Chasing Symptoms

This week I have noticed in my own life and on social media the very human tendency to chase down symptoms, feelings, and expressions while avoiding or overlooking their source. I wonder if exploring the roots of all the data I observe seems so unappealing because it also requires me to face the corners of myself I would rather cover with comforts or self-righteousness. As it is, I often avoid the work of looking for my protected weaknesses as well as my deeper needs. Instead, I busy myself with managing the aftershocks.

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Sometimes, I am brave enough to venture beyond surface level observations. In those moments, I move towards realizations that shake me deeply. Insights such as how my “best” qualities are often motivated not by love, but by selfishness and greed. Perhaps I recognize the unsettling truth that hiding in my own weaknesses, is every person I have made a monster. Or maybe I discover that pressed beneath the right circumstances and pressures, I am capable of horrible acts of hatred and dehumanization (and so are you). Those circumstances are closer than I would like; however, I cannot learn how to avoid lesser versions of myself without first acknowledging them as a very real possibility.

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The “chasing” tendency shows up with a positive spin when I find myself pining after qualities that I would like to represent without being willing to struggle through the river of work from which those attributes spring. Sometimes I focus my attention on cultivating specific feelings, hoping that with enough things, moments, or pleasures to enjoy, I will be able to maintain the deep joy and peace I’ve bumped into here and there in life. If I can just keep things balanced, right?

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The intentions my tendencies may be good, but like my friend Lindsey Mumma suggested in a recent instagram post, humans can often begin seeking an appreciation of life’s pleasures and gifts over gratitude for life itself. We may find ourselves chasing the things others (even old versions of ourselves) do as an attempt to grow our own feelings of contentment. And while they may temporarily sustain us, can they ever fulfill us the same way? I wonder if we can ever supplant advice from others into our lives and expect the roots to run as deeply.

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Shared knowledge is useful to be sure, but it cannot come with the same process of discovery as our own experiences. A grounded gratitude for life stems from an event of the heart-each one of us needing to finally gasp in wonder for the gift or pause as we encounter the brevity of our existence. We need to allow ourselves to feel and breathe our way through a spectrum of uncomfortable emotions to recognize that regardless of how we may be currently experiencing it—life is magic. We all learn our own ways to live in communion with the moment, regardless of what that moment holds. In this way, peace does not come with more comforts, pleasures, or specific experiences and even positive feelings, but in an appreciation for our presence in the world as it is unfolding. We can never understand that truth by chasing the symptoms of somebody else’s experiences or avoiding the difficulties of our own.

Making Room for Boredom

One of my parenting philosophies is that boredom begets creativity.  I am not here to entertain my children with a constant stream of crafts, television, sports, or projects. I try to make things available for them to explore, but I believe the moments they come to me whining because they are bored are critical points of growth.  It is in these times they learn new ways to get past frustration, gravitate towards interests, and discover things they love to do. They are already ripe with imagination, but as Ken Robinson says, “Creativity is putting your imaginations to work.”

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As adults, we don’t have anybody encouraging us to sit in our boredom. We also have access to a myriad of ways to distract ourselves from discomfort. In times like now, we can choose to parent ourselves in the same ways in order to learn more about what inspires and moves us. I choose to notice my habits and what I reach for in the moments of boredom and challenge that come with making my own schedule at home. I challenge you to do the same. Perhaps instead of reaching for your phone or a new Netflix series, you can try out a new skill, move, write, cook, or create in other ways.  Embrace the gift of boredom! That’s where the magic is.

The hidden limits of values.

Freedom and Truth are two of my most important values.. I am grateful for these values. They have given me vision, independence, and the ability to set boundaries well. They have allowed me to prioritize things that matter to me and disregard societal messaging. They have helped me become more and more genuine in a world full of filters. I have been told that this combination of values and the way I apply them to myself and those I meet encourages people around me to relax into the freedom of being honest about how they feel, what they think, and what they need.

