“Ms. whit you must keep moving, I know you’re tired, but the thing is guys no matter what you do you must…just keep moving!”
The barre teacher kept repeating herself, “keep moving, I don’t care how fast you’re going but move for god’s sake!” The truth is though, they’ve really been words I’ve been telling myself everyday for two years. Sometimes I have to scream them…quite literally. After each interval of the class, I could see one or two women falling off.
There have been times I haven’t wanted to budge, haven’t wanted to move forward at all (probably had one of those times even today actually). There was about a year that I did nothing but exist and survive, and eat. That was new for me, wanting to loathe in my suffering alongside a bag of cheetos (to be noted: not the crunchy ones) and cupcakes. I used to be the kind of person that starves themselves when they’re sad. At least I gained a much needed 20 pounds versus withering away into unintentional anorexia. The truth is though I had no choice, I had to keeping moving – I wasn’t sure if I was going forward, backward or horizontal but I knew I was still going and that’s what mattered. I wasn’t dead. A child was counting on me. A dog was counting on me. At one point I told myself that an invisible lover was counting on me as well as the ants invading my kitchen. There were nights of playing pretend, pretending that the pillow was him. That his feet were really curled up against mine and he really was listening to my rambling about my day. I had lots of conversations with the dog and a wall. Who knows this? No one. Just me, and you – now.
I am still figuring out how to move forward. It’s really, really hard. But I have learned so many lessons about the act of deliberate movement in light of an emotional catastrophe. The first being that you MUST keep drinking water. Dehydration is a very very bad thing and leads to unfortunate things like, say, UTIs and kidney infections. I have also learned how to love more deeply those I still have and to try to show them my love every chance I can. I’ve learned to not hurt people the way I’ve been hurt.
I read the other day this phrase: “that one thing doesn’t have to be the thing that defines you.” Eating non-crunchy cheetos and scrying (sleep-crying) myself to sleep doesn’t have to be thing that defines me.
Instead, I want the thing that defines me to be this: my ability to keep moving (not quite sure the direction, still) but merely that simple fact. That I’ve kept moving in some direction despite the pain. In a way my logic tells me that I have to be going forward so for today I think I’ll accept that as a truth.
This is the next chapter in my life, that’s all. My writings are back and they are going to be completely different, but, that’s OK and to be expected.
a whit. xxx