Perfectly Imperfect

 

I don’t write here much anymore, but I’m grateful for this space to be myself. 

Looking back at this blog is like observing the process of growing up. I think I read somewhere that our emotional growth is stunted at the age that the trauma or traumas occurred, and I feel like when I began this blog in my early 40’s I was emotionally in the stage of adolescence. I was self absorbed, angry, confused, and scared most of the time.  I began therapy in a state of complete denial. I was resistant to help or change, and yet there was this deeply buried sense of self love that I longed to find again. I believe we all begin our lives knowing our worth, but it is fragile and can easily be dismantled. Therapy was my first lifeline, along with people who stuck with me even when I was a royal pain in the ass! Sometimes growing up also means reconnecting to the child inside who forgot how to play and be light. Life is so fucking hard, but now I’m not the one making it difficult. I have tried to stop adding to the chaos, and that makes a huge difference. 

My step dad died last November, and I miss him terribly. I love that he read this blog, and that his comments on my posts are still here for me to read. 

Dave and I have three granddaughters and our sons are healthy and thriving. Dave still battles his brain tumor, and since it is growing back, he will be having a shunt placed soon to redirect the fluid that is blocking his 4th ventricle. 

I’m teaching yoga full time between teaching at a few mental health facilities as well as a yoga studio and some private clients. I am grateful that my passion for yoga can also be my career. 

I don’t feel the need to document my day to day existence anymore, but I’m also not merely existing. My inner and outer worlds are vibrant and I finally know and love the person I am. Perfectly Imperfect…

45’s Hellish 4+ years= Anxiety

I wrote a post here about the recent presidential election. I composed it before we knew the outcome, and was so anxious, which is often when I write. I never published it. I knew things were going to be bad, but never dreamed the insurrection on January 6th would be one of the outcomes of 45’s hellish 4 years in office. I actually think the day he was sworn in is when my anxiety started to spiral. I started to feel increasingly unsafe, and I’m guessing that many trauma survivors would agree. Hell, not only trauma survivors, but minorities in general. 

Last year at the beginning of the pandemic, the anxiety that I’ve always struggled with ramped up to disproportionately high levels. I had a horrible panic attack and dissociative episode that landed me in the hospital. I had been off of all psychiatric medications for at least 7 years, but made the choice to resume an antidepressant. It did help the depression, but my anxiety was still fairly high, so with my treatment team, we started exploring some different anti-anxiety meds. It was challenging to find one that didn’t leave me with detrimental side effects. A month ago I tried Gabapentin, which is used to treat everything ranging from seizures and nerve pain, as well as anxiety. I became increasingly agitated while on it, with racing thoughts which then turned into constant suicidal ideation. I made a stupid Facebook post about saying goodbye or leaving Facebook which subsequently made someone call the police for a wellness check. I was too afraid to tell anyone what was going on, so even though I hated that I blasted it on social media, I was in the planning stages of suicide. I’m grateful that it was caught, and had no idea that suicidal ideation was a possible side effect. The fallout from this has sky rocketed the anxiety, but I’m determined to climb my way back to health. I didn’t beat an eating disorder to succumb to the anxiety monster. I’m trying some homeopathic options for anxiety thanks to a dear friend who is a nutritionist, and hopefully now that people are being vaccinated life will begin to return to homeostasis. I even heard that Kansas is beginning to lift the mask mandate, which is encouraging. 

There are also some issues that I’m really going to focus on in the upcoming months, and one is on being a better communicator. I tend to bottle everything up and then eventually lash out in unhealthy ways. It alienates the people I love, and is basically self sabotage. I also want to work on acceptance instead of allowing my traumatic past to rule my life. I have overcome many adversities, and know I am more than strong enough! There is hope in my life and hope in the world despite the social and political unrest, and when I’m feeling stronger I want to be more of an advocate for change. Baby steps...

Lucky White Rabbit

Lately when my mind drops me into the past, it is big and loud, like suddenly being slapped, sharp and stinging...too much in my body, too much hurt. I look around, and I remember the dream where I hide under the bed, shivering on the cold wood floor. A small white bunny hops under the bed to join me, and I’m no longer alone or scared. The end. Only it’s not the end, is it? It’s not a dream. I confuse waking and dreaming because that is how I survived, but even now it is blurry, past and present, real or illusion, hiding under the bed...

Artwork by Richard Jesse Watson

Don’t Forget

The me that started this blog over twelve years ago is long gone, although the strength and wisdom was centered deep inside, it took some digging to discover. Starting this blog was also the beginning of healing from sexual trauma and anorexia, although at times it felt as if all of that digging may bury me.
A couple of times it almost did...
I’m not sure why I’m here, writing I mean...
I was driving home from teaching my Monday evening yoga classes, and my mind was wandering as I watched the first snowfall of the season...wandering to the past, and I thought about the pain that I poured out on this blog. Healing is a gift I finally allowed myself. Yoga gave me the gift of embodiment, and I’m grateful that I can pay that gift forward. I rarely visit the past anymore, but when I do it’s from a more forgiving place. I’m not perfect and life is never perfect, but I’m good...life is good. I doubt anyone reads these words, but if you found your way here, take this poem as my gift to you...

Where there is an ache
joy awaits
buried beneath nutrient rich soil
the throbbing heart
the homesickness
the want
is a reminder of what holds you
Here
Right here
Don’t forget...

Angela Minard©

Transformed

Transformed

I hold on in my sleep
clenched fists
awakening with aching fingers
empty hands...

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts," 

I think to myself
drifting back into the same nightmare...
footsteps heavy, looming shadows,
and then the comforting sound of
your voice calling my name

"It hurts," I whisper

as your gracefully opened palms
receive my falling tears
iridescent crystals
spilling through your familiar, outstretched fingers

"I will hold it for you," you repeat softly
until my eyes begin to flutter open

...and for awhile

this pain

beautifully transformed

Angela Minard 2017©

Stop, Drop, and Roll

I didn't realize how long it has been since I have been here to write
Change often seems to create a sense of suspended animation
where the outer world stays the same 
and yet you and everything you do is completely different 
Sometimes I feel as if I'm observing from the outside...
I wanted to heal
and I think I am healing...
I hope...
I remember a winter about nine years ago
when I barely came out of my bedroom
It was dark on the inside 
and I was too numb to cry
too numb to smile 
too numb to realize that I was dying
Years of lying
of hiding being raped 
swallowing rage 
had eventually caught up
and taken a toll
Self harm
starving
and hating myself had left me empty
My husband asked me to see a therapist
and I did not want to 
but there was a small voice inside that I could still hear through the endless chatter
I remember looking through the Blue Cross/Blue Shield book of mental health providers 
and searching for a therapist who specialized in eating disorders
Offering up the eating disorder like a sacrificial lamb
If I could eat 
that would fix me 
and I could be on my merry way...
I still remember sitting in her office for the first time 
terrified...
Sometimes
in her waiting room
I still feel that way
as if nothing has changed...
They say life will eventually come full circle
and so on a day to day basis 
I stare my demons in the face
in the eyes of the patients I teach yoga to in the hospital
I see and feel their loss of dignity
the heavy burden of shame...
It seems almost impossible at times to overcome
The eating disorder was a symptom
a coping mechanism
and by all means 
not the only one
I carry them all in my back pocket
like a smooth stone
a talisman to ward off uncomfortable feelings
To be honest
I don't know what I'm trying to communicate here
only that I know the danger of being silent
of slipping into darkness 
I'm not sure of the perfect way to heal
and although throwing myself into the fire wasn't what I intended
here I am

Stop, drop, and roll...

"The greatest art is to sit and wait and let it come" ~Yogi Bhajan

Days of Glitter

Days of Glitter

I cry...

A lot...

Every day...

I love my new job

It also makes my heart hurt

I've been teaching yoga for awhile now, 
but I avoid teaching children

When I worked with children everyday, 
I figured that I needed a break from kids

When asked to sub kids classes, 
I would adamantly refuse

I never wanted to teach yoga to children, 

and so when I started this job 

teaching yoga in a psychiatric hospital, 

it didn't cross my mind that I would be required to teach children

I wanted to work with the adults 

forgetting that they too were once children

First I was a child

I guess I try to erase that little girl...

The youngest admit is five, 
and then there are the dreaded teenagers! 

I love them...

I know them...

their fears

insecurity, 

feelings of loss...

I see the beauty that they have already lost sight of

I try to remind them

and I see

flashes of a smile

like the sun

hidden for awhile

glittering along the edges of cracked, 
grey pavement 

***************************************

I'm trying to figure out how to keep my heart from breaking 

on a daily basis

or perhaps I bear witness

watching the shattered bits land where they may

sweeping the pieces back together

holding the small mirrored shards gently in my trembling hands

deep breaths as the glitter flies

shimmering sparks

of love

Angela Minard 2016©
Artwork by Anne Bachelier

Wanting

Wanting

The physical pain comes first

before memory

before wanting

searing flame

consuming all image

imagined...

When it hurts 

inside

now 

wanting 

you

before you

pain 

without 

want

This wanting

is a different ache

throbbing

from the same place

Why is the womb filled with rot? 

Do you ever wonder

or simply believe 

what you are told? 

"You smell 

like the filth that you are."

Could you please

wrap your arms around me

even with this stench?

Shame is

asking

Shame is 

telling

Shame is

Still 

Here

Wanting...

Angela Minard 2016©

Artwork from randiclark.com

No More

There is nothing in life that is certain, but most of the time our days flow in a predictable pattern, and that routine is comforting. 

Right now I feel as if I decided to climb into a rain barrel and allowed someone to push me from the edge of Niagara Falls. 

I made the choice to quit a job I had been at for a long time, I brought a puppy into our home, a couple of the boys moved out, and then one moved back in and brought their cat, I'm starting a new job, and I just sprained my foot on my third day at said new job! We need to sell our house, which will be another big change, and none of this is routine. Even good changes can be frightening, and so I find myself slipping into eating disordered behaviors. Relapse is part of recovery, but I thought I was past relapsing. It is difficult not to be disappointed in myself, especially when I'm working in a recovery facility. Beating up on myself is not helpful, and actually gives the eating disorder more power. Silence gives it power as well, and more than anything, I'm trying to let go of shame. 

I have been going through an intense trauma training in order to work in a psychiatric facility, but the training is bringing up my own trauma, which is painful. It makes me doubt myself, and if I have chosen the right path. I feel passionate about teaching yoga as a powerful tool for healing. I know I can help people, but I have to find a way to seperate from my pain while doing this job, otherwise I'm going to be in a world of hurt. 

I have had to slow down while trying to heal my foot, but that gives me more time with myself, more time to ruminate, and so here I am, writing through all of it.

Deep down, I know I can do this, and that everything will work out the way it is meant to happen. I have not arrived in this exact place without a reason. If I expect myself to be perfect, I most certainly will fail. If I believe that others expect perfection, I will also fail. I may tumble all of the way down, beaten and bruised, but smooth waters await if I can have faith and patience through this journey. I can only be honest with myself and others. I don't want to feel alone, and silence is a lonely place to live. It is okay to be exactly where I am, but if I keep it to myself, and hide my struggles, no one can help me. If I've learned anything through this recovery of self, it is that asking for help is crucial for healing to occur. I have so many more tools other than an eating disorder to fall back on, and this blog is one of them. I stopped writing because I was afraid to be honest, and afraid of letting people down. 

No more...

Love Makes Sense

I haven't posted here lately, although I still write everyday. 

I'm feeling more private, and not as open about sharing. 

My navigation system is somewhat faulty at times...

I slept fitfully last night with nightmares of being held down and trapped. 

Those dreams are nothing new, but they often come when I am feeling unsafe in the world. 

The senseless massacre in Orlando weighs heavy on my heart. 

I was reading the listed names of the victims in a news article this morning while in the waiting room of a car dealership having my car serviced, and when I made it to the last name, I suddenly burst into tears. 

The horror hit me right away when the news broke, but it takes time for the reality to sink in. 

Real people, with lives, and families, and possibilities, all gunned down...

Why? 

When tragedies such as this take place, it is a helpless feeling, and of course, it is natural to want the world to make sense. 

Hating what makes someone different from you doesn't make sense. 

Violence doesn't make sense, and I don't care to ever understand. 

Love, compassion, and unity make sense, and so tonight when I teach my restorative yoga class, I hope that through community, we can all spread peaceful energy. 

The only way to begin to heal the world is by beginning with ourselves. 

Teach love and compassion in your home, let your family and friends know how much you love them, educate yourself so that ignorance doesn't stand in the way of understanding and compassion, and when in doubt, be kind anyway. 

"Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu" 

"May all beings everywhere be happy and free."

Scream

Scream

Outside my window

the white sky is marbled 

with veins of charcoal

A winter sky in April

From far away

whispered thoughts

drift over the stillness of my body

Startled by the sound of my name being called

I listen intently

holding my breath

until I finally realize it is my own voice calling

Clamping my mouth tightly closed

I breathe purposefully through my nose

in 2,3,4

out 2,3,4,5

until the urge to scream disappears

Droplets of rain occasionally tap the window

as the lyrics to a song by The Clash plays in my head

on repeat...

"Should I stay or should I go
Should I stay or should I go now?"

The rhythm is more upbeat than I feel

I feel 

nothing

but still the question

without a clear answer

So I wait...

continuing to breathe

in 2,3,4,5

out, 2,3,4,5,6,7

I reach for my phone

find your number

wait for the sound

Of your voice 

and eventually 

I scream...

Angela Minard 2016©

Porcelain

Porcelain

Her heart...

imploding

exploding

there is no other way

escape is merely an illusion

but oh, how she tries

less than a whisper into the darkness

the shadows obscure certainty

tiny fists clutching monstrous deceptions

her heart holds it well

Wide eyes

 close

 open

close

open

as if made of porcelain

a vacant, blinking doll

The most beautiful treasures

are veiled

beneath harsh desert skies

like a mirage

resplendent

and yet seemingly unreachable

to love big

is to get small and quiet

until all you can hear

is the truth

Her heart...

imploding

exploding

there is no other way

Angela Minard 2016©

Walking Through Fear

I remember standing in line with the heat of the Texas sun flooding down, as I held my brothers small, sweaty hand. We were waiting to see "Grease," and the buttery smell of popcorn rushing out of the air conditioned theater each time someone opened or closed the door made me feel sick to my stomach. I was eleven, and I didn't understand the word "rape." I didn't have the vocabulary at the time for what had happened to me. The timeline in my head is confused, but it must have happened not long before this memory.  We stood in the heat, and I remember feeling lost and numb. As soon as we stepped inside the lobby, I vomited all over the ticket takers shoes. My brother began to cry. I took him into the bathroom, wiped his tears, and scrubbed the splattered bile from my tennis shoes with a useless paper towel. We weren't with an adult, but they let us in without question to see the movie. That probably wouldn't happen in 2016. I dropped into that film as if my life depended on it. I was every song, every line, and every laugh. It was then that I must have decided I no longer wanted to be me. I don't think of that time in my life very often anymore, but I still live with certain fears. A preview for that movie was on the television the other evening, which brought back that particular memory. I was also triggered at the yoga studio because I now teach a 7:00-8:15 p.m. class on Monday nights. I'm nervous to walk to my car in the dark when I close alone. We are located near a Pizza Hut, and often there are a couple of guys out there taking their smoke breaks. I fear groups of men even more than I fear a man who is alone because I was raped by two, and I'm almost certain that while I was being raped, there were other people who knew it was going on. I'm trying, but it causes a lot of anxiety for me. It also brings out some anger, because I'm tired of being afraid. I even thought about giving up that class because of it, and that is ridiculous. I do not want to allow fear to get in the way of living my life. I am not a little girl anymore. Wish me luck tonight as I walk through my fear.

"Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." ~Sarah Williams

Artwork by~ Akageno Saru

She is Good

I do not understand life, or why things happen the way they do. I do believe that the people and events in our lives are put in our path to guide us and to teach us if we can allow that to happen. Life is also random, and no one deserves tragedy, pain, or suffering to befall them. We do not always get what we deserve. Sometimes we get more, and sometimes we get less, and here is where I used to tell my kids, "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit." We blame ourselves in order to make sense of trauma, to give ourselves a false sense of control, thinking that if we are "good" we can prevent further suffering. My grown up mind understands this, but the wounded little girl inside is still working on figuring it out. I wasn't raped because of anything I did or didn't do, and even now, if someone hurts me, it isn't because I am flawed. It also isn't always because they are flawed, but simply because we are all human beings, and most of us are trying to do the best we can at the time with whatever resources are available. Note that I used the word always, because yes, my rapists were flawed in a big way, but what happened was that I carried that trauma into every other interaction I had in my life, blaming myself, hating myself, and feeling unworthy and unlovable. I'm not ruined because of the people who abused me. Sadly, for much of my life, I thought I was irreparably damaged, and because I hid what happened, I spent years terrified, and hiding in shame. It takes work to undo the stories we tell ourselves, but we can write new stories. I easily take the blame when something goes wrong because it is a deeply ingrained groove in my record, and sometimes the record skips, and I get stuck. I have also learned to create new grooves. Nothing complicated. "I am good, I am good, I am good..."  I invite good things, because I deserve good things. If bad things happen though, that does not mean I deserve them! This is a difficult concept for me because I get stuck in the brain of a child who was traumatized, and that is how I made sense of it all. Even now, when someone hurts me, I automatically try to figure out what I did wrong, and how to prevent it in the future. It is a knee jerk reaction, but then I step back, and rewrite the story. I'm guessing that eventually, I will not jump to conclusions, but at least I'm learning to separate my child self from my adult self. I'm also learning to love that child-like self. 
She is good...

Artwork by Amanda Cass

Naked

Naked

How do I tell you

of the hands 

and my heart

and the hands

so I curl myself around 

your back

like a translucent shell fish

we are both so fragile

terrified I will break

you

do not understand

I am naked

Angela Minard 2015©

Photography by Marta Orloska

How in the World

Sometimes we move through our days in survival mode, 

and how in the world does that even happen? 

It just does...

This was my day

I'm struggling...

I haven't slept much, and when I do sleep, I have bad dreams. 

Still, here I am, on the other side, 

heartbroken....

Instead of a positive mantra, all I hear is, "I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this."

I CAN do this, but my energy is focused on these intense feelings of want. 

I need to let go of wanting and needing because it only causes pain. 

I don't truly want or need for anything. 

I have everything, but I'm always searching for more. 

It causes my suffering. 

How many times have I said, "Let go of what is no longer serving you?" 

This is what I need to do, but letting go is not what it seems to be. 

It is not simple. 

It takes time. 

It takes more time than you will ever realize. 

It will hurt

It will hurt

It will hurt...

You will survive...

Artwork~ Amanda Cass

Riding the Waves

I am thinking tonight about the Yin yoga class that I teach at Darling Yoga. I teach it twice a week, and I love planning the postures, and choosing the right music. Yin yoga has taught me a great deal about riding the waves of emotion, and maybe that is why I am drawn to the practice. Yin is a passive type of yoga, with supported and long held postures. The poses are held for anywhere from three to ten minutes, with little to no muscular engagement. The idea is to allow gravity and time to delve below the muscles of the body, and deep within the connective tissues and fascia.  When I started teaching this class, the plan was to teach a class incorporating both yin and yang. I mainly practice a more yang type of yoga, which is faster paced, using more muscular energy and balance. I love that type of practice, but am actually more challenged by the slower and less energetic yoga. The students seem to have embraced this practice as well, and complain when I try to flow with a quicker pace, so I have dropped the yang.  On Monday, I had a student tell me that the practice on Sunday that I taught seemed to have released some stored up emotions, and they had been crying off and on throughout the day. I store my emotions like a pro, mainly because I'm afraid. I'm afraid that my sadness, grief, pain, etc...will last for all of eternity, and so hell no, I'm not going to go there! Being in a deep shoulder or hip opener for five or more minutes, breathing through the discomfort(never pain), allowing the body to release and let go, is an amazing lesson. Discomfort doesn't last forever. It ebbs and flows, and you are in charge of how deep you go. You learn that you can back out at anytime. You learn that you are stronger and have more stamina than you think. If I could sit down for a good cry, and have a teacher call out, "Five more breaths, you are doing great!," I would possibly be all for that shit! I still have so much to learn. I fear my emotions.  I work hard on accepting and embracing them, but I get tired, and I get disappointed. My navigational system is quite often faulty, and I stumble around without direction. I have no idea how to read a map, and I don't always trust myself to make it through. I tell my students not to worry so much about the destination...

I'm trying to take my own advice. 

"The moment you completely accept your non-peace, your non-peace becomes transmuted into peace. 

Anything you accept fully will get you there, will take you into peace. 

This is the miracle of surrender." 

~Eckhart Tolle

Silent Treatment

Silent Treatment

If you want to communicate
through lack of words
I will always win
diving into your silence
as if my life depended on it
withdrawing into a place I know
only too well
I will swim through the blackness
never tiring
I've been here before
lucid
my shallow breath hovers
still

Angela Minard 2015©
Artwork~Silence-Henry Fuseli

Today Is My Birthday

Today is my birthday...

the final year of this decade in my forties.

It has been tumultuous to say the least. 

I clawed my way through, 

sometimes barely hanging on,

but here I am! 

I would like to say it was a beautiful ride,

but not so much...

At first glance, 

you may have even wanted to avert your gaze, 

but there was quiet celebration 

if you could focus your gaze long enough to see the details. 

The celebration in no particular order, because I find them all to be miracles...

• Finding my voice, which meant finally speaking out about being raped
• Going to therapy
• Getting treatment for anorexia which meant going inpatient and being away from my family
• Surviving two suicide attempts{Feeling my feelings was overwhelmingly painful, and I wanted to die.} I'm thankful that I was not successful. 
• Finding yoga and an accepting community
• Continuing to work through the process of trauma with my amazing therapist and nutritionist
• Graduating from yoga teachers training.
• Teaching yoga, and especially serving the community of people struggling with eating disorders and PTSD. 
• Working through continuing panic attacks, and symptoms from PTSD. {I decided to go off of all pharmaceutical medication two years ago, and there have been some ups and downs, but I have learned many tools to deal with my anxiety. That does not mean that I may never again need medication. It was beneficial to my recovery, and I will never rule it out}   

*I was just offered a job to teach yoga in a hospital based intensive outpatient eating disorder treatment facility, and that has been my dream ever since I discovered the power of yoga for recovery from my eating disorder. 

**49 is feeling good! 

Like the Lotus Flower

They say that the most stunning flower of all, the lotus, grows in the filthiest part of the pond, feeding on its filth to produce its beauty. My therapist also likes to say that strength comes from falling face down, sucking mud, and still being able to rise up and move forward.  I try to remember this when the pain and shame cause me to feel dirty and flawed. I work through it every day, and some days are easier than others, but I am healing and creating beauty through the practice of yoga. There are still days when I put on my yoga clothes, which are not forgiving, by the way, and I look into the mirror, and I don't love what I see. Some days I even think about staying home and hiding instead of walking into a class full of people, where I'm exposed. Recovery is like that. I'm not this women who recovered perfectly from anorexia, and never looks back. I would like to be, but then again, each time I look back, I learn something new about why I sometimes fall into disordered thoughts or behaviors. It is never about weight, or food, or appearance, but what else I'm trying to control or avoid. During those moments in the mirror, when I'm struggling with the bitch in my head, who I know very well is me, I still walk out the door and go to the studio, and I get on my mat. As soon as I center myself, feeling the solid foundation of the earth beneath me, all of that crap falls away. I never feel more beautiful than when I'm flowing with my breath, and it has absolutely nothing to do with what I look like or if the postures are all in perfect alignment. I often tell my students to first feel the posture from the inside. For me, this is where the yoga begins, with breath, creating space in the body, rooting into the present moment, expanding and contracting, dancing with the breath. When you can pinpoint how a posture makes you feel on the inside, you can recreate that feeling anytime you need it. My therapist who doesn't even practice yoga, helped me discover this by moving me through postures during our sessions. She would say, Do a pose that makes you feel strong, or safe, or joyful, or whatever emotion she is helping me to tap into, and it helps because I'm not always skilled at knowing how I'm feeling. I checked out of my life by denying strong emotions for a long time, so it is still new to me, and sometimes I lose my footing. The mud is always there, but I have faith that like the lotus flower, I will not only rise, but bloom.