Thirty Things For Thirty
Its Leo season. And tomorrow, I turn Thirty. Its funny. I cried when I turned 19, because I was so scared over getting old. But with every birthday since then, it gets a little easier.
A couple years ago, I couldn’t even imagine being 30. I thought I was destined for a breakdown. And yet here I am, 1 day away, and honestly, I am feeling okay. I wouldn’t say I’m ecstatic. The thought of leaving my 20’s behind makes me a little sad.
So much growth happens in your twenties, with so many experiences of adulting being thrown your way, its the time of figuring out who we are and want we want and how to thrive away from the identity we found in the realm of high school and our family homes. It feels like by the end of our twenties, the time to experiment and explore who we are has come to an end.
By thirty we are just living in that existence we have made for ourselves. At least thats what I used to think.
At the beginning of my twenties, it felt like it would last forever.
Here I am, 29 and 364 days, and I promise you I still have so much more growth and exploring left to do. And I am perfectly okay with that. I am in such a different place right now than I could ever have imagined I would be even 2 years ago. I didn’t even know this was the life I wanted, filled with the beautiful humans and animals that have become so important to me, that I didnt even know existed until recently.
29 has been a year of so much beautiful change and growth for me. I went from being a single girl in the city, trotting down king west in the wee hours of the morning with an entourage of fellow 20’s era females. I was living in a 2 bedroom condo, making close friends of neighbours and roommates, and biking all over the city to attend pole classes, meet up on patios, and get myself to work.
It kind of felt like I was making up for lost time, since there was a good chunk of 5 years that was stolen from me by anorexia, where I was not able to go out and make new connections or live on my own, or take part in spontaneous adventures. I chose to wrap myself up in a relationship and anorexia, rather than to nurture other friendships in my life, or explore opportunities to make new ones.
So when I was 28 and more free than I had been ever before, I was able to do everything I had missed.
And in the process, I found myself staring my future in the eye, in the rain and neon lights of a music festival on Canada Day. (Thank you, electric island )
EI magic.
One year later, I am gone from my rented condo, and city girl life. I am in a serious and committed relationship with someone who makes me feel like I can be anything I want to be, and cares for me in a way that does not undercut my indepeendence. Now, we have just bought our first home together. We live in Barrie, which is so different than the buzz and business of Toronto, but a thriving and beautiful place that I am growing to love more and more each day.
Closing day!
When I found V —or we found each other—I was also adopted into his circle of friends which are more like family. We live in our house with 2 of them, and 2 pretty kitties, and the four (plus 2) of us function like a little family unit, and I feel like I am finally finding that sense of closeness and connection that I never managed to find for so many years in my early twenties.
Adventures with my adopted Barrie Family (and co-owners!)
I never predicted this for me. I never tried to make it happen. I had no plan to be a home owner, or in a serious committed relationship, or to be moved out of the city. But it happened, so organically and spontaneously, simply by being curious and going with my intuition and saying yes when it felt right, even if it scared me.
And I am so freaking happy that it did.
feeling good at my birthday dinner at B’Spoke bar in Barrie.
By the time you are reading this, I will officially be 30. All the pain and passion and growth of my 20’s will be behind me. But I am so ready for this decade to be full of NEW growth, and love and adventure as I navigate this new era of my life. I may officially be an adult, now in my third decade, but I am starting to realize learning and growth and exploration are things that don’t end no matter how old you get.
Never too old to marvel at a double rainbow after the rain
To make the most of my 30th year, and to keep my momentum going to continue to seek out growth and adventure, I made myself a little list.
Thirty things, of varying types and intensities that I want to experience and check off in this year of being Thirty. Some I hope to accomplish over these next few weeks of birthday celebrations, and the rest, to be pursued over time (for example, breaking 30 kilometres of hiking into more reasonable chunks).
a draft in my bullet journal of this list.
Heres to being thirty (not too) flirty, and thriving.
Which of these things are you putting on your list?
Love and light,
-Jae xoxo
Never too old to celebrate a birthday mini putting with goats
Thirty Things for Thirty
Hike 30 kilometres
Go pet camping OR hiking with the cat and the dog
Go on a wine tasting tour by bicycle
Go on a camping trip
Do a pole photo shoot
Make and perform a pole routine
Go horseback riding
Do a vaulting lesson
Get a facial and start a skin care routine
Do a contortion class
Go to a music festival
Go to a concert
Ride a bull at the Ranch
Spend a day at a spa
Eat at a Michelin-rated restaurant
Spend a few days in Montreal
Enjoy a bougie and boozey brunch
Go on a shopping spree
Do a bar or pub crawl
Go to Pursuit OCR
Go to a rooftop bar
Have a beach day
Take dance lessons
Have a paint night
Marie Kondo my room/wardrobe
Host or invite my parents to dinner
Get an astrological reading
Do a spontaneous adventure roadtrip
Have a cottage weekend with friends
Do some kind of walk/run/bike ride for charity
The Truth about Truths: Embracing and Navigating Contradiction in and Beyond Recovery
Something I learned in therapy was that two things can be true at the same time. It can be that the way someone else views something may completely contradict the way you see it, but ultimately both views are true because both of you are experiencing it. This two truths concept also applies to thoughts and beliefs we host within ourselves.
