Wag That Tail

In the past 4 months, I’ve been beaten down emotionally, physically and spiritually only to come out smiling. I’m like the dog whose loving owner continuously beats them and yet the tail wags on.

Tail wagging, by design, is a neurological response to stimulate the parasympathetic nervous system; the place we humans and dogs would rather be when presented with fear. Do dogs have emotions? Do they really wag their tails when fearful? To be honest, I don’t know. My point is, I smile when confronted with fear.

Smiling was a coping mechanism I developed when Sister Maryann locked me in the janitor’s closet.  I put on the biggest, toothiest smile as soon as I heard the keys jingling outside the door. The intent was to give whomever opened the door the impression that I was a perfectly happy and well-adjusted 8 year old. I knew that if they saw me smiling, they would tell the whole school, “This kid’s strong and not fearful at all.” “Can’t break her spirit.”

My spirit is strong. My soul continues to dance, dance around those who say they love me yet won’t take off their cloaks. I’m as free as I want to be even with armor welded around my heart. I can see the perfectly welded pieces that symbolize all the let downs, heartbreaks, mind games and last but not least, weight of my ego.

I’m absolutely certain a welded heart is the way to go. It keeps my heart safe. No one can touch it. Not even me.

I decided this is a good thing, my armored heart. It reminds me to stand up straight or the weight of it will hunch me over like Quasimodo. I’ve always wanted good posture.

It’s made of an architectural-grade stainless steel. Pure perfection. Pure beauty. I polish it, stroke it, but I cannot feel it’s beat. I cannot feel the rise and fall of my chest because my heart is encased in grief, sadness, confusion and ego.

If I let go, truly let go of how I think things should be, will the welded seams breakdown? Will the pieces flake off or need to be pried off?

I’ve read somewhere that grief begets gratitude. I tried that – “We’ll at least I’m not stranded on a dessert island.” Didn’t work. I tried meditation, yoga therapy, listening to Brene Brown over and over until I found myself lip-syncing the entire f*#king book, Daring Greatly.

I dared to be great. I dared to be vulnerable. I engaged, according to Brene’s instructions. I loved as Thich Nhat Hanh wishes we all would love. I memorized quotes I heard on Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversations and turned them into mantras.

Ting, ting, ting was the sound I heard while beating my chest with pride for all the work I’ve been doing.

I began to hyperventilate. I couldn’t expand my chest to take-in more air. What am I doing wrong? What has me so blindsided I can’t develop good posture of my own volition?

Peace. Peace is what’s missing. Peace is remembering that only love is real. Not the kind of love you watch in a Hallmark Christmas movie. Real love. Love for oneself and all humankind. Love that doesn’t need to be protected, stroked or shouted for all to hear.

It really is that simple. F*#k that. It’s f*#king hard. Choosing love over dopamine hits and adrenaline highs is really, really hard. And it will never stop being a challenge to choose love over getting high on something outside of yourself. But I will tell you this, when you choose love over everything else, your posture will greatly improve.