Earlier this week, I pushed myself to go to a kickboxing class. I hadn’t been in a few months, but I knew that it would be cathartic for me to lift some weights and hit some things. Even though I was tired, and every fiber of my body wanted to stay home and rest, I pushed myself.
There’s a line, at least for me — when it comes to fitness. 95% percent of the time, I feel better after exercising. Unfortunately, this class was the 5% of the time. I started off strong, feeling my heart-rate build as I balanced on one foot, and then the other.
The first sign that my body was going awry in class was a mounting tension across my back. I could feel it tighten, though I was surprised given the low-pound weights. I lowered the weights, but it didn’t help. Still, I kept going — modifying my movements and pausing when needed.
As we reached the mid-way point of the class, and prepared to switch to the boxing bags, the strobe lights started to pulse. Blues and reds and greens appeared before my eyes, as if they were teasing me with a game of floor peekaboo.
I get ocular migraines, and I immediately closed my eyes, because these lights are a trigger for me. After finishing the set, I could hear the instructor call “Okay, time to switch sides!” You can imagine my disappointment when, instead of making my way to the boxing bag, I catapulted toward the exit, picking up my water bottle, pink boxing gloves and towel, to make my way to the bathroom.
Nausea had overcome me, and the reality set in that I had worked myself too hard. That I hadn’t allowed myself to ease back into my return to boxing.
I discovered this while sitting on the bathroom floor of the gym, when one of the women from the front desk walked in, and found me sitting on the floor, pale as the white towel that was keeping me company.
Sweat dripping down my face, I glanced at my FitBit, which slowly, but persistently, showed my heart-rate declining. The woman from the front desk came back, with cold water and some flax seed chips.
Eventually, I was able to make it up and out, picking up some take-out pad see ew and chicken satay on my walk home, where I’d shower, eat, and rest with Love is Blind: Sweden.
As a coach, I feel very comfortable holding space for others. What I’ve noticed this week, is that I’m having trouble allowing others to hold space for me.
The truth is, I am a private person. And, it feels incredibly vulnerable to allow myself to crumble and unravel out loud. To allow myself to release perfection and people pleasing, and let people help.
I notice myself feeling worried and uncomfortable in sharing with others. So instead, I find myself portraying an image that everything is “fine,” out of fear that the burden may be too large to bare… or worse, mishandled.
But here’s the thing: There is power in receiving, and we are never meant to go through this life alone.
It is vulnerable to receive — even if it’s cold water and flax seed chips from a woman at the gym, when you’re literally sweating on the floor.
We all need to be held sometimes. And we don’t need to be perfect to be held. We are allowed to be messy and to crumble.
The reality is: sometimes, life needs to literally bring us to the ground in order for things to change. Sometimes things need to break — and I’m not just talking about a fever or a sweat.
We seek understanding and clarification, in order to soothe our human need for certainty. But, there are some things in life that we may never understand.
My radical thought? We don’t always need to understand, if we can simply accept what is.
So, I wonder…
Where could you benefit from being held right now?
What might receiving offer you?
Who might benefit from your presence, your time, or your listening ear?
Take this risk and receive from the people who want to hold you. Accept offers to connect, to listen, to help.
It feels uncomfortable to share this out loud, but my hope is in sharing this, I invite others to do the same.
I’d love to hear your reflections. And of course, if I can serve you, let’s connect.
In loving support,
Grace