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Despite all of this, I am most interested how they limit me.  Every value has its ego side, after all. It’s comical, because I think that my love of freedom sometimes strangles me from taking steps towards who I’m becoming , and my desire for truth has often led me away from the personal truths that matter most to me—like the one where all the people I meet are just as valuable as me no matter their level of self awareness, their ability to contribute, or their work ethic. I would argue they can also keep me from actually responding to what I learn about others. Truth can become a box to check, and I sometimes cling to my own freedom so desperately that what was a walking stick, helping me endure long solo hikes or difficult terrain becomes a crutch, keeping me from actually lending a hand. My desire to be as honest as humanely possible has been hurtful. When I utter a half-truth, I feel disgust and shame towards myself. When one is spoken to me, I internally ignite with anger and struggle greatly to not take it personally. I lose respect for the imperfect and beautiful human across from me, who is allowed their fears and privacy. I have often put honesty before love, and left people feeling small. Recently I’ve noticed that truth can also keep me in a cycle of doubt and questioning beyond what is helpful. Forgiveness and trust (for myself or others) return at a snail’s pace in all cases.

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My other core value is Joy. I have typically made this about me, and have found my ability to hoard this like a limited resource has often been the root of grief for me. The balance between allowing people the freedom to feel and be who they truly are and knowing when to pull from my well of joy to lift the room is one I am only beginning to explore. Perhaps when I’m feeling drained, the answer isn’t hiding away the joy I have left until I can replenish my stores, but instead focusing on pouring happiness into the person or space who needs it and allowing stronger, more intimate Joy, Freedom, and Truth to overflow from beyond myself.

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Finding Truth Together

Is there a better way I could be answering questions? 
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Recently I’ve been playing around with this idea and looking for more helpful ways to respond to questions from those around me. In keeping with this year’s intention, I’d like to foster intimate learning experiences vs pass along advice and facts. I would like to create the space for mutual learning an understanding vs prioritize the accumulation of knowledge. 

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An interesting thing I’ve been trying is not answering questions at all. The intention here is not to ignore or avoid, but instead I hope to postpone assumptions. I tend to assume I fully understand what people are asking. I often assume I have the most complete picture of the way things work (#ego). This is especially true when it comes to my children. And I almost ALWAYS assume the truth as I see it is what is most important for people to receive from me. (Hint: unlikely)

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The thing with intimacy, though is is it requires BOTH parties to disarm. For me to create the interaction I desire in relation to learning, I HAVE to let go of those assumptions.
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So what does this look like in practice? When my kids ask me a question, I don’t give them (or myself tbh) the instant gratification of an answer. Instead, I wonder with them. I open up space to play with possibility. I give them a chance to imagine many answers. We practice the process of learning together. 
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Many times, I learn the most—mostly about the way they think and see the world. “How are rainbows made?” I wonder. How do you think they are? “Maybe magic.” They do seem magical. Let’s see. What do you know about them already? (No need to correct or say something in their imagination is not real. That’s mostly for my own ego.) “They come out in the sky.” I’ve seen that too. Not all the time, though. “Yeah. Only after it rains.” Hmm. “Maybe it has to be wet.”

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You can see the dynamic is different. This model is not establishing myself as an authority (a difficult thing for me to do). It also gives insight into the process of discovery (read more below).

It allows us to practice the hard work of thinking through problems. It also requires a lot of patience and is proving to be extremely difficult for me. What I love most, though, and why I believe this to be worthwhile, is much like the use of story as a tool for learning and meaning-making, all parties create ownership of the truth that is discovered. We know that creating ownership over the process itself I extremely valuable for continuous and more challenging growth. Observationally I see the information sticks better, the learning happens in more complete ways, and my kiddos have increased confidence in their own capabilities. Plus they aren’t as lazy in their thinking to be 💯. I look forward to finding ways to apply this to other areas of life, but I can already see it changing the ways I communicate with and understand those around me (and myself). ____________________

Turns out truth is still important, but how you arrive there matters just as much.

