When we talk about trust lost, the narrative we’re probably used to is the one about two people in love.
We think about the story where boy meets girl, girl opens herself up to boy and then boy breaks girl’s heart. We so clearly see the movie playing in our head where girl goes all in and moves across the country for girl only to learn, later, that they had different dreams or that her love wasn’t over her ex, or wasn’t ready for commitment…
The story we’re still not telling, however, that pulses within each character above is the one between us and ourselves.
THAT story of trust is the first, most formative chapter in any tale. It's also a chapter, however, with many villains:
Diet culture doesn’t want us to trust ourselves.
Anxiety doesn’t want us to trust ourselves.
Eating disorders don’t want us to trust ourselves.
Depression doesn’t want us to trust ourselves.
Today I went to a hot yoga class for the first time in, well, a long time. For a few years, I was attending anywhere from three to seven yoga classes weekly, on top of my regular cycle teaching schedule and other fitness habits. In the past nine months, for a myriad of reasons, I’ve attended less than five classes.
Today my body was calling for a class. So I went. My studio welcomed me back with open arms (literally. Thanks for the hug) and so did my practice. While I’ve been doing small home practices, I wondered if I’d feel out of place back on my mat in a shared room with the challenging instructions of a teacher. I wondered if I’d be disappointed in the physical state of my practice today in compassion to where it once was. Instead, it felt like sliding on a well-worn pair of shoes to walk the dogs. It felt like coming home. There was still challenge and work, but there was also peace, comfort and ease.
It didn’t matter that I had taken a break.
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t prepared or planned one being there.
I didn’t matter that I hadn’t followed the same schedule I once thought was demanded of me in order to be a proper “yogi.”
It mattered that I listened to what was calling my body and my soul, without judgement or rules. I trusted my ache to move, the same way I’ve learned to trust the ache of hunger in my stomach as a need rather than a weakness or burden. I trusted my desire for my mat, the same way I’ve learned to trust my desire for extra sleep or lazy days on the couch.
I remember hearing and reading all these blogs, Instagram posts, and books talk about things like listening to our bodies, intuitive eating, and knowing yourself when I started diving into the healing process with my soul and thinking how impossible it all felt.
I thought they were lying.
Or that they never had it as “bad” as I did. Like they just couldn’t understand little, isolated old me.
The truth, as I’ve learned, is that trust is something we have to re-build over time. It’s a story we have to write for ourselves each day with words and phrases we speak and think to ourselves like: