came in the form of a boyfriend. I placed an unfair expectation on my partner to bear the brunt of most of my issues, and placed an unhealthy dependency on our relationship. My man was the only one who listened, and would care enough to express concern, support, or counsel. In my head – apart from my immediate family – my man was all I had.

Oh, how unhealthy it was to build a young relationship based on need, rather than desire.

Oh, how ironic it is to fall into isolation, loneliness, and depression because you’ve been improperly dubbed the “strong friend” – by force, not choice. Being considered “strong” wasn’t my desire. I wanted to be open, I wanted to be vulnerable; but the hand I was given was strength. I wasn’t allowed to have problems. I wasn’t allowed to share my struggles. The same friends that respected and allowed their self-perceived ‘weakness’ to pour out, didn’t honor mine.

The struggles of strong friends are often discarded because we “handle everything so well”. Because we’re “always smiling”. Because we “always know the right things to say”. Yet no one acknowledges the pressure that weighs on us because of it.

Strong friends feel alone. Not because we don't have people in our corner, but because those same people in our corner are the ones adding luggage to our already heavy load.

I've grown to be okay with the reality that most people won’t know how to help. Most people are so caught up in themselves, that they’re okay with taking and giving nothing back. And, you know what, I’ve become okay with the reality that part of my purpose is to be a listener; to provide counsel; to encourage growth. However, my purpose is not the “strong friend”. It does not require my hardships to be dismissed. It does not require me to bear the burdens of those who choose not to recognize the ones I’m already carrying – the ones that actually belong to me.

It’s been a conscious effort to form healthy habits for building friendships. The truth is, I only recently started welcoming the idea of new friends and readily acknowledging the importance of friendships – after having been in so many unhealthy ones. I’m just now learning how to lean on people in healthy, constructive ways that foster nurturing and are rooted in support and care. I’m just beginning to learn to tap into the friends who selflessly remind me of their presence – while having to unlearn the narrative that people don’t care.

It took immense toxicity for me to realize that the relationships that forced me to be strong were everything but actual friendships. It took depression and defeat for me to connect with the strongest friend I have, Christ, and learn how to be a better friend for others and myself; for me to learn when to step up for them and when to sit out; for me to recognize when to carry the luggage, and when to lay it at Christ's feet; for me to discern when to provide counsel and when to simply provide prayer.

They say check on your “strong friend”, but how about going a step further. How about deciding to stop unloading everything onto them without pouring something in. How about stop placing an unfair burden on your friends by giving them a label they may not want to uphold. How about creating a space for your friends that welcomes and honors vulnerability and transparency. How about you stop leaving your “strong friends” to fend for themselves. And how about you just be a friend…to all your friends…always.

The burden of being the strong friend is incredibly heavy and unfair. It starts a cycle of toxic friendships and unhealthy relationships. We want to be there, we want to help, but we also need reciprocation. Our “strength” doesn't reduce our humanity. We still hurt. We still endure. We still cry. We still fight. And it's not okay to use what you perceive a compliment to rid us of our realities.

Signed,
A former “strong friend”

• 0 Comments

• Share:

self

When Mum's The Word

5/21/2018

It's been 15 days since I've written a new post. 15 days of existing in a moment, without thinking about how well it'd be received if I shared it. 15 days of just being. Absorbing for the sake of my process rather than for a post.

Living.
Learning.
Existing.

Though, seemingly neglectful, it's been a beautiful 15 days. So often I get wrapped up in trying to find creative ways to turn my days into lessons that others could learn from, that I forget to enjoy the process of them.

This is fun work. I enjoy turning my introspection into reflections for others. But sometimes, in doing so, I miss opportunities that allow myself to just be. I want to create so much, so frequently, that I forget that some lessons are simply for my own consumption—not everyone else's.

As I continue on this quest of minimally published content in May, I'm choosing to honor these moments. I won't try to push anything out of me, nor will I exploit my self-work by exposing it all to this outlet. Rather, I will just be. In this moment. In this space. For the rest of this month (or however long this work takes).

Thank you for understanding.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

#TEATIME

Where's Our Protection?

