Who am I without my armor

Written quickly on the whiteboard that most often carries my grocery list, so that my brain doesn’t have to. Only recently have I become aware of the cost of wearing such heavy armor past its need. I close my eyes and visualize a samurai wearing heavy armadillo like garb. Weighted around the shoulders and hips and head. Protective yes, but in everyday life? Overkill.

For the last forty days, without fail, I have gotten up every morning, may it be for 45 minutes of rolling on the floor to soft piano, and twerking to lizzo and missy Elliot, or five minutes of rolling my head around as I sit in the balance of a heros pose before climbing back into bed. I have allowed river of my mind to flow and guide me to a fulfilling moment each morning that belongs only to me.

As a mother of four kids, all under school age, my time is spoken for. It is only with the sunrising that I have carved out a daily practice of meditation, movement and clarity. Forty days of unstructured time commited to myself has transformed my body and my mind. At 7.5 months post partum, my body needs healing from carrying the weight of two babies. What I’m finding as I do this work, is the simplicity of conscious movement making real change. What I’m finding are pockets from the last pregnancy unhealed. What I’m finding is pain I’ve carried for years without recognition.

Pain, pulsating along my right side, misaligned and overcompensating, how long have you been there? Are you the undercurrent to an identity I thought I understood? Is it because of this unconscious pain, that I am so strongly motivated, and able to run so fast and for so long? Is this pain, in actuality, the armor that I put on each day?

And if I heal from this pain, if I cry and yell it out, if I seek support, if I move through it, who will I be without it. Was it always here, or has it gotten worse? Is it one point in time, or has it grown with intensity and strength over the years? I can’t know what will meet me at the end of this journey.

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Yes, MLK. Wise beyond his years, a foundational pillar of his community, and the man we credit with the civil rights movement. What must it have been like to carry that burden and responsibility. When emotion drives motivation, what incredible risk will we take?

What emotion drives me? Is it anger from pain inflicted? Is it the reward of growth and development? Is it the joy of my children’s smiling faces? Is it the unfolding of lotus petals in the world around me, to uncover in the end, all of the worlds bounty and beauty?

The specificity of these examples, illuminate the truth in that it must be a combination of all.

As I begin to read about ikigai, as I continue my morning practice, as I refine my communication with my partner, and as I reflect on the motives and intentions behind my actions, I begin to shift my choices. I pull my vision back toward the step in front of me, rather than the staircase I know exists, but cannot see in full detail.

And if I look down and see the step I am on, my feet in perfect balance, weight distributed evenly in each part. If I listen to the sound of my own heartbeat, rather than the beating of so many others. If I breath fully, and all the way around my body, and allow the shine and glow and love from others to penetrate my armor, one day, will I let it fall?

Will it be in pieces, or drop from my body in large sections? And who will I be when it is gone?

The depth of my sorrows has equal measure in joy: as above, so below. And in so exposing myself do I open myself up to a happiness I can’t see. A joy and contentment that awaits me at the top of this bright and beautiful staircase?

A resounding Yes.