breathe through the pain

When I see the date of my last post, I am sad that the calendar display exhibits such a lag in time.  I pressed 'publish' on that post; social media-ed it into a few arenas in which I felt called to do, and tried to focus on relishing in victory and relief rather than wallow in doubt and dabble back into the pool of shame.

Vulnerability can be a scary, overwhelming, life-altering experience.  It leaves you susceptible to judgement, doubt, ignorance, assumptions, patronizing, comparing, betrayal...the list goes on.  It's a staunch slap in the face of the enemy to be able to stand upon your truths; broken and janky as they are; and own who you are, where you're coming from, and what you believe about who you want to become.

And while it can feel pretty darn amazing to take that first full breath; the one where your lungs are no longer filled with the thick mucus of lies and sin; the one where your voice is heard loudest and strongest and empowered-est...it can also be stifling.  That first breath of really-real, fully true, shameless {but not lacking in regret} air--it can also make you second guess.  Like you're in a tight space with a limited amount of oxygen; and by taking that giant deep breath, you may have very well just used up a good percentage of what little you have left that's keeping you alive.

Damn that enemy.

Because, y'all, you know that's what that means, right?  You know that as soon as you find yourself in a situation on the other side of ripping off a band-aid that exposes a deep and ugly truth; you're instantly swarmed with nasty bacteria; just looking to re-open that scar, tunnel deep into the wound, and try to re-set your mind to rest in pain and shame.  

So when I published and shared and then walked into the actual world from behind my computer screen; I really had to keep my anti-bacterial close at hand.  Even before that--when I began to speak truth into the situation that was the re-crumbling of my marriage a year ago, after the initial fracturing a year before that; I found myself keeping close track of my breaths.  The first breaths were bold; hot and uncomfortable to some; cleansing and refreshing to others.  The trick was to focus on the latter.  To choose to make the breaths of truth cleanse my soul; wash over the shame of my past choices and to laser-focus my intentions on the betterment of myself.

I liken it to my past experiences with hot yoga.  Holding poses for extended periods of time in a room with a climate that rivals a Houston summer {or spring or fall, for that matter}; many times I felt like a soft pretzel in a concession stand warming box than a person who was making positive progress on her mind, body, and health.  But I remember a particular class where the instructor connected the practice of breathing in yoga to God, something that, until then, I had not placed into the same playing field.  The quote she read, from Sri T. Krishnamacharya, a man regarded as the Father of Modern Yoga, said, "Inhale, and God approaches you.  Hold the inhalation, and God remains with you.  Exhale, and you approach God.  Hold the exhalation, and surrender to God."

There were several times when I would be twisted into a shape that seemed unnatural to human understanding only to find myself stifled from making progress; to find myself falling out of posture {and, on more than one occasion, falling onto my face!}.  Initially, I found myself embarrassed, nervous, flustered and faltering in my attempts to cover up my error.  I was slinging the burdens of shame over my shoulders for the remainder of the series of postures.  Weighed down by my awkwardness and feeling inadequate in my abilities; I was also oblivious to the very limited breaths I was taking during my failed attempts as well as to the amount of breaths I was actually holding onto.
Over time, however, when I would find myself staggering off kilter and face-first with my mat, I began to respond differently.  Persistence {as well as a little bit of competitive peer pressure} would bring me back to the posture.  Only it wasn't until I found the rhythm of my breath that I could find my focus shifting from the outside influences to the inside surrender of my muscles and joints, when I nestled deeper into the posture; head foggy with a the joyful peace of progress rather than a platform for perfection.  Sure, I ached a bit deeper as my muscles strained against what felt comfortable, natural, easy.  But the euphoria.  The joy of accomplishment after pushing through the pain and getting to the end of the series.  The release of that final cleansing, refreshing breath.  It was in that moment that I felt most able--pliable, capable, love-able.

God doesn't call for us to hold onto the shame, but in releasing it, we may have to spend a little time resting in the pain.  We may have to let the ache and burn of muscles that are pushed past the ease of natural and comfortable be where we rest.  Let it be where we focus on the rhythm of our breath; taking in the life-giving oxygen of truth and feeling the tiny tingles as it reaches into the deepest cracks in our heart.  It's in those cracks where we begin to find healing from the inside out.

