The Bedroom Floor: Holding You When You Can’t Hold Yourself

Updated: Mar 6, 2019



Welcome to our first blog post! Before I dive in, I just want to say, thanks for reading. From the bottom of my heart. I love the part of you that is curious and whether or not you feel aligned with what comes next, I want to honor the you who wants to dig into your relationship with your body. Because, that my friend, is truly the greatest gift.


Next, full disclosure, I want to add that this is nerve-racking for me, like absolutely terrifying. Sharing my journey was never something I intended to do, in fact it was the thing I tried to hide the most (shout-out to all the people in my life who knew and loved me still). The more I continue down this road the more I know this is it, call it soul contract, pre-written celestial pathway, you name it. It’s the thing I feel closest to. The Rising is a place where anyone who has ever fought against their body can find community and together, we can heal and rise.


Here we go.


I lay on the bedroom floor this morning, naked, balling. This is the thing about body image: your relationship with yourself is constantly evolving and just when you think you find a sweet spot you get knocked down (I want to say and you get up again but isn’t that easy is it?).


I have been to hell and back with my relationship with myself and there are still days – like today – where I am so overcome with desperation and frustration that all I can muster is to simply let the feelings come. The emotion hits me like a wave, a tsunami, a tropical storm, a crab-fishing horror show. This body is mine. Yet, there is a part of me that still doesn’t believe this was the card I was dealt, like, how I live my life and the skin I’m in feel horribly misaligned.


Let’s go back to the laying on the floor part. One of my biggest triggers is clothes that no longer fit. You know what I’m talking about right? Unlike a Chumbawamba song I don’t always get back up. Today I didn’t. I’m pretty sure about 30 minutes passed and all I could feel was my flesh against the wood floor, the softness of my arms sinking into a hard surface and the tears sliding across my temples.


What is it about the body that creates this simultaneous feeling of mystery and awe combined with such fierce distrust?


A girlfriend of mine had a baby this week, so my mind swung back and forth from the glory of the female body, in all her wisdom, electricity and creation, to the puddle that was me.


What’s the point of this story? Healing f**cking hurts. I have a bag of tools to get me through moments like this and I’ll share them with you on another day. However, today, no journaling, mantra, cognitive reframe, or walk in the woods settled my discomfort.


I want you to know I feel you, every moment you are in this space I see you. I’ve recovered from my eating disorder but learning to love myself unconditionally is an epic journey.

I’ll tell you something though, out of all the things I’ve ever done, this is the most important.


So, what did I do next? I took a shower, I slathered myself in an essential oil blend that makes me feel like a goddess. I sat down and wrote this letter to you, dear one. Because, I want you to know more than anything, like the moon, your path will wax and wane. You’ll find yourself on the floor and then in an instant, you’ll find yourself jumping for joy because for the first time ever, you'll see in yourself someone important. Those are the moments worth fighting for, warrior.


Until next time.


We get back up again.



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