5/06/2018

"I don't appreciate you talking about my girlfriend," he said as he aggressively approached us about what he felt was disrespect toward his white girlfriend. 

He was black.

His girlfriend had been staring at us for about seven minutes now. Watching us laugh, giggle, and tell jokes to each other. It made her noticeably uncomfortable because in mid-joke she began pointing at us and whispering. I hadn't paid much attention to her, but my line sister saw her gestures and mentioned it to me.

"This girl over here is pointing at us. Maybe I know her," she questioned. I looked at her and doubted the possibility of them knowing each other. She seemed much younger than us and looked completely unfamiliar. We continued our conversation.

A few minutes later there we were, staring in the face of an upset black man who approached us about his white girlfriend who seemingly had an issue that we were enjoying ourselves in her predominantly white space.

We hadn't said anything to her, or anything disrespectful about her. My line sister explained that. He didn't care. In fact, it seemed like he was more irate that we didn't back down and submit to his anger the first time. As though he thought him approaching us would've rendered an apology that he and his girlfriend thought they deserved.

"No one was talking about your girlfriend, sir. She was pointing at us and we couldn't figure out why," my line sister responded. "Goodbye," I added. 

We stood our ground. Confident. Secure. Not displaying anything close to how threatened we felt.

"I'm from Jamaica Queens, we don't get down like that," he continued.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I inquired.
"I went to Cornell!" he exclaimed as if that explained why he was still in our face defending an offense that never happened.

We were both confused by the direction of the conversation. Was he seeking validation? Was he trying to impress us? Did he want us to submit to him because he thought his attendance at an ivy league institution made us feel inferior? Was he trying to repair his ego?

"And?" we both replied, cackling at the hilarity of what the situation turned into—a black man vying for approval from the white folks around him, or perhaps from the two black women he apparently hated: us. Shouting his resume as if people were going to put down their margaritas and give him a hand clap. As if that part of his resume was impressive enough for us to back down; for two accomplished black women to awe over his achievement of getting into (but not graduating from) Cornell.

His white girlfriend approached us to simmer the situation.

"I didn't send him over here," she said to two unamused black women who simply wanted them both to disappear from our presence. 

"Sure you didn't. Your white fragility is what inspired this man to approach two black women because for some reason we made you uncomfortable." My line sister decided to read her her rights. She looked dumbfounded as she struggled to find words to say to a response she clearly hadn't expected.

"Just go away," we responded.

Surprisingly that wasn't the last, nor the worst, of our interaction. As we shooed them both away, we dedicated the following 2 minutes to settling back into ourselves. We debriefed and moved forward.

Unfortunately, he couldn't do the same.  He returned to shout more insults at us as if he had felt defeated that we didn't cower the first time he spoke. He blurted out every ill thing he thought of black women.

"You're from the projects!"
"That's why y'all don't got no men."
"Nobody wants y'all!"
"This is why people hate black people."

"You're still mad?" I asked, taking him even further over the edge.

"I'm a f*cking millionaire," he responded. "But your shirt is wrinkled," I reminded him. 

"I'm better than y'all. We're better than y'all!" he angrily shouted. 

"But you came up to us," my line sister emphasized.  

He stormed away, forgetting that he approached us in the first place; upset that she reminded him.

My anger immediately turned to disgust as he displayed an undeniable hatred for blackness—both ours and his own. Neither of us had ever seen this man in our lives, but suddenly, in a fit of rage, he knew everything about our lives. Because we were assertive black women unamused by his anger, we had to be from the projects. Because we were enjoying our black womanhood with each other, we must have been single. Because we made it a point to ensure he knew that we were unbothered by his girlfriend's white fragility, we were the reason people hate black folk. Because we wouldn't submit, nobody wanted us.

How convenient for him to spew every bit of hatred toward us, simply because his girlfriend was uncomfortable with our presence. How impressive he must've thought he was to be in a predominantly white space, being disrespectful to two black women he had never met in his life. How strong he must've felt to have protected his girlfriend from two black women who were minding their own business. 