A lot of the therapy I underwent for my eating disorder recovery focused on identifying and embracing these kinds of insistent contradictions.
For example, one truth I held steadfastly was, “I don’t want an eating disorder.” And another equally real truth I had was “I am scared to give up my eating disorder.”
The key to being able to navigate both truths is to embrace them both— NOT set them up in conflict to one another. The first step is as simple and as subtle as word choice when speaking or even thinking about them.
We tend to use “but” when comparing two things that seem to contradict one another:
“I don’t want an eating disorder BUT I am scared to give it up.”
However, something changes when you replace that “but” for “and”:
“I don’t want an eating disorder, AND I am afraid to give it up.”
The latter validates both perceptions but does NOT so planitively put one above the other.
“But” infers that the fear is stronger than the will to live without an ED. “And” allows the possibility to be afraid, but do it anyways.
There is a story about a warrior and his meeting with fear, taught by Pema Chodron. The ultimate revelation the young warrior comes away with from this meeting is that bravery is NOT the absence of fear; It is feeling the fear, BELIEVING it, with every cell in your body, and facing it anyways.
It is not: “I want to, BUT I am afraid.” It is: “I want to, AND I am afraid.”
Unlike the former, which almost immediately dismisses any action, the latter births the opportunity for both truths to coexist, and for the fear to be conquered.
I am not currently in therapy, and I’m not really “recovering” anymore, but I am still living in this place of navigating two truths.
A big one right now that I hold is: “I am so grateful to have made it this far in my recovery, AND I am sometimes nostalgic for the identity my eating disorder gave me.”
Another is: “I am proud of my body, and I love being healthy AND I often think I would be happier if I lost weight.”
Sometimes these truths are even more specific to a moment. Take this past week for example, when I took a spontaneous trip to a family cottage for some r&r by the lake. I was having repeating thoughts of “I really want to get a good sweat from a workout AND I want to relax and do nothing.”
And on a similar train: “I feel guilty and not hungry for dinner from eating so many appetizers on the dock AND I am still looking forward to eating more at dinner.”
It’s hard, honestly, navigating these two often equally compelling voices. Ultimately, the healthier one always drowns out the one I know instinctively is rooted in my ED neural pathways. That’s what makes it uncomfortable. Continuing to eat, and rest, and attempt to feel happy and at ease in my skin, and to NOT fixate on what I eat or how much I weigh, while simultaneously living with this feeling that I “should” be doing a lot of the things that I used to do (a lot of things that a lot of people without EDs do: opting for “healthier” options, watching what they eat, having a strict workout regime, etc.)
Sometimes, it feels like I’m driving backwards on the highway, trying to live up to the healthier truth.
Even though I am pretty good at this point at doing the right things for my mental and physical health, there are still moments when it seems like the wrong thing.
Restricting and exercise were always a quick fix for any larger stressor in my life.
Fighting with my family? Don’t eat dinner.
Feeling sad or lonely that I didn’t have plans on a friday night? Go for a run.
Realizing how lonely I am, feeling disconnected from all my friends? Try even harder to change my body, thinking if I looked the way I thought I “should” look, I would be more likable, more loveable, and regain those kinds of connections I had thwarted.
None of these quick fixes ever really fixed anything, obviously. They only led me further into my eating disorder and farther from the kind of connection and happiness I was seeking.
So I do realistically and rationally understand that attempting to change my body, or start actively controlling my food or exercise is NOT the answer to any of my concerns today. But (or and, as I should say), I still have fleeting thoughts that these behaviours will.
I’m writing this blog post right now to remind myself of this ultimate truth: two things can be totally contradictory and still coexist equally as truths. Feelings are real, and valid, but they do NOT need to dictate our actions. We can feel the fear, believe it, and face it anyways.
Hopefully this reminder might render itself useful for you too.
What are some conflicting or contrasting beliefs that you hold? How might replacing that “but” with “and” alter your perception of how to navigate them? Often the right path is the hardest one to take.
Don’t sell yourself short by opting for the road that feels easiest in the moment, but ultimately never gets you to the place you wanted to get to in the first place.
Embrace the “and.” Do the hard thing. And in the moments where you fall victim to the contradiction, have the self-compassion and grace to pick yourself back up and carry on, because life is too short to live in debt to your own regrets anyways.
