You Can’t. Until You Do.
My eagle can fly. Oh, can she soar. You should see it. It’s a feat and will leave you speechless. She smiles, and she means it. She even smiles on the inside. But there’s something there. Something she can’t quite see. She pushes past it and smiles from deep within.
She is strong and bold and brave. So she’s told. But she feels like a liar. She deceives herself and the world.
It’s a sadness. She’s less then herself. She’s missing something. It’s a pretty important something. She misplaced it, but she doesn’t know what it is.
No one seems to notice, but she’s only got half a wing. Well actually it’s all there. It’s just undeveloped. Less defined.
Weak.
Sometimes it disappears completely. And sometimes it hurts so deeply, she wishes it would disappear.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
Angel leads the class. “Take your left foot back and rotate, lifting into Warrior 2. Palms up. Look over your right hand.”
I can’t do this. My arm is paralyzed. You know that thing doesn’t work, right? I want to scream and jump and run and leap.
And fly. I do not belong on the ground. I’m tired of gravity weighing me down. I want Little Guy to do what he’s told and love it. Yeah, he’s got a name and a personality. He’s part of me and separate from me, at the same time.
“Now windmill your arms, placing your right hand on your leg and lifting your left to the ceiling.”
Really, I can’t. He doesn’t work. Why can’t we do things I can do? But this class isn’t for me. Nothing has ever been for me. My needs don’t matter. Oh, Angela. Stop. When will you stop believing that lie?
Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath and exhale the exasperation.
Pulling in my core, I turn to watch Little Guy. Maybe my eyes can will him to rise.
You can’t. Until you do.
Maybe this time I can.
Hand in a fist, I gather every neuron, every muscle, every ounce of me, and watch him slowly, like melting wax, rise. Each angle, each degree around the arc more difficult. Until he’s level with my shoulder, and the muscles start to shake. I ignore the warnings and continue.
He reaches my ear and gravity slams him to the ground. Failure, again.
I shake it off, as Angel leads us into Downward Facing Dog. Yeah, I can this. Gravity on my side.
But there it is. The sadness. The disappointment. The something I misplaced.
And then the shoulder gives way, slamming my face to the mat. Today, I can’t even do what I can do.
Grief roots deep, and I have a few choices.
Ignore it. It doesn’t exist.
Shake it off. It doesn’t bother me.
Blame myself. It shouldn’t bother me. I need to be stronger.
Face it. This grief is real, and it hurts. It should hurt. Grief hurts. See it. Give it space to breathe and move and heal.
Maybe, today, I don’t need to fix it.
“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
The Flying Lessons
Be willing to walk through hell.
Be present in your skin.
Feel the triumph no matter how small.
Feel the pain no matter how big.
The Shift, The Twist and The I AM
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