Black men: When black women share their disdain for black men who date white women, it's very seldom about their dating preference, and more so about the frequency of which black men forget they're black men. The fact that, your white partner's whiteness somehow makes you feel like you have the same privilege. That your closeness to whiteness, somehow makes you more powerful. More desirable. Like they have a different level of respect for you, than they do the rest of us. That at some point in your relationship, your loyalty and alliance lies in their whiteness, more than your own blackness.

While that may not be everyone's tale—I'm sure there are plenty black men who are very keen to (and dare I say, love) their blackness despite who they date—it certainly seemed to be the story of this man who dedicated at least 10 minutes to disrespecting two black women who were relishing in self-love and sisterhood.

In that moment, I experienced a man who needed validation from the white people surrounding him, not by being a good person, but by attacking the very black bodies those same white people despise. Spouting out stereotypes about black women that were untrue and irrelevant to our existence in that space.

All of a sudden, two strong black women that he had never met, were worthless stereotypes to him.

But what was most disheartening was while we were being shouted at by a black man who may have needed more black love growing up, there was another black man who stood about a foot away from us who said and did nothing. He watched from the sidelines as we were being disrespected and didn't offer a single "chill out man" "relax" or "are y'all okay." He offered no sympathy or condolence. He simply watched the interaction with no ounce of emotional tie to any of us.

It's baffling to me that our black girl joy made his white girlfriend so uncomfortable. That her discomfort made him so upset. But it was more appalling that the black man standing next to us cared nothing about our safety, as black women, to even intervene. Our peace is endangered. Our joy is threatening. And our mere existence is discarded time and time again.

While this may have been the first time for me, plenty of black women have been on the other end of similar situations. I've heard personal testaments to how ruthless and flippant black men have been to black women. I've read articles of the abuse that occurs when black women threaten the black male ego. And I am completely exhausted with all of it.

The burden of protecting, providing for, loving, nurturing, and healing black men is constantly placed on the shoulders of black women, however when the same is needed for us, black men are absent—or in this case, silent. Why is it that we are constantly asked to better our black male counterparts, but we're not afforded the same luxury. Our entire existence is so upsetting to white people and black men, that the only people we have to fend for us, is us. How unsettling it is to know that no matter where we go, we are among the most hated beings in the world.

It's a chilling reality, yet when we speak about it we're man bashing. When we share our lived experiences we're spreading hate. When we worry and question the lack of love we feel from our black brothers, we're trying to destroy the black family. People are more bothered by our expression of those experiences than they are at the fact that they're happening to us.

I usually have uplifting things to say in moments like this. Part of me wants to encourage us (black women) to continue to stick together in times like these. I want to remind us that there will be moments where no one is on our side, and in those moments all we have is each other. I want to inspire us all to love on each other. To not mind our business when it comes to us, but to stand in the gaps for each other. To advocate and support each other. To enjoy, and honor, and respect each other. To nurture, and heal, and protect each other—because no one else will.

And the other part of me is just pissed. I'm pissed to have experienced such hatred from a black man who was pushed out of a black woman. I am so disturbed by the lack of support and protection by the other black man who, no matter how much he tries to dilute it, may one day have a black daughter. I am bothered by the countless other stories I've heard from women who've experienced something similar. And I am disgusted at the countless black men who feel their behavior is okay at best, and commendable at worst. 

There is absolutely nothing I can say to mask the disgust and offense I felt in my heart last night. I am hurt and disappointed at the carelessness black men have for black womanhood. I am saddened by the reality that black women can't even exist without being disrespected, berated, harassed, bothered and/or threatened. And I am curious to know how long it'll take for black men to stand by us as fervently and lovingly as we do them.

I guess I'll see that next lifetime.

Note: if you're a black man who was offended by this post, perhaps you're one of the ones that need to do better to honor and support black women. Instead of taking offense to our lived experiences, you should assess the ways in which you tear us down—by thought, word, or deed—and work to eradicate the self-hate you promote. To those who are already doing their due diligence, I respect and love you. To the black men in my corner who have asked for his picture and offered to school him the right way: thank you. Despite what anyone says, we need you. And while the current climate doesn't want us to relish in our togetherness, I will always acknowledge that fact. 