The Crown Is Heavy

What does it mean to be a queen? More specifically a good queen. I wonder about this often. Particularly on days like today when I’m falling short. 
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In an interview with @wemove.world, @developmentalcoach spoke about how good leaders make decisions with several layers of impact. The best leaders consider generations to come. 
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I wonder about the currently popular sentiments that queens do what is best for them. That they never spend precious time on what others think or do. That they put their own needs, goals, and desires first. Even that they are always free to remain themselves, as they are right now. 
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I do believe a queen knows her value. She understands her presence alone brings honor. Her undivided attention is a blessing. Her counsel or advice is an act of love. She enters into these agreements with care and does not take them lightly. 
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But I also wonder if that value is deepened by the sheer weight of her responsibility.
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I wonder, if a queen seeks solitude and practices self care for her own sake. Or does she deeply understand how much her decisions matter (whether she runs a house or an empire)? She needs the space to reflect in order to make them well. The weight of her impact and influence stands at the forefront. It demands she take space to breathe, laugh, move, and live, because it also demands constant growth. A queen cannot continue being who she is now. She MUST evolve. Grief or joy, anger or excitement, freedom or pleasure, cannot cloud her vision or steal her away for too long at a time. 
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She surrounds herself with wolves and wisdom. Truth speakers and poets. Grace and accountability. Her spirit is continuously supported. Her resilience continually expanding. Her weaknesses always addressed. Because the cost of complacency or isolation is too high, and while she is free to enjoy her life, she understands it is not to be lived for her alone. 
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Grounded Action

Doing must be grounded in being. 

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I will never feel enough as long as I continue to focus on trying to do (enough, more, better). Can my behavior ever be perfect despite how often I replenish my energy, spend time in solitude, or even accept help? Because even as my capacity grows, so too does my awareness for my next stage of development. 

I will fall short every day. 

But this is a gift. A critical component of compassion. The struggle forces me outside of myself and into faith, empathy, spiritually, divine grace, and a deeper growth. I begin to accept both my own power and powerlessness, and that feels holy. 

Coordination

When I think of coordination, I imagine opening myself up to a work of art, soaking up a song, or being carried along through a good film. The way movements, moments, space, and details come together to form one cohesive piece leaves me in wonder of human beauty. I love to see depth of intention unfold before me. The little bits of negative space in an image or song, the background music or lighting in a film, the strategic brush strokes in a bright abstract painting.

In creating my own life and choosing each day’s potential, I want the same depth of intention to be present in the way I paint each moment—a life filled with little masterpieces. Currently, though, I feel ill-equipped. I’m trying to coordinate my many roles, my values and beliefs, my responsibility to those I love, and trim the excess wherever I find it. Fumbling through the territory of expansion and growth (again) is exhausting and, at times, disappointing. Today, I’m tired.

In a moment like this, I’m grateful for the lessons fitness has taught me about coordination as well. The best (and worst) thing about it is we only get better by practicing, and it usually looks ugly at first. So here’s to the awkward transition towards the next version of me. Keep it moving.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness.

Yesterday my best efforts at productivity fell perpetually short. I found my forehead pressed into my warm palms after a deep audible sigh on more than one occasion.  In an attempt to make my work even harder for myself, I decided to stay up late writing about it.  I didn’t get the amount of sleep I wanted to before an incredibly busy week.  Instead of winding down, listening to a calming meditation with lemon and lavender floating around the air, I was here, staring at my blindingly blue screen, writing this. 

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My choices in that moment, though, reminded me that I’m operating at my edge. That feels good.  I like it. 

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Historically I have struggled to parent and nourish myself in ways that support my basic needs—especially during times of stress. Currently my plate is nearly overflowing with fulfilling work. Not too long ago, I would need to run away, or take huge amounts of rest in order to find my center, but I am learning to connect to peace while continuing to move forward (or sideways).  I am discovering what to trim (negative self-talk, comparison) and what to allow. 

