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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781504396875 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Balboa Press |
| Publication date: | 01/26/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 110 |
| File size: | 166 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Once Upon a Time That Didn't Go So Well
"Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light."
Madeline L'Engle
Here's my story of unBELIEVEing.
Once upon a time there was a sparkly, outgoing, sunshiny girl named Carol. That's me! My name, rather appropriately means "song of joy," but I haven't felt like a song of joy very much. In spite of what most people seem to think when they meet me, I've had it kind of rough. My parents split when I was nine and I didn't see it coming. My mom moved to the Washington, D.C. area while my dad stayed in Texas, so my sister and I switched states and parents and schools every year as part of the custody arrangement. I'll never forget the first time we flew from Mom to Dad, a nine-year-old and her four-year-old sister on a three-plus-hour flight alone. My sister cried the whole way and begged me to ask the pilots to turn the plane around so she could go back to our mom. I tried to find a way to be strong and take care of her and make it okay. But oh man, the terror and heartache she felt was mine too. I just had to swallow it up. So I told myself to close off, to protect, and to not need anyone because nothing was certain. We all tell ourselves something.
I gained weight after my parents split, which was a huge change for me because I'd always been an effortlessly skinny kid — and the boys at school didn't like that so much either. Walking into my new school in Virginia – new state, new house, single mom, no friends – the cutest boy in class decided my name wasn't Carol, it was Fat Tub of Lard. And it stuck. He called me that all year, and all the others boys thought it was sooooooo funny. So I told myself there was something wrong with me — that I was ugly and boys didn't like me.
The weight stayed on and just kept building, a protective layer I know now (more on that to come!). And because my sister was tiny and beautiful and had all the boyfriends, I could only see her as competition. She wanted to be my friend, but in my head there was a limited amount of love and she was hogging it all. So I pushed her away.
In high school I actually tried sports and got into rowing for a while. It gave me some of my confidence, even though I still felt like the chubby girl on the team. Not quite good enough or fast enough or strong enough for the top competitive boats. I could have stayed with it, but I also had a dream at the time to be on Broadway. I've always been a performer — my mom will tell you that at eighteen months old I was singing America the Beautiful. Or the times I used to sing "Tomorrow!" from Annie at the top of my lungs while crawling around on the couch at age three or four ... there are seriously embarrassing videos of these performances, which I'm sure she'll show my future husband one of these days (sorry future husband: I promise I don't do that anymore!). Or how I used to dress up as Carie Lou Retton, the alterego of Mary Lou Retton, where I'd change into my USA leotard and perform for everyone in the living room. I think there are pictures of that too.
Anyways, high school. My drama teacher at the time said if I ever wanted to be on Broadway for real, I had to quit sports and only do plays and musicals. So I stopped rowing, gained back what weight I had actually managed to lose (because, exercise), and dove headfirst into Drama (capitalized for dramatic effect).
It was in Drama that I met The Boy (capitalized for what-was-I-thinking effect). He was your typical high school "bad boy," but I thought he was wonderful. Somehow, he liked me back. He was the first boy who paid any attention to me, and he said all the right things, even while doing all the wrong things. We were stupidly co-dependent and totally entwined in needing each other to be okay. We ate each other alive, until one day we didn't.
Even though the breakup was the best possible thing that could have happened, it crushed me. I stopped believing in love. I told God that I wanted to wait for whomever he had for me so I didn't have to go through this horrible rollercoaster of doom again. I started reading a lot, the Psalms mostly, because David had it pretty rough and I thought, This guy gets it. Like him, I needed something bigger than myself to help me figure out how to be okay. Because it was a heartbreak that felt like an earthquake.
Fast forward through college because it's not terribly interesting, and we come to my roaring twenties. I moved back home to the D.C. area, got a job working for a Member of Congress, and was seriously unhealthy in my stress, eating habits, thoughts, crushes on boys, excessive drinking, views about life, etc. And at some point I was smart enough to leave the grind of Capitol Hill and try to find a better way. I started to work out for the first time since rowing in high school, I began to eat better, I lost weight, and I and felt like maybe I was beginning to get to a good place.
And then, it happened. I was raped. I coped the best way I could: I drank a lot of wine and ate a whole crapload of pretzels and peanut butter. I went to therapy until she declared I was fine or whatever. I struggled with PTSD and was so afraid of people standing too close to me that sometimes I would hide under my desk at work shaking. I worked myself into a series of eating disorders to try to get out of the trap of the nightmares and the fear — the shattered sense of self.
I tried out for a super-competitive rowing team after it all happened, trying to claw my way back to some sense of worth and self. If I could get a better rowing test score, if I could make the best boat, if I could be invaluable, and get all the medals, then maybe I would be okay. I would be enough. But it was never enough. Eventually I worked myself into a state of bulimia, orthorexia, and extreme exercise. I would go to team rowing practice in the mornings, run or do CrossFit in the afternoons, and then get on the rowing machine at night for hours, until every single calorie I had eaten was accounted for and burned off. There was actually a point where I could feel this voice within me telling me that doing this was going to break me.
