When you think of your inner fire, what comes to mind? Is it an intense blaze of passion, a wildfire of rage or a sustaining hearth? For the longest time, mine has felt like the faintest glow of an ember buried under a ton of ash. My reserves have felt so low; my enthusiasm for all those creative things that feed me, has fluctuated in an annoyingly unproductive way. At times, I have experiences little spurts of ‘get up and go’, and then almost as soon as ‘I get up and go’, I am gone – no gas in the tank.
The truth is, I have been managing my energy really poorly over many years. With feeble boundaries comes the danger that all our precious vitality leaks out – or is sucked out by others’ demands for our time and attention. However, it would be incredibly disingenuous of me not to acknowledge that it has also been impacted by where I choose to focus my energy. It has been difficult to admit to myself that I have wasted a good deal of time – years in fact – fretting and fueling my own anxiety with countless ‘what ifs’. There have been some good reasons to feel not entirely ok over the last few years, but if I am truly honest, I would also have to hold my hands up to obsessively lazering in on my worst fears, at the expense of getting on with the things I love. There can be a weird comfort in this negative, narrow focus; it can feel like a talisman that holds the very worst at bay, but in reality, it drains the joy out of life.
When difficult or traumatic things happen, we go into survival mode, our nervous systems switch to red alert. At the time of any crisis, this is an understandably reaction – it serves to protect us – but it is extremely exhausting, if, when the battle is over, we are still fighting the war; still hyper- vigilant; still fearful; still grieving but never truly ‘still’ in mind, body or emotion.
I am someone who has used exercise over the years to cope with difficult times. When my mother died during my teens, it was ballet and yoga that were my saviours. Movement kept me afloat and eventually pulled me out of a very dark place and I have turned to it, in many different forms, again and again in my life.
In recent years it has been running that has been my ally in crisis. When I was so stressed and overwhelmed with grief, that I really didn’t know what to do with myself, it was running that calmed and soothed me. The longer the run, the better. Running taught me to be comfortable with physical discomfort and I couldn’t fail to register that this was also working on a deeper emotional level too: I found it impossible to be truly still without being flooded by awful feelings and emotions. Running was the only thing that stilled the anxiety, fear and anger. In the initial stages, it was a godsend, but I soon became burnt out. Even then, it became nearly impossible to let go of this newly found friend in my time of need, so I pushed on through.
I am learning now that being stuck in fight or flight can lead to a vicious cycle of not being able to relax, and the more I can’t relax, the more stressed and strung out I become, and then the less I can relax…and on and on in an exhausting circle.
For the first time in years, I have begun to actually listen to my energy; to what the state of that inner fire is, because I have learned the hard way that literally, physically running away from stress as a long-term strategy, only works if we give ourselves adequate rest and recovery, and even then, running away in fear is a poor substitute for joyfully running towards.
Those in battle cannot let their guard down: rest is the enemy, because when you rest, the big, bad things will catch you unawares and you will be defenseless. But of course, that lack of rest and recovery ironically becomes the big, bad thing that actually blind-sides you.
My post-menopausal body has been an extremely good friend; it has placed limits on me that I just haven’t been able to ignore. My lack of energy has been my instructor on this slow journey to regulate my energy. It is guiding me towards approaches that truly support me and bring me joy. I have consistently resisted this wise teacher of mine; fought it with punishing exercise schedules in a desperate attempt to maintain my defenses against the unexpected in life – as a bolster against all my fears – but my very patient body was having none of it. No one could ever have accused me of not being motivated or disciplined to exercise; I could never understand how anyone lacked motivation, but then fear can be an irresistible cattle prod into action, one that overrides any apathy or fatigue.
I am now choosing to embrace some rest and recovery. I have drastically (for me at least) reduced my exercise. I have rest days of gentle yoga and walks. My runs have come down from two and half hours to 20 mins, and they are walk/run intervals and only twice a week. I do enjoyable strength and body weight training for only 20 mins, three times a week; yoga remains a daily support but only short, mindful sessions. And with all of this, if my body needs me to adjust this schedule further from week to week, then I am choosing to listen.
It took everything in me to trust taking these steps. I have felt incredibly vulnerable. I had to sit with feelings of emotional discomfort without giving in to the urge to move. Over time, I am beginning to feel a change. It hasn’t happened overnight, but it is real and is making a tangible difference. I have more energy to do other things, to re-engage with my creativity. I am beginning to sleep better, although this is still a work in progress. Most noticeably, my gut is much improved (although I know that dietary changes have helped this too) – it is clear to me that anxiety has an enormous impact on our digestive health.
Don’t get me wrong, movement can be a wonderfully healing tool for our bodies and our mental health – more of us should be taking advantage of its life-enhancing benefits – but I had to acknowledge that my own relationship with it had become toxic and counter-productive.
Today, I have this weirdly calm feeling. It is weird to me because I have become so accustomed to that wired, fizzing, strung-out state, that its absence almost feels like a kind of numbing. I realized, with some shock, that I have entirely forgotten what it is like to be relaxed, and now I am starting to feel this, it’s almost alien and strange. And yet, I can also feel my joy increasing and my relief too, that I can just be in the moment, doing nothing, feeling happy and chilled. What bliss!
There is such a lot of noise out there about exercise and diet, particularly in the sphere of perimenopause/menopause and beyond – so much of it conflicting and with huge undertones of fear-mongering in order to sell you a panacea. It is hard to judge what we should do, and what we shouldn’t do for our health as we age.
Honestly, I think a good starting place would be prioritizing rest and recovery and doing things that bring us joy: being creative; smelling the roses. These should be the core foundation that our movement is built upon. If we start with a base-line of fear and angst and let this drive our exercise regimes and diets, true well-being eludes us, it seems. With so many voices, it takes a little bravery to really listen to ourselves; to check in with our own gut and intuition, that we might keep in touch with what is happening with our inner fire, to gauge what truly works for us. Of course, it can be useful to get professional advice; to explore the amazing science and studies out there about human well-being, but not at the expense of our connection to our very loyal, faithful and amazing bodies who are constantly communicating to us, if we take a moment to be still and listen.
A Druid Thurible 