Recharging: Giving Myself Permission To Pause After Every Obstacle.

I understand why most things we battle with in life are viewed as a chain that bind us and connects to the good and the trying times of the calendar that we subconsciously put Post-It notes on with such demands that it can leave parts of our bodies tightened and weary, such as the common area of the stomach, or as another term that derives from the ancient Hindu scriptures — our third chakra, our solar plexus.

I will boldly claim that in the retrospect of disease, the unfavorable and merciless approach of its ever so cringing word, side effects offer up the debatable guarantee that nothing is ever permanent.

Side effects invade or pass our tolerances mentally and physically, or eventually dissipate by the consequences of our actions in hopes to make ourselves better — be it by pill form, surgery, or a holistic approach.

Searching through my own personal, inner articles about physical disease, I have found that by it, being a host in my own body had made me feel taken captive.

It does not take long for our physical, mental, emotional and spiritual forces to fade, and be filed away into the categories of dullness, lethargy, and carelessness, like a phone battery on its last leg that blinks the words Low battery… please recharge… converting to low-power mode now over and over again.

There is a perforation made by disease in our strength threshold, and by its leaking out of the energy we naturally recycle from day to day by restoration, we easily forget about the positive forces.

When preyed upon by the side effects over time, disease depletes us from the ability to function as a whole, because if one chain is out of order, then another will be out of alignment as well.

My experience with this is how I am able to say that I acknowledge the steps I walked on until I met the peak of exhaustion without one tool left to work with.

Another extraction from my frustration was the loss of joy during moments of my day. I was drained. Physically I felt defeated.

In the house of my mind, my mental state had built another room for me to reside in because I was tired of my focus being so far away on the mountain peaks of pain.

I stopped caring about a solution or a magic elixir that would ease all stress that pounded on the core of my body.

How do you live life when a function of your body fails and lodges an excruciating and unbearable wavelength, forcing its needlework to thread ever so uncomfortable clothes on you that you never agreed to wear?

I let my daily routine fall, and therefore I physically fell too, onto my couch every time I got home from fulfilling my obligations at work.

My perception did not always remain a negative one.

I looked around my apartment, seeing dirty dishes that filled the sink, and a pile of laundry that needed to be put away, and I began hearing the voice in my mind saying, “You should really clean this place up.”

Then I heard another voice that said, “No. You do not need to do anything.” All along I kept pushing myself to have everything up to the standards of maybe what a healthy person could accomplish in their daily plans.

I resisted on taking a day off from work, from cleaning, from exercising — I just did not let myself stop.

It was not until I heard the voice in my head speak that I realized I had possessed a false perception: If I allowed myself to stop, then the reality would set in and I would have then lost my physical battle.

Or at least the truth of it all would be allowed to brand itself on my identity, and that would carry me through the stages of anger, knowing I would have to live with it forever.

But I stood there and asked myself, “What if I did stop?” And so I did.

It was from that point that I found comfort in doing nothing, resting, talking to a friend on the phone for hours, watching old movies, and going to church with my mom on Sundays after having so many good reasons for not going before.

My exhaustion helped me slow down. I noticed that I could still find enjoyment in doing certain things even though my condition held me back from what structure I had held before.

I took in that I was never going to know if, when I woke up, it was going to be a good day or a bad day. Somehow that gave me more strength and less anxiety about feeling as if I had to be in control and knowing that I could never be.

I would just take whatever the day handed to me, and swallow it down with my morning cup of tea. I was able to recharge after giving myself permission to pause after every obstacle — physical, mental, emotional and spiritual.

My failure to reach firm ground for the level I was at helped aid my ability to understand my own capacity and form of strength to whatever extent I was able to with the physical trial I had faced.

It may be a part of me. But it does not control me. I have discovered that the worst part was over — fighting it mentally. I arose from a drowning state after spinning myself to the point of frustration.

I sat myself down, had a talk with my unkind affliction, and made arrangements to order a new structure that could work for me. Who says we have to bear all our burdens, and bear them alone?

Sometimes the healing comes from creativity if we know when to start moving, or stop and be still in the midst of our troubles.

I began to nurture myself with a new schedule, a new diet, and with a gentleness to my Manipura psychologically as well.

The warrior energy is there. You just have to be open to the transformation, knowing nothing is and can ever be permanent. And that in itself is an enlightened blessing.


MichelleSanbornMichelle Sanborn is a devoted self-nurturer. After several years of doing just the opposite, she now enjoys life splendidly and unbroken. She currently lives in the moment, spends as much time as she can being barefoot, and enjoys the cooky behavior of Siamese cats. She has a love for raw honesty, has found that the places of our past are never really lost when they have full nostalgic value, and she dreams of someday having a hot air balloon ride over a very green country. Her recipe for nourishing her introverted ways consists of one-on-one stimulating conversation, a date with her kitchen baking sweet treats on a gloomy day, and with her headphones and beach chair as her only guests, she drinks up solitude at the beach from nine to five. She does not believe in luck, but instead believes in being blessed. Writing is not her occupation, nor does she string the chords of an imaginary instrument to make it be so. The true faculty of her writing would only take the form of absolute serendipity, and that is just what makes her feel alive.


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