• 0 Comments

• Share:

freedom

Silencing Social Media

4/25/2018

The bondage of social media has become increasingly detrimental to our mental health. Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Vine, Snapchat - and everything else those 'young folk' use - have been ushering people into debt, self-loathing, and depression. There have been countless articles about such cases: social media users going into debt to appeal to their followers; users who've allowed the pressures of social media (and the very present reality of social media bullying) to drive them to depression and/or suicide. As great of a tool as social media can be for brands, businesses, and artists, it can tear us apart individually. 

Even if the role social media has played in our lives aren't as drastic as the above, we all can admit, that since its inception, social media has played a role in our pursuit of validation, our goal-setting, and quite possibly, our self-destruction. 

We're constantly exposed to people's portrayals of success (however accurate or inaccurate they may be) and compare ourselves to those we see. We create #RelationshipGoals, #BodyGoals, #CareerGoals, #FriendshipGoals, and #FoodGoals based on the messages other people are posting. We want to be like them even if we don't know them - and when we fall short, we consider ourselves failures. We begin to assess ourselves with a lens that isn't ours, based on the lives other people live. 

We consume this content for hours each day and wonder why, when we log out, we're unfulfilled, invalidated, and insecure. We spend more time observing other people's lives than we do living our own. This is bondage. We are directly controlled by the influences of social media. Our decisions, actions, and thoughts are dictated by what we see on these platforms, and we've become so reliant on them that it's become hard to break free. Social media, in many ways, has become an addiction - both for the people pursuing a life of perfection, and the ones falsely portraying that life. 

Don't fret, though. This post is specifically for you. Here are a few habits to help you break bondage, and silence social media...for good.

Be gracious with the unfollows. So often people think you should only unfollow people you don't like, or who don't serve a purpose. This couldn't be any more untrue. I've had to unfollow many people who do serve a purpose, but who I've spent much time comparing myself (or my brand) to. People who, every time they appear on my timeline, I'd feel insecure or lose confidence. People who, every time they appeared, I'd say something bad about in an attempt to uplift myself. Those habits aren't rooted in anything healthy, and when I noticed these thoughts I knew I had to get them (the thoughts and the people) out of there. Not because I didn't like the people I was unfollowing - most of them had incredible hearts and posted wonderful (authentic) content - but because I was treading the thin line between admiration and hater-ation (and we can't have none of that in this dancery). 

The truth is, any person, place, or thing, that makes you feel discontent with your present place - consciously or subconsciously - deserves to be unfollowed. Any person, place, or thing, that heightens your insecurity deserves to be unfollowed. It's not out of hate for them, but out of love for yourself. The unfollow doesn't have to be forever, but it does have to be for now.

Take breaks when necessary. There is such a thing as social media burnout, even if you use it as a platform for business (there's a reason automated systems were introduced). Too much of anything can be bad, so it's important to give yourself a break from social media. Whether it's one day per week, or one month per year, taking a break gives you time to recenter yourself and actually experience some of the things you post about. It gives you a lengthier duration of time to reflect, reset, and refocus your energies and existence. Social media can be 'noisy', so giving yourself a break from that helps provide mental clarity and the silence you need to regroup. 

Taking a break also sets you free from the strongholds of social media. It gives you time to breathe, and reduces the opportunities you have to compare yourself to someone else.

Monitor your use. This is critical to avoid the over consumption of people's social media fallacies, and their destructive effects. Instead of spending more than half your day on social media, dedicate only certain hours to it. This allows you to get on for the reasons you need, and nothing too additional. Monitoring your use forces you to be intentional about your use during those moments. Not having 5 hours a day to surf social media statuses, helps you focus more on what you're actually using it for. If it's for engagement, you better engage with the people you need to in the time allotted. If it's to post information, well, get to it! This time constraint helps you stay focused on the matters at hand, rather than the endless abyss of people's lives.

Don't engage if it's not authentic. Social media metrics have changed so much over the years, it's hard to tell what will get you seen and what won't. Currently, many of the metrics are based on engagement. Posting a million times a day will no longer get you to the top of people's feeds, but engagement will. Social media sites are now providing its users with the things they want to see, based on the posts and accounts they engage with the most. (And by the time you read this, this metric may also change). This means, you must engage with your audience. 