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Still, my old pattern is showing up. I think I’ve outgrown it, but I expand outwards, stretch myself thin and again it becomes clearly visible. 

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Sometimes I hate this. Why do I keep messing up the same shit over and over again? Why is it always the same issue?  

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But it’s a gift. I know when I begin choosing distraction over fulfilling my basic needs or struggling with consistency, I’m at capacity—exactly where I need to be. Stay here a while and get better. 

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It’s time to play in this unknown and look for the root of resistance. I used to think it was a lack of will, but lately I have almost always found something to forgive. Forgiveness plays an uncomfortably big role in how we spend our time and treat ourselves.  It is the road to love.  One of those roads you start driving on and halfway through it has another name. Do I need to forgive my parents for something? My partner?  Most likely, I need to forgive myself. For choosing every other task but the ones I truly need. For listening to the voice of others over the voice of God inside me.  For playing small.  For not believing I’m worthy of care and nourishment, commitment and consistency, or discipline and time.  

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I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you. 

Accuracy

Accuracy. For those of us who grew up on video games, this word may conjure up hooded archers and sharpshooters. While others may visualize scientists, statisticians, or students. Generally, we imagine sports or people whose success depends on an ability to be correct.  But accuracy is a skill we can all practice. One that allows each of us the chance to concentrate our efforts. In its pursuit, we refine the way we nourish ourselves towards our highest expression. We give ourselves the opportunity to hone our decision-making to better serve our own heart, life, and well-being on a moment to moment basis.  

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As @functionalcoach explains, this skill is not simply about hitting a bull’s eye, though.  There is an element of intensity involved. Can we apply the right amount force necessary in the moment for overall success? Not too much…or too little. 

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Today I witnessed a lack of accuracy begin to  play out internally when I was making excuses for not working out and taking an “all or nothing” mentality with training.  I began to mask my lack of discipline with the stresses that come from being off my normal routine.  I almost skipped my workout completely for other kinds of work (mentally siting the latest study on adrenal fatigue while I was at it). 

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But I was born to move, and I know a day without any dedicated time for movement is not true to who I am and what I value.  

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Instead, I asked myself—based on the current situation, what is the most accurate choice for me today?  How can I apply the right amount of force where needed? In the end, I decided to do the @birthfit Functional Progression and 1/2 of my planned workout, because that’s what I had the time, energy, and capacity for in the moment. On another day, the answer may have been a walk with the kids or a yoga flow. 

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How are you being inaccurate in your ability to apply force? What’s the most accurate choice for you today? 

Balance

Balance. Sometimes we talk about it as if it’s an end point or destination—one we will know when we get there.  Joy, peace, and purpose will be wrapped up in a neat little package, and balance will be the bow that ties them all together.  

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In reality, balance reflects a continual state of change.  It is our ability to make the tiniest of adjustments to stay upright.  Recently, while watching my weekly video in Coach’s Prep 101, I listened to Logan Gelbrich relay the definition for balance in relation to movement.  He said balance is our ability to keep our center of mass over our base of support.  How quickly can we adjust our shape to counteract any sudden shifts? How controlled and efficient are those adjustments?   

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The goal is not to stand still, but to alter our shape or fine-tune our position based on what’s needed, and maybe even have fun doing it. The more demanding the task, the more precise our adjustments need to be, but even if you are simply taking one step forward, you must purposely push yourself off-balance and trust that you will adjust to catch yourself (or practice until you can). 

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Go into the week remembering that similar to this definition of balance, who you are is bound up in the process itself. The negative self-talk and emotions are simply old patterns. If you are trying to get better, failing, and trying again, that’s who you are. You grow, you adjust, you forgive, you try, you change, you learn, you show up, you heal, you love. That’s who you are, and it matters that you know it. 

Southern Summer

I forgot what winter felt like.

The same way you forgot

the weight of my hands

across your chest

when you cried

out at night,

or the playful speckles

of green and yellow

scattered across

the windows

of your other soul

Your bones

are poems,

work,

and love

—ground down and offered up.

