Published Creative Pieces
For my most recent writing, please visit my blog,
A Mermaid Out of Water.
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Finding Our Strength in Times of Vulnerability
Published in 2020 on NYC Bilingual Yoga Space website, Ante-vasin.com
(on coping in unprecedented times)
There’s a question I find myself asking over and over.
What does it mean to be both vulnerable and strong in the face of this pandemic?
Brené Brown, the leading voice in the area, defines vulnerability as “uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.”* Or, as I personally like to simplify it, admitting, albeit sometimes begrudgingly, that my life is not all
sunshine and rainbows.
My situation in this pandemic is unique, just as is everyone’s. It’s filled with hopes unfulfilled, plans lacking fruition, a life I dreamed for myself seemingly no closer to reality today than three months ago, with complete uncertainty of what tomorrow will look like. I find myself experiencing an ever-nagging certainty that I have naively, stupidly, and hideously failed, the notion leaving me breathless and gasping from panic attacks that arrive like clockwork in nighttime moments of stillness.
Perhaps the true reason this virus is so immensely frightening is that it shatters all of our illusions. Illusions of safety, control, knowledge of the future, ties to the ones we love most. Instead, it holds up a mirror that we are forced to look upon, unable to ignore or look the other way, reflecting back the impermanence that surrounds us every single moment. The knowledge that everything we have come to know and love- our relationships, our friends and family, our jobs, our possessions, our habits and routines- can simply vanish at any point, no explanations given.
How exactly can we fully comprehend that reality each and every day?
Prior to the pandemic, it was easy to pretend. We simply immersed ourselves in our day-to-day lives, with those whom we care for most, in dreams and visions of a future that was yet to come. We learned to construct a reality that was comprehensible and safe. It was a life that allowed us to take chances, fall in love, build a future, move on from failure, find strength in the knowledge that despite any setback, soon everything would be ok.
The virus, on the other hand, has its own plans. It does not care about our love for our families, the price of our healthcare, our ability to pay rent each month, the trip we had planned for the summer, the school we chose to go to this fall. It does not concern itself with how many times prior we were showing up at the yoga studio, how alive we felt escaping into the mountains for a trail run, how radiant and transcendent we felt one week, one month, or one year ago. It simply takes. And it changes. Everything is different.
So can we blame ourselves for grieving? For feeling lost and confused? Shouldn’t we be allowing ourselves this?
Quite poetically, while the pandemic has taken so much from us and the lives we once lived, it has gifted us with an abundance of time. We now have infinite stretches for reflection, self-care, and relaxation; or rather for reflection, self-condemnation, and panic. In so many instances we can be found mentally and emotionally berating ourselves for all the things we have not done, the feelings we are feeling, the reactions we are experiencing, believing that the person we used to be is forever lost. We should be happier, we should be using this time to enjoy every moment, we should be further along by now.
These thoughts, ever persistent, completely invalidate our present feelings.
What if instead we could learn to accept that fully experiencing, moving through, and ultimately coming to terms with this present loss is ok?
What if we began to accept and even embrace the nights of crying, the panic attacks, the feelings of fear, of doubt, of sadness, of shame? What if we could accept that only through allowing ourselves these feelings can we truly heal? Imagine if we laughed off the social pressures that our lives always have to emulate the blissfulness of a yoga retreat, the grit and adventure of an REI catalog, the tantalizing sex lives of Hollywood romances. What if we simply accepted ourselves at this very moment- a few extra pounds, extra worries, extra circles under our eyes; a little less limber, less sun-kissed, less carefree.
What if, through all of this, we could still see our radiance, our vibrancy, the beauty that we bring to the world each and every day, shining bright from deep within? Isn’t that the true test of vulnerability? Isn’t that the ultimate definition of strength?
And what if ever slowly, almost imperceptibly, we began to come back to ourselves? Through yoga; through meditation; through digging our hands into cool soil; through smelling a blossoming flower; through witnessing ourselves through the eyes of our dog, our child, our lover; through sweat and tears. Slowly our body begins to wake up. We begin to remember cell by cell that while changed, we are still here, whole and complete. We have always been here, waiting to be rediscovered at each moment. Slowly the magic and the wonder that lies within all of us begin to unfurl. While the voice of the critic rages on ever louder, while the chaos of the world swirls around us, our true voice is always here, quiet but ever present.
She whispers softly but steadily. “I am here. I will always be here. You need not despair; you have not lost me. It’s ok if you aren’t ready, if the distance feels too far. I am forever patiently awaiting your arrival home.”
