Tag Archives: lessons

Laugh Yer Ass Off

Yesterday, I took part in teaching a class. I prepared what I would speak about, dressed up for the occasion, and delivered my presentation. I received excellent feedback and felt I was behaving quite professionally.

After the lunch break, everybody was sitting and waiting for class to resume. I sat down and, right in front of everyone, I fell right through the chair, landing on my ass. We all laughed, my cheeks reddened (the ones on my face!) and we continued on.

As I sat there, trying not to guffaw, I realised that this was a hilarious lesson on not taking myself too seriously. I’d had an emotional week and I’d been feeling tired and fed up. It all felt like hard work. But I was proud of myself for getting through it and doing my best. And then I fell, bum in the air, in front of a room full of people.

Last night, I drank a glass of wine with my mother, watched ridiculous YouTube clips with my sister, and smashed open a coconut like I used to as a child on Hallowe’en. I slept in my childhood bed and didn’t get up until almost midday, skipping an all-day workshop that I could have attended.

If yesterday’s incident has taught me anything, it’s that I need to lighten up, have fun and enjoy life for what it is, instead of attempting to control everything and be perfect.

The funny thing is that, even if I do wind up bum in the air in front of everyone, we can all laugh about it, and the show still goes on.

keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

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Giving Up

This morning, I received some news that I really didn’t want to hear. I felt disappointed, upset, and even a little angry. I also felt foolish for putting myself in this position… again! I should have known this would happen. 

I cried and talked it out with a friend. She assured me that it’s best to find out one way or another sooner rather than later. She suggested that I’m better off without this particular situation in my life.

My friend’s advice made perfect sense. In the past, I’ve often been grateful when certain things were removed from my path (much to my dismay at the time) because they just weren’t right for me and they made room for more amazing things to enter my life.

Yes, I got my hopes up and they’ve been dashed yet again. And yes, it’s tempting to shut myself off in order to protect myself. I’ll never allow this to happen again. I’ll show them! But who suffers then? It would be quite sad to live that way.

Isn’t it better to be open to life and to love? To allow yourself to be vulnerable and to relate to other human beings with honesty and a welcoming heart? To be accessible to all the good stuff that life has to offer?

Of course, I do wind up getting hurt now and again. But it doesn’t affect me as badly any more. And I get over things much quicker. I can see the lessons in everything. I cry and moan, then learn and grow, and move on.

learning

This evening, as I practise yoga, the tears spill down my cheeks. Why am I so upset, I wonder. Am I really that cut up over this particular loss? Or is it because I’m losing hope? Is it because I’m believing thoughts that are laden with always and nevers? Or is it simply because I’m not getting what I want?

It’s probably a combination of all of the above. I got a taste of something that I liked and I want more. Is it okay to want? Or should I just be present with what is? Because this present moment is actually fine.

It is my mind that’s steeping me in sorrow. My thoughts are making me wallow. I’m dwelling on the if-onlys and what-if-I-nevers. And I’m beating myself up for not having moved past all of this when I really thought that I had.

As I complete my yoga sequence in corpse pose, I realise that it’s okay to take action and go after what I desire but it’s the attachment to the outcome that’s causing me to suffer. This attachment will raise me with elation when I perceive that I have what I want and it will fling me into devastation when it’s taken away.

I have to be okay with who I am, where I am, and how I am, no matter what. Right now, I’m feeling beaten down. I don’t have all the answers. And I feel like giving up.

But I know, deep down, that I am not these transient feelings. They are just visiting. However, I can take the time and space to sit with them and allow them to speak to me. I know that I’ll learn from this experience and the emotions that have arisen from it.

I lie here in corpse pose and I give up. I’m not running away from the pain and I’m not running forward to fix it or to feel better. I give up. I give up the need to know what’s going to happen and why. I give up control and expectations. I give up blaming and victimising. I give it all up.

And when I get up, I feel lighter.

thompsonblogs.org

thompsonblogs.org

Heeding Your Own Advice

I was telling someone close to me what that woman had said to me last weekend. In a nutshell, it was about finding it hard to practice what I preach. How I know it all in theory but do I really feel it in my heart? That I should lead by example. And other inspiring yet hard-to-hear clichés.

My friend commented that, about a year ago, when I used to approach her with things I was struggling with, she was incredulous. “But you’ve got all the answers in your most recent blog post,” she’d exclaim. She observed that I have since put all of those things into practice and that I now have new challenges to contend with.

I remember someone informing me that, often, the problems your clients will present you with are the issues you need to look at most yourself. The Positive Living group I taught last night included many tips that would help me immensely. One activity I gave the class was to write a letter to your 15-year-old self. I got the idea from this blog post. Afterwards, one of my students remarked: “I just read over my letter and it’s all advice that would help me now.” I quickly scanned my own letter. She was right. Another class member mused: “I found it sort of sad. I wish I’d had someone to tell me this stuff when I actually was a teen.” “But you have someone now,” I replied. “Do I?” she wondered, confused. “Who wrote your letter?” I asked. “Oh yeah,” she smiled.