This isn't particularly a bad thing, but for some it means forcing dialogue. My advice: don't force dialogue. If you find engaging is more of a task than a natural response, don't do it. No one on social media - not even social media itself - can make you do anything. Especially not when your mental health is on the line. Engage with the people you want to engage with, not out of necessity, but out of desire. Start conversations with the people you want to start conversations with. Like and retweet the things you want to. Stop placing an unfair burden on yourself by feeling like you have to respond to everything, or be friends with everyone. Your social media is just that, yours. Don't feel obligated to use it in the way the metrics are mandating, especially not if it takes you from who you are at your core. Social media is not worth selling your soul for. Continue to be authentic, with both your engagement and what you share, and people will find you. 

Stop the idolatry. #RelationshipGoals. #BlackWomanGoals. #HairGoals. Sure, goals are great to have, but when our goal is to emulate the people we see on social media, we quickly find ourselves in the land of idolatry. If there are social media lives you're obsessed with, stop obsessing over them. I know, it seems like a no-brainer, but you'd be surprised how much time you spend fixating over that one person's post, or searching for their page because you don't follow them but want to keep tabs anyway. People only post on social media what they want others to see. When we idolize what they show us we miss a huge part of what's really happening when the phone's turned off. Stop allowing what people post to dictate the satisfaction in your own life. Stop comparing what they show you, to what you actually have. 

Start by reducing your search from 5 times per day, to 2. Then from 2 to 1. Then, none. Block them (if you must) so that you're no longer able to see their posts. Do something that will help you quit the bad habit of searching and indulging in their lives. 

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about freedom and how it manifests. I've recognized that one of my most enslaving habits is my use of social media; it may be yours too. If freedom is liberation from all bondage, then addressing social media bondage must be included to ultimately free yourself. 

You may not feel like you're bound by your social media usage, but I urge you to truly assess your use. Do you check your account every 5 minutes because you're afraid you may have missed something? Do you compare your photos to others? Do you wonder if your life seems exciting enough, or do things to make it more exciting? All these behaviors are toxic. Living for the approval of others can be damaging. And publishing your life, every second of ever day, can certainly threaten your freedom. It's time to lose those chains. 

• 0 Comments

• Share:

life

Lessons from Yoga

4/17/2018

Last week I tried something completely new in honor of my girl’s birthday: hot yoga. Now, I’ve done yoga a few times before, in the comfort of my living room, while using the Yoga App on my 4G Apple TV. Entering the studio, I was no expert but I was certainly no stranger to yoga poses, nor the 90+ degree heat - I take biweekly trips to the sauna because I’m a summer baby, and heat is life. But, I’d be lying if I said my inexperience didn’t lend to some nervousness walking in.

As we entered the studio I was delighted by its temperature and the encouraging presence of the instructor. It wasn’t as stuffy as I had originally thought it would be; in fact, the heat was refreshing. I grabbed a mat, some blocks that I never used before, and a cushion to alleviate some of the anticipated pain from my knees being on the hard floor; It was do or die at this point.

We began with warming up using easier poses, and quickly snuck off into the land of intermediate yoga. I could’ve sworn this was a beginner’s class. About 20 minutes in I was dripping in sweat and had to put my glasses to the side because they were slipping off. At certain points in the session, Instructor Josh spoke inspiration ever so softly while walking around the room making sure our form was right. One of his themes for the night was that we are already equipped with exactly what we need for where we are in life. 

This is an idea that I firmly stand on, and even wrote about (you can read it here). Josh spent a lot of time reminding us that the expertise of those in the room won’t be ours, and that’s okay. That, we ought to settle in contentment for exactly where we are. That we ought not complain or be dissatisfied with our place in life, but rejoice that we are constantly growing and will one day be where we hope to be. This was powerful as I looked around the room at the more experienced yogis. It was motivation for me through the various breaks I had to take when the poses became too challenging, or my hands started slipping off the mat. I held onto those nuggets and made it through the hour-and-a-half-long hot yoga class that felt more like 3 hours.