* Brown Brené. Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead. Avery, 2015.
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100 Days
Published in 2017 on the homepage of PadmaYogaOnline.com
(written in celebration of 100 consecutive days of yoga asana)
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100 days of asana.
100 days to internalize that which I already knew.
100 days to fully understand and embody each.
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That yoga is breath. The ability to breathe through our sadness, frustration, anxiety, and allow understanding and compassion for all of our emotions, no matter how intense or illogical.
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Yoga is flow. The realization that even the strongest people have times of insecurity and weakness; that not every day will be sunshine and rainbows or warrior pose overlooking mountain vistas, and some days are hard as hell, but just as the beautiful days flow away, so do the heartbreaking.
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Yoga is flexibility. The understanding that plans change, expectations are not reality, and we can
find beauty in where we are.
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Yoga is a lifestyle. It doesn't start and end in your mat but reaches to all aspects of your life. And making something a routine isn't really as hard or daunting as it may seem when it's
something that you love.
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Yoga is community. Finding and giving support and energy to and from those who empower and inspire you. That there will always be people who try to steal your shine no matter how amazing your gains, and for every one of those people I am grateful to have found a dozen
more who provide the opposite.
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Yoga is compassion. Compassion for your crazy, for other people's crazy, for moments we aren't proud of and mistakes we make.
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And lastly, yoga is radiance. To take this physical practice that is so cleansing, empowering, and healing, and to radiate that outward to others. Without that piece, yoga is meaningless, and I hope to continue to spread as much love and kindness to others as possible.
The world needs it now more than ever.
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Celebration
(a love letter to myself)
Why is it that so many women learn to feel the need to apologize for the "imperfections"
of their own bodies?
Today I am choosing to celebrate my scars, my blemishes, my dimples, my callouses, my curves.
They are the nights spent celebrating life instead of restraint, the dozens of mosquito bites amidst running wild in Nicaragua, the sweet decadence of frosted cupcakes and rich chocolate, the tripping down dirt paths surrounded by greenery and pristine waters, the stains of mistakes made and lessons learned. I am reminded of so many years of striving for perfection, making myself physically and emotionally sick to the core for an ideal that in my mind would never be achieved.
Today I choose love.
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Heal
(because we cannot move forward without first tackling injustice)
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When we lie awake at night unable to sleep, our bodies screaming for rest yet pulsing with electricity; heart racing, mind spinning… This is trauma.
When our muscles ache despite the self-care, the yoga, the exercise, the stretching, the meditation, the resting… This is trauma.
When we wake up feeling that we need to scream, to cry, to run, to beat our fists into the ground, with no apparent cause or reason… This is trauma.
When we crave complete control over our bodies, flinching at the mildest of touches, the tender caresses, so many parts of us left feeling numb and void… This is trauma.
It is of the most basic and most natural of processes. The body alerting itself to dangers that have arisen and may arise again. The autonomic nervous system standing as an ever-present bodyguard against potential harm.
But what we are left with feels anything but natural. We feel as though we are broken, losing ourselves, our minds, our bodies. We feel as though an irreparable damage has been done, at a loss as to how to move forward.
Trauma can be personal. Rape, violence, abuse, death of a loved one, failed relationships, natural disasters, loss of a job or a home.
Trauma can be collective. The empathic response we internalize through witnessing the murders of innocent men and women based upon the color of their skin, senseless racism and injustice, environmental destruction, mass extinction, abuse towards those who lack the voice to defend themselves.
It lives inside our bones, our muscles, our joints, our spine, our brain. It gets trapped and stored for years of dormancy, breaking free at the least expected of moments.
Though it seems an impossibility, our trauma can be healed. It can be transformed. It can grow into beauty and passion we never knew was inside of us. We can heal through breath, through bodywork, through movement, through meditation, through time.
But there comes a point when all of this personal healing is not enough. When it simply serves as a Band-Aid, forever losing its stick, failing to fully cover the roots of our pain.
This unease we feel is crucial. It’s a call to action, to do more.
Until we begin to unite against injustice, we cannot fully heal.
Until we truly value, accept, protect, and revere people of all races and all cultures, the plants, the trees, the animals, the oceans, sacrificing our own comfort for that of theirs, we cannot fully heal.
Until we stop shouting to make our own voices heard and simply LISTEN to black communities, to indigenous communities, to Latino/a and Muslim and LGBTQ communities, to our neighbors, to the animals, to our planet... we will never fully heal.
It’s time.
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