Spoiler alert: it did. Even as I was working myself through the aftermath of my trauma lesson by lesson and day by day, I was absolutely convinced that my worth was in winning — winning at rowing, at calories, at succeeding, at life. If could win, I could finally believe in myself. But that never came. Instead, my body started to break down and the stress was uncontrollable, I had to quit rowing, and I had to slow down. I just didn't do it fast enough, because one day while I was out running, my body stopped. My immune system was shot, and I broke. Every possible illness found me until I didn't even recognize myself. I found a functional medicine doctor to work with who diagnosed me with hypothyroidism, adrenal fatigue, and other fun things. She told me not to do any workouts other than walking or yoga, to meditate, and to reduce my stress as much as possible.
That was the true beginning of my work, because I was left with no way to earn anything or work toward better or winning. All of my coping mechanisms were gone, and I was left staring at all kinds of wounds I had merely patched up or plastered over. I felt like a shell of myself.
Eventually I could move just enough to go to yoga. Yoga began to change everything for me, because it doesn't really let you get away with superficiality. There's no team to blend into, no fitness tracker to measure — there's just you, your breath, your movement, your heartbeat. I walked/crawled over to a new studio that had just opened down the street from me, and I started exploring yoga classes and teachers. I began to be kind to myself and realize my body was always working for me. I had just been seriously hard on it for a very very (very) long time. I found "enough" within myself. I found hope. I found enough courage and strength to really see my wounds, acknowledge them, and work on them.
Then the universe just kept sending me drops of inspiration to try a yoga teacher training program. On a whim and a leap of faith, I signed up. I honestly had no idea what to expect. I thought I would learn super amazing yoga tricks. Or that it would be like nonstop yoga-festival fun. Instead, we studied breath, awareness, exploration, philosophy, questions, and ancient wisdom. We learned about energy and movement, about anatomy and transformation. This journey, this self-inquiry, led me to dig into all the limiting beliefs and protective walls I had built around myself through my traumas and hardships and I let them fall away, one onion peel at a time, finally getting to the core of who I am and how I'm made. How on purpose I am, how beautiful, how enough. How we are all that.
Your story will be different than mine, although maybe it sounds similar in places, but our lives are no less littered with traumas. We're all human, and our hearts take hits daily. Some worse than others, some more life altering, but we all come up with beliefs about life based on what's happened to us.
This book is full of the wisdom that comes from trial and so much error, from yoga teacher training with some seriously wise and wonderful teachers, from years of study, from aromatherapy education, and from life.
The whole idea behind BELIEVE is getting past all that stuff we cover ourselves with to stay safe and revealing the truth underneath. It's finally getting at the core of who you are, acknowledging what you find there, and feeling safe to be seen, to be authentic, and to believe that you are so enough, and more than enough.
But before we dive into how to BELIEVE, we need to get at the unBELIEVE. The crusty gooky stuff that gets in the way of all that wonder waiting for you within you. We have to mine through the ore to get the gold. The next few chapters are all about coping mechanisms that can block you from getting back to center and finding true north — how to recognize them, and how to let them go.
CHAPTER 2
Hide & Seek
"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are."
ee cummings
Everyone finds a way to cope with their life traumas in a different way. Some find the control of eating disorders or the comfort of too much food. Some find the punishment of too much exercise or negative friends. For others it's an escape into a fantasy world through movies or tv or books. Coping is our way to numb and avoid — to bypass what needs to be addressed and treat the symptoms rather than finding a cure.
Sometimes these coping mechanisms can be life savers. If you can't deal with the pain or trauma in your life, you develop a way around so it doesn't break you. It's basically like taking the long way home. The problem comes when you're strong enough to try to take the direct route again, but you never go back to examine your path. When the coping mechanism becomes the source of harm, you've got a problem.
#winning
One of the coping mechanisms I see most – and was my own drug of choice – is achievement. The belief that somehow in this attempt to win at life – be better, do more, be chosen, have it all – there will be joy on the other side. But this is a moving target, and every time it moves, there is more to do or be or have. This is the kind of tunnel vision that leads people to charge at the destination, miss the journey, and be out- of-control-frustrated with anything they see as blocking their way to "getting there." This is also a zero-sum mentality, so if someone else gets picked for a job, or a date, or whatever, it's as if this is a personal blow to you. Someone else's selection is to your detriment, and it makes it tough to have true friends, to stay even-keeled, or to be happy.
The belief that typically underpins this kind of coping mechanism and behavior is: "if I succeed, I'll be loved." The drive to win leaves the very thing sought – love – just and permanently out of reach. There is no acceptance, no love, in the need to be and do more — there is only judgment of self and others. Love must be earned and so it's never experienced.