This morning, I contacted a friend in need. “Thanks Sharon, that’s the best advice I’ve heard in a while,” the person responded. I reread my text. Yet again, the message of my message could be directed right at me.

If you followed your own advice, you’d be doing well. Because you have all the answers within you. You don’t need to look outside yourself in order to know what to do. Only you can decide what’s best for you. Because you are you.

The classes I teach, the blogs I write and the advice I give helps me first and foremost. Luckily, it also benefits others. I teach what I need to learn. That’s probably why I’m drawn to the subject matter in the first place. At least I am learning. Sometimes slowly, usually surely. One life lesson at a time.

5-lessons-in-life-from-dr-seuss-26600

Co-dependency

I had a rather interesting awareness today. I was needy. Up until very recently, I had been behaving in a needy, co-dependent manner. Throughout my life, I had a number of co-dependent relationships (not all romantic), which were safe and sweet when they were good and devastatingly painful when they weren’t.

I became unreasonably annoyed when a boyfriend didn’t contact me for a whole day. And I felt justified in my anger. He mustn’t care, I thought. If it had been a friend or family member, it wouldn’t have cost me a thought. But because he was my boyfriend, the rules changed. Boyfriends should contact their girlfriends every day. Otherwise, it’s a sign that they’re not interested. Can we take this deeper? If he’s not interested, it probably means that there’s something wrong with me. That I don’t deserve to be loved. No wonder I was angry! Which made him frustrated. And not long afterwards, he left me. My heart broke. And then it healed. I now know that he did me a huge favour. I’m glad it’s over. That’s not to say that he’s a bad guy. We just weren’t suited. Deep down, I’d always known this. I’d just become too attached to the idea of being attached that it hurt too much to detach myself.

I only realise now that I’d been acting needy. I needed constant reminders of his love. I needed to be reassured. To be held and rocked and stroked like a screaming baby, terrified of being left alone. To be left alone as an infant means certain death. But we forget that we are adults. That we are strong. Capable. Loveable. Enough. So, we wail and cry and demand attention. We get attention all right. Just not the type of attention we’d been hoping for.

The core feeling in co-dependency is a fear of being left alone. We long for connection. Because when we feel connected, we feel safe. The delusion is that we are disconnected. Separate. Alone. So, we cling to others. To the people who show us affection; to the ones who look after us, and make us feel good about ourselves. When we fear they might be slipping away; the love, security and trust that we associated with that person disappear with them. And we are left vulnerable and scared and angry that they could make us feel this way. They didn’t make us feel anything. They didn’t make us feel hurt or betrayed. They didn’t even make us feel happy or in love. We did it all by ourselves.

When you love someone so much that you can’t live without them, that’s when you’ve got to live without them. Live your life to the fullest. Believe in your power and potential. Love yourself exactly as you are, where you are. And when you feel strong enough to be compassionate, independent enough to feel connected; and when you’ve got so much love for yourself that you can accept somebody else’s love for you, then, and only then, will you be ready to enter into a healthy partnership.

favim.com/image/27261/

Single and all loved-up

Being single does not translate as “looking for a partner”. In the words of The Pussycat Dolls (this blog really is high-brow stuff), “I don’t need a man to make me feel good.”

Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m available. I want to be sure of myself and my own self-worth before exchanging digits (or body fluids) with some randomer. I want to love and accept myself completely instead of inviting someone else in to do it for me. I’ve got to really know myself and be who I am (and proud of it) before I can meet the right man for me.

If I put myself out there prematurely, I run the risk of getting into the wrong type of relationship. One that will bring me soaring up in the honeymoon stage before crash landing back to reality. Somebody’s bound to get hurt. Been there, done that, bought the self-help book.

We only attract in what we’re projecting out. So, if you’re feeling needy or unattractive or if you’re beating yourself up over anything and everything, you will surely manifest a relationship with someone controlling or critical or angry (or how about all of the above?)

“If you aren’t happy being single, you will never be happy in a relationship. Get your own life and love it first, then share it.” Unknown author

So for now, I’m tentatively entering into a healthy relationship with myself. A romance that’s guaranteed to last a life-time. It’s uncharted territory, folks. But it’s so worthwhile.

So, be grateful for this time you now have to work on yourself and what makes you happy. Giggle with friends over enormous frothy cappuccinos. Take long walks by the coast. Read. Focus on your passion. Start classes in yoga or art or drama. Dance the night away. Go on a skiing or writers’ holiday. Drive somewhere you’ve never been before, with the windows down and your favourite tunes banging. Just because you’re still single doesn’t mean you’re destined to suffer a long, lonely existence with only your cats and knitting needles for company.

Know that you owe it to yourself to experience self-love first.

Featured image: http://www.kriyayoga.com/wallpapers/widescreen_wallpapers/rose/beautiful_roses.html

Images: http://weheartit.com/entry/16568451; http://www.ilovephotoblogs.com/freelance-photographer-salih-guler-ankara-turkey; http://pulpfactor.com/photography/6840/photography-by-luis-beltran/