Release. Soften. Let Go.

Yoga today was about releasing the shoulders. I carry a truck-load of tension on my shoulders; every time I roll them back I crack monstrously. In the winter, it's like my shoulders think I'll be less cold if they're closer to my ears. In short, these muscles are tight, and they hurt.

Releasing, relaxing, softening, and letting go sounds absolutely fantastic to someone who has so much crap stored in there.

Here's how I feel post-75-minutes of shoulder releasing:

Angry.

Vulnerable.

Sexy.

Wider.

Taller.

Sad.

Anxious.

Breasty.

Loose.

Drunk.

Young.

Open.

...

Here are some thoughts I'm having: 

I need a glass of wine. 

It's colder than it was before. Maybe tension does make it less cold...


I feel like crying.


My boobs look huge. Awesome!


I can really feel my shirt on my back.


I want a warm bath.


Why didn't anyone invite me out tonight? I'm lonely.


I'm so beautiful.


I'm so healthy!


I need a gentler bra.

I wish I had someone to cuddle with.


I hate show-off yogis. 


Why don't I live near nature?


...

I know tension protects me. It probably saves my life sometimes in this city. But I always wish I could relax, soften, and not feel such pain on my neck and shoulders all the time because I scrunch them up all day. So it was a real gift to dedicate 75 minutes of my day (of my week, of my life...) to letting go. I highly recommend it. I hope I remember this sensation tomorrow. And maybe the day after, too.

Ideal Childhood

I'm allowed draw and paint all over the walls.


I eat rice with ketchup as often as I want. 


I never have to get out of my abandoned princess orphan costume.


I scream and cry. 


The word "lady" never enters my vocabulary. 


The playroom looks like a room children play in, instead of a room well-behaved children never make a mess in. 


My family always wants to see my homemade plays. 


I am allowed to collect rolly-polly's. 


I don't have to brush my hair, ever. 


I can play with cars too. 


Barbie never makes an appearance. 


Disney movies are banned. 


There's space for me to run around. 


I can rip the wrapping on presents. 


I don't have to speak up in class; I'm allowed to be quiet and shy. 


I sleep in a tent.


I am not careful with my clothes, they're inexpensive and they can get dirty and messed up. 


I am told that I am a beautiful little girl, and that I can have as many dreams, realistic or not, as I want.


We don't always get the childhoods we want and need; sometimes we have to give them to ourselves as adults. And, maybe, we can give a little bit of them to our children, if we're sensitive enough to know what they each need.

As the caretaker I wish I'd had to my Inner Child, I ask Little Larissa, What do you need today? If I can give it to her- to myself- I do. And so, all those impulses and dreams that were stifled long ago, begin to live again...

There's nothing as touching and sweet as a happy child who's allowed to dream, I think.

Being Gentle With Myself

Being gentle with myself is hard work. I am much more prone to thoughts like, "Ugh, I'm so fat," or "My neck is such a mess," or "Why doesn't my hair just do one thing at a time," or "I wish I hadn't done that, I'm so stupid," or "Did I really say that, how dumb," and so forth. Switching to, "I look great, I feel great, I am talented and beautiful and smart and bound for success," takes some effort. And some suspension of disbelief.

The thing is, though, that even in my moments of self-loathing and self-pitying, I am still present to a sense that I am better than my own negative thoughts and that I am worthy of love, happiness, and success. The thoughts happen, but they don't shake my core. The Ideal Me sits comfortably in my innermost being, no matter what hurricane of self-destruction my brain and actions put me through.

Since it's easy to get caught up in daily life rubble, I try and give myself some reminders. I have my phone send me alerts that say, "Be gentle with yourself," "Notice your heart," and "Get present to who you really are." I write in my journal a couple of times a day and let my negative thoughts shift to reality, and then to positive thoughts. For example, the thought, "I'm so fat," with turn into, "I have a body that is made of bones, muscle, blood, fat, water, skin, hair, etc.," and then into, "I am beautiful." It doesn't mean I always believe it, but I do it anyway and, very often, it does shift my perception.

On my worst days, when I can't even fathom having a positive thought, I picture Little Larissa, my inner child, and I imagine myself saying these things to her. Immediately, my negativity pulls back by 100%. I may not always be able to treat my adult-self with love and gentleness, but I would kill anyone who spoke to my inner child in a destructive way. I would not stand for it, and so I am reminded that I must not stand for the treatment I give myself as an adult either. If I can protect my inner child, I can protect myself.

So, if I may inspire anyone today: Be gentle with yourself. Treat yourself with love, care, and compassion. We often seek this treatment from others, but it is of uttermost importance that we offer it to ourselves.