Mine are apologies.

Linen Dress

She is the doorway. From night to day and back.

The sun renders its best for her— a soothing fire. Warm sand between her toes.

Wind wraps her body in a cool linen dress.

The ocean sings for her— waves crash through stones and water.

Birds know her story.

Tilt their wings towards her.

Circle.  

Night comes.

Unfolds from within

The girl who weeps 

At the edges.

Her body

A vessel.

Linen spun gold

By sunset’s failing light.  

Change My Mind

When an idea catches my mind more than once, I begin to observe the idea more closely.  I hold it up to the light, roll it around, set it in new places, and view it from odd angles.  I take it apart, getting a good look at how it works, holding each piece on their own before putting it back together.  I rearrange it like furniture and experiment with how it can be used in ways I hadn’t yet imagined.  

I have been doing this recently with the phrase “change your mind,” and exploring how the expression means much more than simply being open to changing my opinions. 

It’s true I see this call to change as an invitation to open my mind to alternate perspectives, find where my assumptions may be limiting, and simply continue learning. But I have also begun to form a new framework.  As I played around with different ways this phrase could be useful and applied in my own life, I understood it not to be a moment of redirection, but of practice. 

I am in charge of changing my mind, unbound to anything I’ve been or done before. I cultivate who I want to be tomorrow in this moment.  I extend the calm of meditation through the day and breathe a prayer for strength over my coffee—though sometimes I feel lonely and anxious.  I am a mountain. Strong. Stable. Steady.  I fuel the adaptations of growth with hymns of self-love, poetry of gratefulness and presence, with playfulness and moments of joy, with intimate connection and deep rest, because sometimes changing your mind isn’t a radical shift of opinion or even an “aha” moment, but a slow, graceful practice of faith.

Light in Colorado and Tennessee

Light in Colorado and Tennessee

Colorado days awaken with a crisp breeze.  One that draws you forward and whispers of possibility—the same whispers, I imagine, that inspire the saying “the mountains are calling, and I must go.” The air there is filled with the familiar smells of tall evergreens, spring water refined by snow, scorched dust, and a spirit of adventure. It echoes across the mountains at sunrise, inviting those who greet the day to follow the light as it opens the sky to shades of purple.

Tennessee days, however, prefer to take their time, and the morning slowly stretches as it rises, gently tending to everything it passes. The air here nourishes with a patience that is thick with life. It lingers to enjoy the simple pleasures and wonders over the ways of the world.  Sunrise, too, arrives unhurried, humming a quiet, cheerful song as it sets about its daily work. It steadies the sky with the warm and social shades of a campfire, reassuring those within reach as it settles into the day.

Both sunrises and sunsets captivate us because, for a sliver of time, the sky rebels against the norm.  In these moments, the sun does not simply serve our needs. It plays.  It announces its entrance or sings its goodbyes until tomorrow—celebrating its own fire and power.  That is one lesson we can learn from the edges of each day.

Another considers the unseen details—an understanding of the inner workings of light and the particles diverting it from its original trajectory.  This knowledge teaches us that without obstructions and imperfections in our world we cannot view the full spectrum of ourselves. In sunrises and sunsets, we glimpse what’s normally unseen and are invited to consider the possibility of something different and beautiful.  In the world and in ourselves.

She is Worthy of Love

I’m in Austin at the BirthFit Summit, and I hear myself saying the words, “I’m not that person anymore.”

I’m talking about 19-year old me like she’s somebody else. A stranger, or maybe a childhood friend.

But that’s not the whole truth.  I was there too, with her. Covered in veils of shame and confusion. I misunderstood the way I moved through the world.  I feared my intuition.

The Spirit called to mine even then, but when I heard it, I hid.  Just as I had been taught to do. I covered my ears, my eyes, and my heart until I could not remember the dream.  I could not see the beauty or recognize the song.  

