April 30, 2009

It was just about 6 years ago today that I was almost completely liberated from my body, and it was after that experience – at age 43 – that I decided it was time for me to figure out how I wanted to live in my body while I am still here.

Getting so close to death I could feel it, was the beginning of the life I love now.  I am incredibly fortunate – in ways I continue to discover daily – but one of my greatest pieces of good fortune was not that I didn’t die, but that I almost did.

When I was dying, as my bodies’ processes were shutting down, I felt good.  There was nothing I had to do, nothing to fight against, no self-judgement, no regrets, no questions, no protests, no unsatisfied desires.  There was only calm, and peace, and complete acceptance of everything being exactly fine.  It was a time of total ease.

And maybe part of this was that I had long thought I was going to die in my early forties, and so there was some satisfaction in being right.  But that’s probably my head trying to give a logical explanation for a magical feeling.

At any rate, nearly 6 years ago today I didn’t die, and awoke to find myself in Norwalk Hospital, in April 2003, with my nurse Donna, holding up three fingers, and then four.

And when I woke up I was free to start the process of discovering who I was – body and soul.

*    *     *

For most of my life I viewed my body – when I thought of it at all – as an impediment.

My body was what defined me as “not right,” as inadequate, as not good enough.  I was fat – for as long as I can remember I was too fat – and I was told that my weight was the only thing preventing me from taking my rightful place amongst the super-heroes.  And of course my weight was all about my body – it wasn’t really about me.

Additionally, my family placed little value on the physical – true happiness was found through stimulation of the mind, through discussion of ideas, and, particularly, from reading.  I remember thinking – at age 44 – as I was discovering the joys of cardio – that if anyone had ever suggested to me that it would feel good to really work out my body, I might have done it sooner, but no one ever did, and honestly, if they had, I probably wouldn’t have believed them.

And so over the years – from ages 3 to 43, I covered myself up with layers and layers of fat.  Really, as a child, looking back at pictures taken before I started hiding from the camera, I was barely plump, but I have a very small frame – I was designed to be tiny, and I wasn’t.

From where I sit now, it seems clear that if things had been just a little different, I would have grown out of my baby fat during adolescence.  My fat was still pretty clean then – relatively free from emotional coloring – but I have no idea how that story would have turned out, and so I’m happy to stick with the story I know.

What happened was, as I grew older, I got scared.  I was supposed to be this wonderful creature and do great things.  I had amazing talents to offer the world – I just needed to be my super human self.  I could be or do absolutely anything, but it needed to be the right thing, and then I would be happy and fulfilled.  Terrifying.  Paralyzing.

Fortunately, my body loves me very very much and came to my rescue.  The one thing keeping me from rising to my full potential was that I needed to  “do something about my weight.”  So I protected myself with pounds and pounds of lovely insulating fat.  I created a suit to keep myself safe.

I didn’t know that was what I was doing.  I thought I was fat and getting fatter because I was lazy and gluttonous and undisciplined, and just plain bad.  And I had a slow metabolism and poor genetics to boot.  Periodically I would try to force myself to “do something,” but despite intense effort, I never seemed to get anywhere for very long.

All this time – these 25 years – I was blaming my body.  It was my body that liked food too much, my body that hated exercise, and my body – morbidly obese – that proclaimed to the world that I was a failure.   As long as I could blame my body for my unhappiness I could hold on to an image of myself as someone better.

What happened eventually, after everyone I worried about disappointing was dead, was I decided it was time for me to figure out how who I really am.   It became time for me to liberate my body from the identity I had imposed upon it.  Through the process of peeling off my fat suit, I’ve gradually discovered what my body is about.  I’ve found that my body has been the best friend I could ever have, and is a much more loving and honest guardian of my essential self than my mind.

I’ve discovered that my body is a source of deep wisdom, and that she does not steer me wrong.  And it is through my body, that I have discovered how to live.

Body Liberation is a process of discovery and reunification – exploration of the soul through the physical self.  It is a transformational journey.  I am very very lucky to have found it

Curiously, by liberating my body from the identity I had imposed upon it, I found the process to discover who I really am.