As the instructor turned the lights completely off and left us with his final words, I couldn’t help but to feel more accomplished than I ever had. “You have all you need,” he said. I let that rest in my spirit for the rest of the night.

I was so proud of having made it through, despite the breaks I had to take or the modifications to the moves. I was encouraged by having pushed my body in ways I never before had to. I was empowered by actually conquering the workout — on my own terms. It was a beautiful feeling, and there were beautiful lessons that came as I reflected at the end of that session.

1. I can get through anything. I know we say it to ourselves all the time, but how often do we really feel it? In that moment, I felt it. I walked in to that room confident, and twenty minutes in that confidence faded. However, that didn’t stop me from actually trying to make it through. In fact, my exhaustion/weakness midway, made me want to push myself harder. I was determined to make it through, and I did all that I could to do so. If we navigate our everyday lives with this same motivation we could achieve so much. If we recognize that everything is a process, then we allow ourselves the grace, and the patience, to accomplish what we set out to — on our own terms. We truly can get through anything we commit to, and there’s tons of beauty in pushing through to that desired end.

2. I can get back up. It doesn’t matter how often we fall, we can get back up just as many times. It doesn’t matter how often we need to modify our route, or slow down a little, as long as we get back on the path. I had to adjust myself and take a few breaks during that session, but when I felt like I could tackle it again, I got back to it. I didn’t care what anyone thought of me stopping, and I didn’t care what anyone else could do - I simply stayed true to my own ability; my own process. We are all well on a long journey toward destiny, and we will all get there as long as we keep getting up. The road to success isn’t about getting there with no mistakes, it’s about getting there — period. So get up, and get there.

3. It will get harder before it gets easier. I hadn’t expected that during class. I was certain the the more poses I master, the easier the next pose would be. I thought that with every inch my body stretched, my body would easily transition to the next one. I was fooled. The more the class continued, the more exhausted I became. I grew frustrated that the session wasn’t over. I was tired of my hands slipping from the sweat, and drained from the way I’d been contorting my body for the last hour. I wasn't sure when the class would be over, but I knew I was ready for it to end. That seems to be a steady theme in life. The closer we get to the end of our tunnel, the darker it becomes. The closer we get to victory, the tougher the battle gets. This was a physical manifestation of that, and it’s no coincidence. Every bit of your journey toward triumph has that final moment of pain, or exhaustion, or temporary feeling of defeat. Before you apply for the job of your dreams, you may go through hardship in your current job. Before you free yourself from relational bondage, you may experience drama in that relationship. Before you’re healed, you’ll experience the very draining process of shedding your layers. Nothing good comes without a trial before it. It’s unavoidable. Just know, that when you feel like it’s darkest, you’re on the brink of breakthrough; stay the course.

4. I am victorious. I was created to win battles and conquer this life. When starting the class I knew I would finish; leaving midway through wasn’t an option. I hadn’t forfeited my $20 to quit. I hadn’t worked that hard to give up 30 minutes in, 45 minutes in, or even an hour in. The more tired and frustrated I became, the more I knew I had to finish. And when I finished, I felt more powerful than I ever had. I pushed myself and my body. I stuck with it. I was committed. I paced myself by paying attention to my body—my journey—not the one of those around me. I stayed focused on me and my end goal: making it through. And because of that, I saw it through. It would have been easy to get up and leave. To sit in the corner until the class finished. But I kept going. I kept fighting. While I’d love to encourage you and say that victory is guaranteed, it isn’t. Victory is only achieved by those with the willingness to see their journey through to the end. It’s afforded to those with the gall to keep going. It’s gifted to those who worked hard and trusted themselves enough to get through it. I did just that. As challenging as it became, I kept my eye on the prize. I stayed focused, I saw it through, and I conquered. I will remember that feeling for every battle I endure going forward. I will remember that high for as long as I’m in my right mind. I will hold onto it for every hardship that comes my way. Because I am willing to fight, and I will be victorious.

I knew yoga had healing properties, but I had no idea I’d walk away with lessons as powerful as these. I felt more motivated than ever walking out of that 90 degree room. I felt ready to take on the world and conquer every battle I foresee. But for now I’ll simply settle for another hot yoga session.

• 0 Comments

• Share: