THE TALE #12 - NOT TELLING THE TRUTH...
As I was “coming undone,” I got really good at pretending that everything was Ok. Some days while teaching my core class when I was in the “hip cramp” mode, I would simply NOT DEMONSTRATE, because if I demonstrated on the floor I knew I would not be able to get back up to standing, or I would start to channel in bizarro feelings which would not be good for my fitness business. With my girlfriend, I would simply say my hip was tight and reference something inane about getting a new mattress.
There is this strange thing about NOT TELLING THE TRUTH, (which isn’t necessarily lying but just as bad.) NOT TELLING THE TRUTH creates walls. First the walls are small and transparent, but as one continues to NOT TELL THE TRUTH the walls soon become big and solid and unbreakable. NOT TELLING THE TRUTH does not foster intimacy in any way. It fosters Pretend. Denial. Ultimately, it fosters Emptiness. NOT TELLING THE TRUTH is lonely, selfish, but sometimes temporarily SAFE.
I needed that safety to figure things out. To fix myself. To somehow make things better before it all fell apart…
WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?
My condition, whatever it was, whatever was coming out of me was ultimately a manifestation of my body NOT TELLING THE TRUTH of what really happened to me as a child. As I trained in Yoga, I inadvertently opened a floodgate of truth which was so outside of my belief system as to what I thought was true. It made no sense. It was crazy. I needed to push it away. Keep it away.
This is not me. This is not who I am. This is not true. This in not really happening. It is the mattress. My relationship. My hip. My Yoga Training.
I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE. I AM A VICTIM!
A victim. Maybe. Maybe in ways I could only imagine in my worst nightmares.
Whatever this energy was I would not let it WIN!
I would fight back, fight back, fight back!
Can you see the really scary Global Metaphor here?
So I started “going to the mat” doing Yoga as often as I could to work this stuff out, - which ultimately helped bring it on. The feelings emanating from my hips became stronger. Sometimes I would just get nauseous. Other times, I would feel anxious and then fight with my girlfriend placing, assigning the feelings to her:
SHE IS DOING THIS TO ME!
Other times, I would pull back, eat pizza, cake, stuff it all down, get quiet, not talk, wander through bookstores aimlessly, often avoiding coming home until as late as possible and sometimes making up lame excuses and just staying up in my cabin in Westchester and not even coming home to New York City to sleep with the love of my life.
Everything was wrong. I was scared, determined, lost and relentless. I knew and I didn’t know.
Oh God, please help me!
No, I can do it. I can handle it alone. I will not be beaten up again.
Oh please help me, Dad, Mom, Bro Mike, God, Food, Bookstores, Denial! Please anyone, anything please….
But no, ….not you…no, no, no, not you!
It was September now.
My girlfriend and I broke up. We had a couple conversations where I expressed we were just not right for each other (NOT TELLING THE TRUTH) and that we would be happier uncoupled (NOT TELLING THE TRUTH!)
I moved out. She changed the locks. I moved full-time into my cabin in Northern Westchester and life went on.
I was alone up in the woods, alone in my cabin,
safe, and scared...
Like a festering boil, it was all coming to a head…
…and there was nothing I could do to stop it.