A few weeks ago I woke up in Edinburgh, I lay in bed looking out on the myriad of chimneys. It was shiny from the rain and I thought to myself that “this is not my body anymore”. I woke feeling sluggish, overweight, bloated and unhealthy. I felt as though there was this body, and then there was a gap and then there was me. Like a healthy person, inside of an unhealthy one.
Food. Food has often been away for me to escape difficult feelings. You know, shame, disconnection, feelings of being unwanted and unloved. Just an underlying sense that takes the shape of anxiety and feels totally out of control. Nowhere to anchor myself.
I have gone through parts of my life slightly padded, sometimes more padded, to keep me safe from what I experienced as a cold and lonely world. Not all the time of course, but a general belief that I have to protect myself from what’s out there because it will hurt me, when I say it, I tend to mean other people.
So, food, wine, chocolate became comfort and may I say, an addiction, not so that other people would react to it, perhaps because it is somewhat socially acceptable. Though an addiction nonetheless, that had me treat my body with disrespect.
The body became the container for all that bad stuff, all those difficult feelings that I couldn’t understand or bare feeling. It was my way, as well as many other humans way of making sense of being conditionally loved, when the belief starts shaping, that “there must be something fundamentally wrong with me”, as a little human, this is too hard to make sense of and all that hurt, criticisms, shame, whatever, has to go somewhere so the body becomes the container, and if we do not become aware of it, do the work, so to speak, we keep misplacing our emotional suffering in the body. We get sick, tired, burned out, depressed, anxious…you name it.
The thing is, I have done the work, doing the work, let’s face it is, it is never done. There is no end destination.
I have done the therapy, I do the dancing, oh how I dance, I do the reflection…then there comes the day, when we, I have a choice, when I am no longer what I was, but my behaviour is old and I follow old patterns. Active choices have to be made, it is up to me, to us, to break patterns, to choose something else, to choose to feel all of that difficult stuff, perhaps not at one time, but there is no way around it.
So I woke up in Edinburgh, and I made a choice. A choice to actually behave like the person that I have become.
So I keep dancing. I keep dancing with you. Thank you.
We keep dancing on Mondays in Baskemölla and what group we are!
Next big dance we have, is in June in KIVIK with BERIT HAGUE.