In the midst, though.  The prowling of the enemy and his bacteria who threaten to gnaw away the progress of your healing wounds; it can be enough to make you cry.   Psalm 35:15-18 has spoken loudly to me in the moments post-posting/sharing/speaking truth.

But when I stumbled, they gathered in glee; assailants gathered against me without my knowledge.  They slandered me without ceasing.  Like the ungodly they maliciously mocked; they gnashed their teeth at me.  How long, Lord, will you look on?  Rescue me from their ravages, my precious life from these lions.  I will give you thanks in the great assembly; among the throngs I will praise you. 

I love the Message's verbiage of this same scripture; But when I was down they threw a party!  All the nameless riffraff of the town came chanting insults about me.  Like barbarians desecrating a shrine, they destroyed my reputation.  God, how long are you going to stand there and do nothing?  Save me from their brutalities; everything I've got is being thrown to the lions, I will give you full credit when everyone gathers for worship; When the people turn out in force I will say my Hallelujahs.

Vulnerability is scary.  At first, it's a breath-holding experience that leaves you staggering off-kilter, feeling like you are face-first on the mat.  It's easy to hold that breath, to keep that wound closed, to hide shame rather than reveal pain.

But then when you actually do it.  When you rip the bandage and find the rhythm and stay in the pain; you find that even though the first half of that scripture {35:15-16} is nothing more than true; that you've become the laughing stock and topic for gossip; it's right there in that moment that you need to press into the pain even more.  Focus hard on the breath where you encounter, remain, approach, and surrender to God.  Because once you reach the end of the posture, once you release your cleansing breath, you find yourself celebrating the stretching of you beyond the comfortable, and feel euphoric joy rush into your heart.

And you won't be alone.

I wrote the following the other day on Facebook accompanying a photo that featured the lovely Anne Lamott's words {...Because when people have seen you at your worst, you don't have to put on the mask as much.}
there will always be those people who are too uncomfortable to see you without the mask. who can't handle the 100 proof-ness of you and who come at you with inaunthenticity--a striking opposition to the raw and real and fearlessness you represent. they're the ones under the guise of caring and compassion when their ultimate goal is a collector of information to dole out to others. they're the ones with the judgmental aura that try to break down the walls of truth you've built with your messiness because they feel it's their job. they're the ones that compare to feel better about themselves. the ones who get offended because you haven't consulted them for advice; who turn themselves into the victim. they're the ones standing at the precipice, nervous to cross the threshold; half-heartedly reaching out to limply grab your hand. they're the ones who retreat; the ones who can't process the realness of a messy situation and turn a blind eye, removing the shoulder on which you can lean, severing what once appeared to be a tie but has since proven to be loose threads of falsely labeled connection. the people who just can't be bothered to sit in the silence of the mess, who doesn't have the courage to approach and linger in the pain, who can't humble themselves to recognize the need in others might actually be a calling to fill a need in themselves. //
these aren't your people. these aren't the ones from whom you will feel the presence of God; but the pressures of this world to be bottled and quiet and still. they're everywhere. those who've been alongside you and integrated in your life--only to be revealed as such as the explosions occur and the dust and ash begin to settle in; re-landscaping the space once occupied into a new frontier. //
don't settle for them. don't rely on them. don't expect from them. there will be the gems. the rare ones who are genuine. who shine simply because they reflect the light of others--of Him. seek them. or, better yet, they'll be the ones seeking you. the ones who take the mask you're hanging on to *just in case* and toss it into the fire. they're the ones; the rare few, the least expected; who love you maskless. 

God gives you people.  The instructors who remind you to connect your breathing to God.  The ones who take the dirty bandages from your hands after you rip; who bring the anti-bacterial sprays; who stand beside you on the mat and both catch you when you fall and fall right alongside you; willing to scrape their knees and wound their ego and stifle their popularity.  All because they are proud of you for standing on your truths; broken and janky as they are; proud of you for owning who you are and where you're coming from; and fully believe in you and champion who you want to become.

And that is a huge, relief-laden, cleansing, refreshing breath that helps while resting in the pain.