Often behaviors that accompany this belief are anorexia, obsessions, orthorexia, over-exercise, depression, anger, and burnout. People struggling with this coping mechanism always want more and never seem to have enough.
Run Away Train
Of course if winning isn't your cup of tea, there's the ever popular strategy of running away. This usually comes from an inability to cope that leaves people unable to sit with their thoughts. Thoughts are scary, and emotions are painful, and escaping seems better — it's certainly easier.
This can manifest as extreme busyness, avoiding challenging situations, never allowing time or space for reflection, or not talking about deep issues with others. It's easier when busy to keep others – and your own inner voice – at bay. This may show up as frenetic movement: cleaning, errands, projects, to-do lists. It can also be epic marathon dives into tv, books, games, movies, or Netflix. Escaping your own life for awhile isn't bad, but when it's a habit, there's no growth. You're left believing the rough things that you've used to triage your wounds, but underneath, they're still bleeding and need care and attention.
This way of coping can be hard to identify and even harder to let go. When you've been through hard things and finally have the courage to let go of fluff and look at the pain, you may not like the scary stuff you find inside. I know I didn't. There were plenty of demons hanging out and having tea in my dark spaces, needing me to stop indulging them in their party. You may find the same: pain, old wounds, old beliefs, fear, doubt, unhappiness. The problem is that old saying: "wherever you go, there you are." Running only delays and compounds the inevitable. You pay now or you pay more later. Escaping your life ensures paying more later.
Invisibility
When you were a kid, what superpower did you want to have? I wanted to be able to breathe underwater like a mermaid, but only if I was invisible, too. I thought if I could be unseen and stay in a beautiful watery happy place, nothing could hurt me. Invisibility is a superpower for sneak-attacking giant monsters in movies – or in your life – but it's not without its drawbacks. The most basic form of human connection is in being seen. Not just with the eyes, but with the soul. Realizing someone else sees you and likes what's seen is a freeing – and also a vulnerable – thing. When life's traumas come along, an easy way to hide from the hurt or the possibility or hurt is to become invisible. Except unlike a superpower, most people do this to shrink rather than to save. Don't get me wrong - it's a powerful tool – but being invisible covers your inner light and begins to diminish your authenticity and the beauty you have to offer the world.
Invisibility can manifest in a number of ways: weight gain, weight loss, introversion, dropping out of groups or friendships, breaking away from social engagements, hermit mode, etc. In cases of sexual trauma or abuse, people can gain weight to not be seen as attractive to anyone who could hurt them. It's often unconscious sabotage/protection, where the weight becomes a barrier to the possibility of future assault or pain. Any of these ways of hiding can help temporarily, but like all coping mechanisms, eventually they go from serving as a bridge to get to better to becoming a crutch that holds you back.
After my traumas and through illness, my body put on weight — a lot of it. This was one of the hardest things for me to cope with, because while I didn't want to be seen and I could feel my body echo that, it also forced my awareness of – and attention to – every single wound of being an overweight kid. I knew I could let the hurts stay and force them back underground again, but then where would I be? Fighting the weight wouldn't get me anywhere. I'd be right back where I was in the beginning — hating on myself and wishing myself ill. Which is basically the emotional equivalent of an auto-immune disease.
It took me months and months to stop fighting my circumstances and weight gain to see the gift and opportunity to heal inner things, but once I did it was so freeing. Suddenly I saw the world through different eyes. It didn't matter what I weighed or my calorie count or what some magazine thought was the "in" lipstick of the month. I didn't care about that in others — I cared about their personalities and laugh and kindness. So why did I hold myself to a higher standard?
When I could surrender here too, find the lesson, trust the experience, and believe that I'd get better eventually ... well, I didn't want to hide anymore.
Trust No One
Trust no one. This is an easy one to tell yourself when things aren't going right or you feel scared and lonely: "I have no one." It's a protection mechanism but also a self-fulfilling prophecy.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Believe"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Carol Beck.
Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
PART I: UNBELIEVE, 1,
Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time That Didn't Go So Well, 3,
Chapter 2: Hide & Seek, 9,
Chapter 3: Where the Wild (Trauma) Things Are, 17,
Chapter 4: Peeling Onions Makes You Cry, 21,
PART II: BELIEVE, 25,
Chapter 5: Disney Princesses and Purple Hair, 29,
Chapter 6: Restore, 33,
Chapter 7: Write It Out., 39,
Chapter 8: Speak Your Truth, 51,
Chapter 9: Breathe In, Breathe Out, 55,
Chapter 10: Surrender to the Divine, 67,
Chapter 11: Lavender, Frankincense & Sage (oh my!), 79,
Chapter 12: Moving Meditation, 85,
Chapter 13: Unicorns & Fairy Dust: Go After Your Dreams, 95,
Resources, 97,