wanderings of a woman and her family

Kind of a weird picture to start out with when my title of this post is about being loved. But then again, I'm not an normal gal.

Last week I flew to Destin, FL to take part in a 'workshop'? 'Bootcamp'? I don't know what the hell to call it...lol...but I went there to "be a better mom," is what I told my kids. I was shut off from my phone from 5am to well past midnight every day. I lost track of what day it was. I distinctly remember asking if it was Tuesday, convinced it was. It wasn't.

I spent four days with 13 other 'participants' on a journey to the center of our souls. I knew none of them outside of the app we all had to use to study together before we met up. Married women. Single women. Young women. Old women. We all came to this wanting to better our lives.

I was ready. I was confident in my capacity to handle the physical challenges even if I wasn't the fastest or the strongest. After all, I've been doing hard things for seven years, haven't I?

But something funny happens when you combine physical challenges with emotional repair.

It's harder.

And boy did Setema Gali fine tune this program to rip through every shred of narrative we had all been telling ourselves for so long. I cracked like a clam the first night and was so proud of myself for having my "break through". But that was quite literally only the beginning of what the universe had in store for me.

We spent hours on the beach breaking down and rewiring our brains. I guess there's some really specific way to get women to fill up sand bags and drill into them to "leave no doubt," that translates to "stop going half-ass and show up 100%". I got the message.

By the almost end of the second day I didn't know what I was there. I had had my breakthrough already and couldn't see any other ways that I needed to fix myself. Until I talked to my soul sister, Erin. Erin is the same age as my actual little sister, Erin. She's an incredible person. Our stories were so closely knit that when we were on our 387th walk and talk for the day, she opened up my cavern of generational trauma.

There it was. The thing I needed to heal.

I honestly can't recall in what order anything was done that week. It was a vortex of time and everything blurs so close. I know that we spent considerable time in a conversation with my friend Julie Y. She had such a sad story about her mother and the sadness it brought to her that I couldn't help but feel like God knew me so personally.

Why? Because in those moments of listening to her I finally realized how important I am for my own kids. I could finally stop wishing my life had been taken instead of Matt's.

Finally.

I felt so light. So seen.

But it wasn't over.

The climax workout to this paidfortorture started with writing on a sac all of the stories I have been telling myself for years.

God doesn't love me

I should have died instead of Matt

I'll never be a good mom

I have no support system

I don't listen to God

No one cares about me

I am weak

My kids don't like me

I'll never be an artist

I'm not good at math

I'm not as strong as others think I am

My kids don't need me

I have no career

I'm never going to finish school

I am worthless

I don't have time

etc

And then I filled that bag with sand.

And I carried it.

For two and half hours I carried that bag of sand. It didn't get heavier. It got awkward. It made my joints hurt from holding it. The writing bled on me.

It just was.

I had no idea how long I had been walking up and down that beach, but when we were called in and told how long it had been....I couldn't believe it. There was no way.

All the while I told myself what was written wasn't true. They were lies. All of them, lies.

Do you know what happens when you fatigue your shoulders with 55+ lbs of dead weight for 2.5 hours?

You can't straighten your arms....at least I couldn't. Some of the women could. Me, not so much.

And then we dropped that bag after we were "ready" to let it all go.

And then I sobbed. Involuntarily sobbed. And I felt good. Like....soooooo freaking good.

Like I could do it all over again! But not, because those lies sucked and I never want any part of them again. And I know I won't. Because I know that God healed a large piece of me on that beach. He took all of those lies out of me and left a hole to be filled.

And He filled it with love.

You might think that these tubs are filled with 500lbs of ice. But they aren't. They are funnels filled with love. And when I was in one of them for four minutes, breathing like a beast, all I was inhaling was love.

Breathe in

I am loved

Breathe in

I am loved

Breathe in

I am loved

Another task complete. Another physical challenge to overcome. I was doing it. I was doing hard things and being healed. And I was doing it with my new tribe.

The last thing that I got to experience was a breathing exercise led by Willie. We joked that he was Gandhi reincarnated. Seriously...the man is happily married and I couldn't stop staring at him. His voice is like a lullaby and when he speaks....you listen. So when he led us on a journey of breathing, I was swallowed up entirely in it.