We are all a little broken.... my story

“We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in”  Ernest Hemingway

This quote speaks to many of us as we recall hard times we have been through in our lives.  It may bring up pain or discomfort.  It may make us want to hide in shame because we have faltered at times in our lives and were less than perfect.  We beat ourselves up and work hard to hide and cover up the pain and unworthiness we feel from showing the world a less than a picture-perfect view of who we are.  We show a masked version of ourselves in an effort to protect and shield ourselves from owning our story and the truth it may reveal, but what if our true strength lies in our story. What if through the cracks of our imperfections, our past hurts and our pain, we are becoming who we are truly meant to be.  Who we are meant to be not despite our imperfections but because of them.  

Where did we get the notion that we had to to be perfect anyway? 

Maybe no one says it out loud, but the need to show our highlight reel to the world is for sure out there.  We strive and we strive for success, approval, to be accepted, to be good enough all the while hiding any flaws that we are ashamed of.  Shame can make us feel that we do not deserve happiness;  it can eat away at us until we spend more time trying to hide from the truth of who we truly are than we do expressing ourselves to the world. As the master of Shame Brene Brown says “Shame hates it when we reach out and tell our story.  It hates having words wrapped around it - it can’t survive being shared.  Shame loves secrecy.   When we bury our story, the shame metastasizes.” Shame can have crippling power over us, while telling our stories can set us all free.

I remember in 11th grade English class we had to write a paper on our most embarrassing moment.  I remember thinking to myself I could write my truly most embarrassing moment or I could save face and write a not so embarrassing moment and act as though I had really never been embarrassed.  I chose the real story.  I do not know what made me choose this path but  I did it.  I wrote about the time I was a flower girl in my Aunt and Uncle’s wedding and during the ceremony I peed my pants.  I have no idea how old I was but I was way too old to pee my pants during a wedding ceremony. But that’s what happened, standing in front of a packed Catholic church while I was supposed to be smiling and looking pretty.   Only a few people knew what happened.  It was a big secret in my family.  It is possible my three brothers might be reading about this for the first time.  I was so embarrassed and so ashamed.  For years I felt terrible, I would not talk about it.  I hid it. So I have no idea what compelled me to write this paper.  I wrote it with humor of course to mask the fear of being viewed as less than perfect and socially unaccepted.  My teacher loved it, she read it not only to my class but to all of the other 11 grade classes.  To my surprise, putting my story out there made the power it held over me disappear.  The embarrassment was somehow gone.  I am sure time had something to do with it too, but now it is a funny story I tell to everyone.  The shame I once felt disappeared, it lost its grip on me.  I took my power back and accepted my flaws, wet underpants and all.

As a teenager, I was an athlete.  I could eat whatever I wanted and would burn it right off.  Plus I grew up with three brothers and two sisters so eating was a full contact sport in my house.  You get it quick or you lose out.  My mom did a great job of teaching us healthy eating when we were young, but as I got older and busier and left the structure of 6 o’clock family dinners and packed lunches, my diet started to become unhealthy, less mindful and I started to see it and feel it in my body. I was bloated, had reflux at a young age, and just did not feel comfortable in my own skin. Around that time I stopped playing sports, something that has been a big part of my identity for as long as I can remember. 

I gained weight, was no longer living at home with my parents, and I lost my identity as an athlete.  I went on a diet, then another diet, then a different diet. I was using food to control my emotions.  I was using food to hide how I felt about myself.  I thought if I could just fix the outside, everything would be okay.  I was eating the wrong things, the wrong amounts, at the wrong times and I felt like I had lost control of my life.   After trying many failed diets, I decided not to eat or to eat very little, something had to make me feel better. When I eventually would eat, I would eat very large amounts and vomit right afterwards and, oddly,  feel relief from it. My good friend and fellow health coach Meg Burton Tudman explained it perfectly on one of our quarantined walks together. “It is a short cut to self care, anything that numbs us for example, drinking, gambling, or overeating and it doesn’t serve us well” I would do this daily and sit up in my bed at night promising tomorrow would be better.  Over years, this disease had taken over my life.  I would not get close to anyone because they might find out my secret.  At my lowest point, weighing about 20lbs less than I do right now, I had to withdraw from my classes and seek help.  All but one class, one professor would not sign the drop slip, he said “you don’t look that skinny.”  So I ended that semester with a 0.84 and had created quite a big hole to dig myself out of. 

I went to treatment and the people were great but I soon realized that if I was going to heal from this disease I had to look deeper than the food.  I had to look at what was broken inside me. I had to own my story.  Why I did not love myself enough to start taking care of my body and stop punishing it?  I was always used to pushing myself through sports, being hard on myself and living my life for other people. I thought my self worth was all wrapped up in my accomplishments, my looks, popularity and all of the other fleeting external validation we look for from others.  I started to get curious about how I ended up in this position. In an outpatient program having my electrolytes tested often and being threatened with inpatient if I did not improve.  Why was I doing this to myself?

I found yoga which helped me turn my attention inward and start to look within.  Yoga to me is like spending a little time with yourself and finding out that you are your own true best friend.  You learn to treat yourself like you would treat others, and make yourself top priority in your life.  This led me to be a yoga teacher.   I also found Reiki which taught me how to let go of past hurt and shame and start to heal.  I never want to stop learning how to love myself and teach others the same.  It was a long road but I did finish treatment and graduate from college and now it is a story I am proud to share especially with clients that are trying to make changes in their own lives. 

In order for me to stand in my truth and help others heal their mind, body and soul, I felt compelled to share with you my long journey to a healthy body and mind.  Long journey means that  my healing is still a work in progress.  It is work I do everyday but I am committed to living in the light of who I truly am and who I am here to be.  I believe that it is through our brokenness that we connect, that we get real, that we face ourselves, our baggage, our hurts, our wounds and we rise up real, authentic humans with empathy for others and the path they have walked in their lives.  We stop judging and start healing not only ourselves but those around us.  We live the life we are meant to live.  I am so grateful for many teachers in life like Gabby Bernstein  and Kia Miller for being brave enough to share their stories and inspiring people like me to share mine.  I am grateful to the people who have challenged me like that teacher, if I had not had a hole to dig out of I never would have realized my own strength and resilience. I am forever grateful to my family especially my husband. I cannot even put into words what their love and support means to me.

I’m grateful for the English teacher that encouraged me to share my story of shame, not realizing then that my voice would release the grip it had on me. Surprisingly, I’m grateful for that college professor who didn’t sign my drop slip. He didn’t understand the pain and shame I was feeling, but experiencing failure and realizing I needed help propelled me forward. If I had not had a hole to dig out of, I never would have realized my own strength and resilience.

I believe in sharing our stories. I believe it takes away their power. Brown said “shame can’t survive being shared.” I encourage you all to share - and I’d be a grateful reader or listener if you need one. Remember, “we are all broken. BUT, that is how the light gets in.”