So, the Spirit waited and stopped awakening the dreams within me.  The music stripped down to the simplest rhythm. 

I learned about suffering in the stillness.

The grief of losing my music. 

The residue of estrangement.   

I got to know that girl’s lonely, dark places.

I hated her weaknesses. Her lies. Her indecisiveness. 

She was fickle. Scattered. Co-dependent. Vain. She lost focus. She didn’t know what she wanted. She craved attention.  She cared too much what others thought and survived by being what everybody else wanted to see.  She kept herself so busy, but she couldn’t out-busy sadness. 

She oscillated between wanting to be anywhere but the painfully loud chaos of her own mind and being paralyzed by the depths of silence she could hold. 

So, I studied how she moved until I understood her better. Years poured by while I watched carefully. I could see the pain lining her nature and forgave her imperfections.  

I thought I was done with her then. But as I said it out loud, “I’m not that person anymore,” something in my heart reopened.

Something distant, but determined, whispering the truth that I already knew.

Forgiveness is not enough. She had more to show me. I asked her what it was and waited.

She came to me in a dream of unbalanced scales and told me a story about threads of gold, stretching from the beginning of the cosmos, through her heart and the earth beneath me.  She taught me how to see them.

The threads held truth. 

I remembered other pieces of her. She was as fluid as fire. She captured joy from everywhere around her, warmed it in her being, and gently placed it in cold, forgotten places. Rough edges didn’t bother her. She cared about the heart of things. 

She was asking me to see the strands of beauty in my most unbalanced moments. To hold all of me, including her, and acknowledge the way she’s woven into the story of who I am. 

She is with me now. She shouldn’t be dismissed.  She does not simply need forgiveness.  

She is worthy of love. And so am I.

The Value and Privilege of Coaching.

Coaching is a privilege, and whatever path led us to the craft, we step into possibility the moment we choose it. Coaches get to see our athletes often. More importantly, we see them through moments of personal significance- insecurity, struggle, uncertainty, and triumph.

Potential resides in the proximity to that personal significance. But potential does not evolve into actuality without deliberate work. Only after we decide to value our artistry as something more than correcting movement alone, and so respect it as the privilege it is, can we be capable of fully investing our time, energy, and selves into the success of others. Our role as coaches is one of active guidance through creativity, compassion, endurance, encouragement, loyalty, and love.  Allowing the natural weariness we experience to give way to complacency, or alternatively, confidence to ego, greatly limits our impact not only in our interactions with our athletes, but also our own development as coaches.  Coaches who commit to an active guidance will find ways to guard against stagnation and choose to mentally prepare for the patience and discipline the growth process demands.

Inevitably, every person will arrive with their own struggles.  Each athlete’s journey, as uncommon as the body they inhabit, is also a reminder to coaches to always return to the adaptation afforded by struggle.  Coaches, too, can learn to acknowledge their weaknesses and quickly bounce back from failures. By doing so, we model and practice the invaluable skill of “recognition then recovery” our athletes will need. Through honesty and the admittance of our own imperfection, we can give our athletes the room to be human as well.

Just as we ask our athletes to journal their workouts and reflect on their mood, coaches can take note of circumstances that impact our craft. What qualities in an athlete cause our compassion to vanish?  How long can we endure excuses before losing our temper? What external stressors are keeping us distracted? In that last class where we know we just went through the motions, what was our mindset? What did we do the morning we had enough energy to really give our best each time we coached? How can we repeat that?

A coach should be an example of the process in more than fitness or training; the qualities we develop in the gym are meant to be directly transferable to our daily lives. Expect more from our athletes in their movement, and they learn to believe they are capable of more in all areas.  Show them they can fix a physical imbalance with time and patience, and they start to see deeply ingrained habits as changeable too. Confidence transfers, and we as coaches get to encourage and reroute people towards their goals when they lose focus and remind them of their purpose.

