It’s been quite a while since my last entry, and for probably good reasons–at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. #justification

So let’s take a quick journey from September, shalth we? (I’m aware this is not a word, thank you!)

I was a few months into a relationship in that post, and with the idea that we would be breaking up when he left Tucson in the following month or two… I wasn’t a big fan of that idea, but I was so smitten with him that I continued to date him anyhow. It was interesting to see how that relationship changed me from start to now; and how I imagine the outside looking in to who I had become.

Let’s skip back a few months to my #handstand365 decision: After a night of drinking too much on my birthday and realizing I was not happy with my habits, I decided to do a handstand every day for a year. It started mostly as a physical challenge, thinking I would get better at handstands and that would be great for, well, pretty much just me. So I began documenting it on Instagram to keep myself accountable, and some days I didn’t feel like doing it and would do it anyhow, and some days I had some injuries in my back and ankle and would find a safer inversion instead. And some days, I just cried. I cried and got angry that I wasn’t better. Compared myself to people who could naturally get it, just like most other physical challenges or activities. Then in the midst of this challenge and dating this amazing man, I had a couple solid injuries–one of which was likely DUE to my handstands (landing poorly on my ankle one too many times) and one from extreme stress (ended up in the hospital for a bit and unable to sit up, let alone invert). And I learned the much larger lessons of handstands: patience and letting go of the results. See, I had this end goal in mind, to be a total badass at the end of the year and hold for a minute and be so amazing in my body control.

NOPE!

I got an entirely different result. In the beginning when I couldn’t hold a handstand well, I got angry. I slammed my feet on the ground instead of lightly landing (oh, maybe that’s the reason I hurt my ankle), and would curse and allow my blood to boil while talking down to myself endlessly. And a year later, ending my challenge 30 days late due to injuries and all, I was able to find peace if I wasn’t able to handstand that day. Sure, there are still angry tears, but I would pause, take a breath, and remember I couldn’t do this if I wasn’t mentally or emotionally clear. Let myself just play. Find the strength within my body versus forcing it… So wonderful.

I used the handstands as a catalyst for other change in my life as well. I wouldn’t say I had a drinking problem, but I never liked how I felt when I drank and a lot of my social life was centered around grabbing a beer. Harmless, mostly. But a lot of the times I would sit at a bar with a friend who was distracted by someone else while I would stare at my phone. Or look for some other sort of connection. Once, in the beginning of that year, I was out with a few friends one night sitting and having a drink. Nothing fancy or crazy. But I looked around at other tables and realized, I’ve already talked to all these people. Not literally, of course, but I had this horrible feeling that I would learn or hear nothing new from meeting people out at bars anymore. We all had similar stories and were desperately seeking real connections in an unreal environment. All dressed up, liquid courage in our blood, no real fears or insecurities allowed to play that night. Then we would somehow get surprised when that guy at the bar wasn’t as charming a week later. Why, why was I doing this to myself?

Enter my boyfriend, a guy I had known for a bit through our gym, and had only a simple, flirty relationship since we were both attached when we met. He asked for my number much later, after we’d both broken up with our significant others, and we began texting. He was busy with work (later he tells me he just wanted more space between relationships, and obviously was planning to move), and we never saw each other outside the gym. But we spoke daily. I got impatient, as I always do, and inquired when he would take me on a date. He replied, “I want to get to know you better first. I always move too fast and I don’t want to ruin it.” Whether or not that was a line, I don’t care, because it struck me hard. I was also one to move quickly in relationships. So why not slow it down and just see what happened? I had another guy pursuing me at the same time, from bar life, and I compared the two. One, the guy who wanted to slow things down and get to know me, he scared the crap out of me. I wasn’t sure I deserved something real. Something with more effort. I felt like I was the kind of woman who could only really be a fling, even though I wanted something more. The second was guaranteed to be a fling, and I figured it would help me heal from a previous heartbreak I was still working to get past. Then the second screwed a girl who I worked with and my decision was made.

