As our system of government is gutted and transformed into something our Constitutional framers worked tirelessly to prevent, I’m becoming exquisitely aware of the interconnectedness of everything in my social and physical environment. We’re living in a system, and when a system demands that we ignore what’s repugnant — or silently absorb it — we either uphold it or face retaliation.
I’ve come to realize how important it is to think about the systems we inhabit, and how we contribute to them, intentionally or unintentionally, with silence or complicity, whether these systems serve our best interests or not. Here’s an example:
I was in a yin yoga class that takes place at noon on Wednesdays—smack in the temporal center of the workweek. (Yin is a practice of holding each pose for several minutes, and noticing how we respond to the discomfort it reveals.) Just when we’re at peak work-energy, it asks us to stop. Completely. To disengage from the world around us and check in with ourselves.
It’s an ambitious intention. There’s a lot of inertia propelling me forward at exactly halfway through the midpoint of the week. It’s easier to yank the wheel into the next lane and keep speeding along than to hit the brakes.
This class asks me to ignore the to-do list, and the things I’ve forgotten to put on the to-do list, and the things that are half-done. It asks me to choose to ignore that I’m hungry, and twitchy, and afraid that I won’t be capable of connecting to my body—the place where all the feelings live and where the wisdom of what’s present guides me from this moment to the next.
I often fail.
The Buddha, I’m not.
As I lay on the mat, listening to my skilled instructor gently talking us through the process of observing our bodies—what’s tight, what’s constricted, what’s uncomfortable that might reveal important information if only we noticed what we’re feeling—she quoted one of her teachers (a man): “We can’t fight the enemy we can’t see.”
I had an immediate, visceral reaction.
Language has power. The metaphors we reach for reveal more about us than our conscious minds grasp, unless we’re actively listening to ourselves as the words drop out of our mouths.
This violent metaphor—fighting, enemies—comes from a system of dominance, of toxic masculinity, of vanquishing a foe. It has no place in our tender, inner lives. It has no power to heal.
I am grateful that I’m more sensitive to these kinds of comments, that I’m listening to what’s being said and not ignoring what I’ve ignored for a lifetime. Little girls grow up in a system that devalues them, that places a higher value on the accomplishments of men, and as we’ve seen, forgives those men for insults, humiliations, and atrocities thoughtlessly or intentionally visited upon women.
Boys will be boys. Boys, weakened by the myth of masculinity, will let other boys get away with it.
Meanwhile, women are sipping this toxic brew every day, small doses of self-erasure, thrust into their hands wherever they are—the workplace, the grocery store, the street where they run or walk their dogs, the boardroom, the halls of a government failing to protect its own citizens. Refusing to take the cup has consequences. Naming it has consequences. Instead, women learn to metabolize the poison, quietly absorbing the damage and calling it strength.
So here we are, in a mid-week yoga class, hearing that we have enemies inside us that need to be seen and destroyed.
Let’s change the narrative.
“You can’t heal the tender, wounded little girl you once were if you haven’t noticed her, attended to her, and loved her.”
You can’t reassure the young woman you once were that her instincts about being gaslighted, or pressured into behaviors she resisted engaging in, or told she was too sensitive or too icy or too angry are spot-on—until you get still and quiet enough to notice the signs. You can’t reassure her that even if no one else listens, you are listening. You are paying attention.
We’ve been drinking this malevolent water our entire lives. Let’s wake up to what we know in our bones, and refuse to lift the cup to our lips any longer.
Let’s call it out.
Let’s speak what’s true about our everyday lives to the people in our lives.
Find your voice—it will upset the status quo, force the system to change or shut it down. It’s our best way out.
Looking for support to find your voice? Join us on May 2-3 for our Through Your Own Lens® spring retreat, an intimate two-day retreat in beautiful Annapolis, Maryland — a safe, confidential space where women come together to explore their inner landscape, illuminate what they’ve kept in the shadows, and reconnect with the truest, most essential version of themselves. Sorry, we are SOLD OUT.
