Most vs. Me/I’m My Own Hero
God, seriously? WTF. The doctor says I have a herniated disc and shouldn’t sit on the newish white sectional anymore. Oy! Its fluffy fluffy fluffy luxurious deep down contours which require oh-so-decadent slouching are exacerbating a newish back problem.
I kinda knew I was having trouble getting comfortable on it, kept plumping pillows and shifting and all that kind of stuff. Now it’s medically confirmed with x-rays and everything: The newish white sectional is part of the problem, not the solution.
The solution is: No slouching. No looking down at the phone or other screens. Sitting up, looking up, standing up is the new lounging. Okay.
So I’m sitting on the floor, elevating my hips with some firmer pillows from the dingy, stained, cat scratched old chairs I rescued from my friend’s giveaway pile eleven years ago. They’re the perfect size and firmness to prop me up so my spine can be in proper alignment to heal.
There’s a name for this sitting posture I’m doing. But I don’t remember how to say “Hurty back trying for healing posture” in Sanskrit. Oh right. Hero pose. Virasana.
When the doctor told me I had the flexibility of an 80-year-old man, it made sense. I’ve felt like an 80-year-old man in a lot of my yoga practices. Which, as a 40-something woman, is humbling, and also — if I so choose the path of non-acceptance — annoying AF.
So now there’s “scientific proof” that my internal body is not what one would expect from the looks of my external body. And there’s pain — perhaps the result of trying to get my body to do what it shouldn’t? — even if “most” 40-something women should or can or whatever. Most vs. Me. I gotta care for myself as I am, not as these theoretical most babes are.
So great. I get it. My body gives me louder and louder clues about how to treat it. I can listen or ignore and suffer the consequences, or a little of both. Today I hurt, but I am listening and I am on a path to healing. I’m my own hero. I’m gonna keep going.