I wanted no part of the bar life anymore. It was shallow. It was hurtful. It wasn’t who I was or who I wanted to be, even if I played the part for a while.

My sweetie and I went on a date a few days later and fell hard for one another. We spent nearly all of our free time together. I knew there was this inevitable end, his leaving, and I wanted to soak up every minute of the time we had until then. My family had questions, my friends as well, as to why I kept choosing time with this guy who was probably just another temporary distraction that I was devoting time to before he would eventually leave and I would go back to my own life. I felt pull back from a lot of my “loved ones” as they saw me cling to this guy they didn’t know. We would use the weekends to go hiking and pull away from the world, spending as much time outdoors and with each other as possible. And I felt guilty. I saw the recoil of my friends around me and yet I still wanted to spend time with this guy over them. I would make the attempt with friends, going out with the intention of not seeing him and focus entirely on the other people I loved, and I would become bored so quickly. 

I took my concerns to my therapist. Why did I feel so guilty? Should I be spending less time with him? I just wanted to make everyone happy.

There it was: my thorn. I wanted to make everyone happy. Not me. Others. My therapist asked me what about this new relationship was different for me. She challenged me to see clearly what I was so attracted to with him. And it was so absurdly obvious to me: I was me. I was happy. He didn’t ask me to be anyone else but myself. And I wanted to be around someone who gave me the freedom to JUST BE ME.

This was when things got rough. Choosing to be around someone who brings out your best, who brings you joy, who inspires you to live fully–seems like a really easy decision. But not when you realize how many people you’ve prioritized in your life that didn’t do that. And they start to drop like flies. And it hurts like hell to lose that many people. I blamed myself, saying maybe I didn’t work hard enough as a friend, or if I had prioritized them, maybe they would have been nicer. Only recently was I able to discern that I lost those people because I chose to leave. I chose to let go of what wasn’t bringing me peace and happiness. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. But it does help me to see where I’ve come, and who needed to stick around. News flash: it’s a lot fewer people than I would have guessed.

The man begins to make plans to move. I got a job offer outside of Tucson. Things get even harder because inevitably, everything is going to change. Awesome, change is my favorite thing. Bring it. I move. He leaves for a road trip. We break up. I cry a lot. We talk a few days later. He misses me. He asks me to move with him to Montana. I cry a lot. We’re back together. Jerk. Making us break up for nothing. 🙄

But here’s the rub: I let him leave. I didn’t struggle or fight or feel like it was unfair. I loved him infinitely, and I knew in my heart our story wasn’t over, even though I didn’t know what the future would hold. The night we broke up, I drove to my cousin’s on my way home and she kept saying to me, “You have so much hope in your eyes in the midst of all your tears.” (If you haven’t figured out at this point, I’m a big ole crier). And I felt that hope. Yes, in hindsight it seems all for naught, but that was a big change for me. I let myself know that the future was beyond my control, and that didn’t have to be a bad thing anymore.

I finished the challenge about two weeks ago, and I found myself reflecting on everything that had changed in the last year. I haven’t had a drink in a month. My dear and I live in Montana. I have a better paying job than I did before, although I miss teaching yoga dreadfully. I work out more often. I’m outside nearly all the time. And I’m finally happy. I spent a year learning to choose joy on my hard days, to let myself be upset but not live in despair. That’s not to say I didn’t struggle with depression when we moved here, or that I don’t have hard days. Or that I’ve got all kinds of friends here, because I don’t. I have some things on my list to do, to accomplish for myself and my own joy. I need a yoga studio again. I need acro. I need to bring more joy and play into my workspace. I need to start writing more. But all of these things, all of them, are simple. I choose to be grateful. I choose to see the lovely things in my life, even though some days it is easier than others. I know that I’ve had to let go of some things in my life that were wonderful to get to something greater.

Who have I become? Me. A woman I’ve always been, even though I hid myself for a while. The River Woman. The little girl who was free to run in the forest and dance on the side of the road and wears clothes that make her comfy and laughs openly. I do what I want. And I choose to love my life, wherever it takes me.

Bring it.