A coach becomes the calm, respected voice in an athlete's head,  pushing them to new levels of performance or tempering their ambition when patience is the priority. We get to share their very real fears and proudest moments. It isn't easy, but when we can frame these small acts within a bigger picture, physical movement and simple connections work together to create something worthwhile.

-megh  

Fear and Community

Fear is the mind-killer.
It is insidious.
We don't always recognize it for what it is. We call it insecurity or procrastination. We call it indecision or lack of focus. We even mistake it as ambition. Whatever form it comes in, we can learn to recognize it when it manifests itself in thoughts and actions.  We can learn to separate fear from the shame that often accompanies it. Safety is a primal need after all. No shame necessary. While the stressors of modern life are slightly less pressing than a nearby predator, they are also incessant. They easily build within our body and psyche, and consequently, we regularly find ourselves in an unproductive, reactionary state. And at the origin of each social pressure we feel, is a subtle, but deeply influential fear. Fear of being unloved, unwanted, unimportant, unaccepted, unappreciated, unsuccessful, over-worked, selfish, ungrateful, a bad parent, a bad spouse.  Fear of being embarrassed.  Fear of being average. Fear of being uncomfortable. Fear of being judged. Fear of being honest with ourselves or others.  Fear of failure. Fear of success.  Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being dismissed.

Countering these insecurities is a tall order, but we can choose to try regardless. To do so, we need a model of community in which our worth does not depend on our actions, appearance, or opinions. We need a space where we feel unconditionally valued. A culture that prioritizes grace and humility.  We must value one another’s humanity, and everything else comes after that.  This is not just for crunchy hippies doing yoga on paddle-boards in Boulder or roasting vegan marshmallows at a music festival in Austin.  This kind of community accepts innumerable differences, and by doing so, also forces us to contemplate our own values. 

Facing fears isn't about conflict; it's about vision. It's about insight. We as coaches can give athletes a place of peace to counteract the discomfort that accompanies growth.  We can choose to create a space that moves from the false sense of safety and temporary comfort offered by the fear response, and to the more difficult, but lasting stability of a strong, healthy community.

-megh

P.S.  "Fear is the mind-killer" is a line from Dune (yes, I'm a nerd). Also, I'm not saying anything new. 

Settling into Discomfort

The BirthFit Functional Progression.

At least once a day, I lie down and try to teach my body to tune into something it has forgotten. Almost forgotten. Today, after several months of practice, I can finally feel a few muscles slowly relaxing into their intended roles. I can feel others getting stronger. Waking up. But most days, stability still seems very far away.  So much dysfunction and confusion is mixed into the way my body has learned to move.

I know, in my head, that taking time out of my day to correctly rebuild my postpartum core is a small act of love. I am honoring my body and my self. It is an outward symbol of the internal choice to be patient, nurturing, and disciplined. But if I'm being honest, most days I do not enjoy it.

For me the difficulty of the functional progression goes much deeper than the patterns of movement it slowly resets and strengthens. It's a daily confrontation with my ego.  My personal weaknesses and struggles take center stage: focused attention, complete presence, and slow, intentional action. Choosing this day after day takes a long-term discipline I'm not sure I have yet.

But I do crave growth and self improvement (however slow it may be). So most days, I choose to face myself.  I sit quietly in that physical and mental place of discomfort. When I feel myself rushing through or moving without focus, I do it over again.

By beginning all my workouts this way, I can settle into a better understanding of my body's current ability. There is no way to convince myself I'm farther along than I am (or suddenly ready for more volume). I recalibrate my bodily awareness every time. 

I am not confident enough to say I will always be diligent or that my deficiencies will one day be strengths, but over time, I have built enough trust to know I will usually choose the hard thing over the easy. 

We all need our own daily dose of humility . (Though I would also say we all need the functional progression to some extent 😜) We need something that makes us uncomfortable. Something that forces our ego out into the open. When we find whatever that something is, we then need to visit it as regularly as possible. If only to show ourselves we can. 

-megh  

Me attempting BirthFit Functional Progression 1 (based on DNS principles).