From my body, for my body and because of my body, I must breathe.
Perfectionism is a state of mind and, having been a trained dancer since the age of 3, I can definitely connect the dots from pillar to post of all the unobtainable goals I set myself up against for over 46 years.
I have visceral memories and psychological scars from the traumas of not finding perfection in my body and I remember the punishments I meted out to it every single day. As I now wade down the river of my life, I can distinctly weed out the many characters, teachers and artistic directors that have groomed and grown the perfectionist in me. Whilst not being able to beat my body into perfect submission, I certainly nurtured and constructed the value and belief system needed to expect such impossibly high standards. Of course, there is no such thing as perfect but still the unattainable drove me like an obsession because the reward, the dangling carrot was performance, to be ‘seen’, to be witnessed, that was ultimately the need I was trying to feed.
So how did it come to be that I accepted my role as the deconstruction manager of my own self-esteem? I believe that process began before the rehearsal rooms and dance studios as a default response to feeling unattached and un-attuned. If I'm not perfectly good at pleasing everyone then I am a perfect failure.
From student to performer, to teacher and choreographer, no matter what I created, what I achieved, or what compliments I received, I never felt that I was good enough. In fact, I just felt like an imposter that would soon be exposed as being less than expected. I look back now on how that all came to be and I can see how the culture of negative feedback in the studio and my constant silent internal critic, shaped my sense of self. These words created trauma cycles that just fed the hungry ghosts of my perfectionism with banquets and feasts. This way of being was naturally unsustainable.
One day, I surprisingly found myself lying in the foetal position on my kitchen floor, unable to crawl, sit or stand up against the tsunami of absolute exhaustion. No amount of core stability, flexibility, strength or dynamic flow could get me to hold my body up and my nervous system simply shut down and went on leave.
Enter fear!
Fear and safety are connected in their opposition. If I don’t feel safe, then I am feeling some form of fear borne from threat because my primal body and reptilian brain must survive and no one can flourish or thrive in the absence of safety. There are obvious moments of threat like hunger or thirst, or being in the presence of a large wild predator. But lying on the kitchen floor unable to function was such an unexpected threat that I felt paralysed with fear and anxiety. I definitely did not feel fearless or courageous. I remember how I felt the pull of my gut and my body screaming at me to run or fight with urgency. But I just froze. I was already hooked and tethered to the trauma and I dissociated, disconnected, separated, detached and
isolated, the biggest dissociation of course was with my Self.
The only way I broke through the ice and defrosted my iron will was through TRE® (Tension and Trauma Releasing Exercises) and Art Therapy. The only language my nervous system wanted to understand was the language that spoke to my body, not my mind. It was a raging battle of wills between my head and my heart, but all I could do was sit still in the corner of my consciousness and remember to breathe.
Cue in fearlessness…
As time has passed I have defended my own revolution, I have fought to build my self-esteem by being process- rather than product-driven. I have discovered that my body is designed for its own healing and all that is required from me is to trust and let go. I definitely consider myself a cycle-breaker with all the battle scars to prove it. I no longer dance in rehearsal rooms or dance studios and only offer process work to others rather than technique. There are many fantastic technicians to teach this moulding of muscles, ligaments and joints, and I gratefully leave this aspect in their capable hands.
I have come to know my nervous system, respect its boundaries and define my survival parameters. When I ground myself I breathe, when I find wriggle room through my own TRE® practice, I breathe it all in with gratitude and tenderness.
Now, as a TRE® Facilitator, I have found my path and purpose. In particular, I am enthralled with facilitating TRE® for others. I have become unfrozen, softer, gentler and more compassionate with myself and with others. Listening with curiosity when bodies speak their own language and lead their own way to recovery and connection.
I have found my dance of connection, attunement, flexibility, strength and dynamic flow by mindfully feeling my chest rise and fall, feeling my heart and lungs expand and relax, and my blood to flow. To breathe is to give myself life. The rhythmic inhale and exhale of safety.
"From my body, for my body and because of my body, I must breathe."
- Ananda
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