5-minute read
To listen, click below, and I’ll provide some company whilst you’re going about your business. (Music by Ribhav Agrawal from Pixabay)
I guess this is the maiden voyage of my revised email offering. Welcome to The Imaginarium. For those of you who have boarded this ship recently, you will have received some welcome emails, so you know my intention for these messages. For those of you who have been sailing with me for a while but may have been tucked away beneath decks recently, A Writer’s Life has evolved and my intention is to share more of my writing with you as well as sneak previews and updates about my book (subscribers only).
Welcome to the Reflection Room. I’m sharing a personal essay with you. It’s my first time writing one. I took part in an excellent Personal Essay course to challenge myself and this was the outcome. Let’s begin…
Reformation
They filed out straight off the social media assembly line. Dark crop tops with matching leggings. I wondered if this was the millennial version of Stepford. Hair pulled back to expose perfect brows. The soft blushes of exertion reached through layers of highlighting and bronzing to announce the triumph of surviving.
I smiled in greeting and was rewarded with one warm smile and a few twitches at the corners of painted lips. I slipped off my trainers and my feet retracted from the unwelcoming slate floor. These socks were all about the grip and not about the warmth. I entered the room on the balls of my feet, my familiar way of walking. Spotting the Stepford instructor, I introduced myself.
“Just give me a sec.”
Okay. It just takes a sec to smile and say hello. Eventually free from distraction, she made eye contact and said something. I don’t remember what it was. I attempted to make conversation citing a mutual person we knew. It was meant to have been an ice breaker, but still — cold. Guess it was an ice maker?
The coolness was no deterrent for me. It was simply familiar. Tolerance builds up over time. Repetitions. Silent treatment from significant males in my childhood and the same with males I had entangled myself with romantically. Progressive overload. My emotional adaptations continued to accelerate. After all, this would make me stronger, right? Perfection, strength and resilience were considered the trophies of success in my head. Whatever the cost to myself.
Familiarity does not equate to safety or even security. It can usurp the anxiety of the unknown though. Because the unknown can be scary. But once we have the first time out of the way, a little more of the blueprint is revealed.
This was not my first time here. The previous time was ok. I had managed to climb the grey stairs bordered by nondescript blue handrails and white walls. The soul had been sucked out of this building, leaving the remains of an unrecognised loneliness. This vibe could have been a sign. Just like red flags.
Here again. Because it was good for me, I’m told? Working towards goals and trying a different method. Well, a different name and face. Reminiscent of my romantic relationships. Same contents, different container.
I picked out the carriage near the window. It was one of six in the minimalist, sleek, stylish (I guess) room. White walls, black ceiling, mirrors down one side that fooled you into thinking there were twice the number of carriages in the room. The carriage. A torture device. Springs and pulleys. A sliding bed, box, ball, ring of doom. The soft beige covering could not soften what was about to happen.
I placed the tiny locker key next to my last-season water bottle. Tiny but important. The locker contained a small bag that behaved as a Tardis, and the emerald coat that had lost the glow that first drew me to it. I couldn’t seem to reclaim that new look no matter how many times I had washed it. I wonder if that’s what happens to us, the more we go through the wash. Do we lose our glow? Do we become dull and devoid of any known colour? Or can we be brightened by stain removers? But aren’t stain removers harsh? Can we only gain our true colour and light by experiencing the harshness of life?
Does it always have to be hard? Do we only receive the reward and the happy ending after we endure the trials? I think I’m due now please, universe. After all, I had brought myself back here again. Maybe this time it will be different? If I’m brutally honest with myself, I know how it will end. I’ll keep going beyond the expiration date. Eventually, sense will pay a visit and I’ll be reminded that I have choice. Options even.
Emotional bruising, mental wounds and scars worn like tattoos that tell a story. Even when we change our minds, realise it’s not for us and move on, there’s usually a cost. Time, money, energy, resources or something else.
“When someone shows you who they are, believe them.”
How many times will it take?
So, I’m wondering, will I enjoy this reformer class? Was it that specific class that I didn’t enjoy last time, or do I not actually enjoy reformer? I know I enjoy movement and exercise. Maybe I’m finally getting faster at identifying what I like. What is good for me. And I’m finding the courage to close the door behind and block entrance to anything that does not serve me.
Maybe.
External influences are huge and it’s often hard to push back and let your authenticity emerge. Tiptoe out. Stride with purpose. Run and jump and proclaim - I am me!
Muscles do require challenge to grow. Physical, emotional, mental and soulful muscles. Change can be a form of challenge. Challenges don’t always have to mean heavier, more of, or greater hardship.
I’m tentative as I climb onto the reformer bed. I got myself here. It still feels cold. I know I’ll get through the session. I might take some benefit from it. But to gain benefit, we don’t always have to experience extreme hardship or pain. There can be gain without pain.
Listen to your body. Your mind and soul. Cultivate your internal senses. Your intuition.
I cancelled the reformer membership. I’m done with that. I’m done with that. There’s something better out there for me. It’s different and I may not know what it is yet. But I’m finished ploughing old, dead, dry ground. This being deserves nurture to grow.
I want the glow back. I want to be shiny and new like silver before it is tarnished. I cannot rewind to before life experiences tarnished me, but I can learn how to shine again. I’m reminded of those solar lamps you have in your garden. They absorb the power of the sun, storing it until the night demands its presence. But I desire more than the luminosity that gleams only in the dark.
I seek the purest energy of truth. Divine authenticity. My reformed self. Bright in the dark and brightest in the light.
Is any of this familiar to you?
When was the last time you felt like you didn’t fit in? How did it make you feel? Did you do anything about it?
What triggered your most recent reformation? Are you due one, maybe?
What nourishes your beautiful, essential light?