Love and light,
Jae
ADHD and Me
I’ve been struggling lately. Not so much with food or eating disorder things. More with life in general. Like I am a step behind in everything I need and want to do, without any tangible obstacles in my way, and I still cant seem to get them done.
From keeping my classroom organized, to tidying my condo, to writing this blog post. I NEVER seem to be able to carry out the act of completing any of these things until some external pressure has me backed into a corner (like parent-teacher interviews forcing me to organize my teaching desk).
It’s making me feel as if I am wasting precious time, the very thing that motivated me so strongly to overcome my eating disorder’s compulsions and routines.
Now I have this extra energy and unscheduled time, and instead of using it to the fullest, I still feel stuck to something. And not just one thing, but a thousand little things, pulling me in a thousand different directions ultimately keeping me stuck in one place, vibrating awkwardly rather than making any actual strides.
These feelings are NOT new. Its just without all the eating disorder struggles consuming most of my brainspace, they have taken up more prominent residence in my life.
It’s not just that I feel unproductive. Yeah, it’s annoying that my room is messier than I want it to be, that I can’t seem to remember where I put a giftcard I was gifted for the life of me, that this blog post I started a month ago I still haven’t finished.
But it’s impacting the way other people see me, and the way I see myself.
Take Superbowl weekend. We decided to throw a little party at my parents’ house, inviting my siblings and a few friends to watch the game half time show and eat lots of food. I decided to try to recreate the quinoa onion rings from Fresh, knowing how obsessed my boyfriend is with them, and also helped prepare a Tex Mex feast of nachos, enchiladas and BYO burrito bowls.
There was a bunch of us in the kitchen working with and around each other, navigating counter space and cutting boards, commandeering the SONOS speakers, trying to time everything so that it was all piping hot and ready to go for the start of the game.
Of course, in typical Prosen-family-style, the food was ready just seconds before Rhianna strode onto the stage at half time. But pretty much all of us only cared to see that part of the game anyways. So perfect timing!
I plated the onion rings, from their paper towel lined drinking dish onto something more serving worthy, quickly ran a cloth over the counter, rushed to put some spice bottles away and dashed downstairs.
I felt like I was being pulled so many ways-- my siblings and boyfriend downstairs, waiting for me to join them, my aunts attempting to navigate the kitchen and also wanting to catch up with me, and my pole standing there in the middle of it all, staring me down for not having used it all day, despite that being one of the first things on my to do list.
But I was able to exhale, with that final onion ring scooped onto the platter. It was halftime, dinner was done, and we could all be downstairs to eat and enjoy together. I had even managed to sneak in a couple ayeshas as things were cooking.
It was only the next day I was subjected to a different perspective. According to my mother, I dashed downstairs without a glance behind me, leaving a whirlwind of greasy surfaces, unwashed dishes, and dirty floors in my wake. She was genuinely hurt by it, feeling like I had intentionally thought to assign her the task of cleaner.
It’s so selfish, when you do these things. Like you just expect other people to clean up after you. As if its only your time and what you have to do that matters and not mine.
And that devastated me. Was I really that selfish?
It did cross my mind that I should tidy up my mess-- thats why I wiped the counter and put away the things I used. But did I think to check the floors, or the other areas of the kitchen? Maybe for a second. But I was really just consumed by this urgency to get out of there as fast as I could with the food so that it could be enjoyed by everyone while it was hot and at its best. It didn’t even cross my mind at that moment what the state of the rest of the kitchen was in, or when it would be addressed.
Its not the first time I’ve been called out for my whirling dervish messiness. My first house I shared with roommates, I was horrified the first time my friend sat down with me and gently broke it to me that I was “messy.”
I thought I was being so careful to clean up after myself, everytime I used any kind of common area. My students at school have even asked me what my desk is “such a mess.” And it’s really only at that moment I see my stacks of papers and notebooks as a mess and not in tentatively organized stacks of “to-do nows” and “to-do-laters.”
I’m struggling with this because its more than just being a “messy” person. It’s more that the mess is a symptom of a greater, underlying issue: attention and hyperfixation.
An issue I am only beginning to wrap my head around. I was actually diagnosed with ADD (now categorized as ADHD on the DH-5 scale) when I was in grade 4 when my teacher noticed my difficulty in transitioning from task to task.
However, I managed to do well in school, and I was not bouncing off walls the way most people assumes people (boys) with ADHD tend to behave, so no one gave much thought to this diagnosis: not any doctor, my parents, and not me.
It was only recently, as I have gotten to know more people living with ADHD, that I have come to understand some of the myths and misconceptions that exist around it.
As one a video by How to ADHD put it, ADHD is less of an inability to pay attention and more of an imbalance of attention.
It’s not that I, like other “ADHDers” cannot focus on anything. It’s that we have difficulty training our attention on something that is not giving us an immediate hit of dopamine to our apparently, under-dopaminated cortexes.
My lack of ability to tidy and organize spaces is because my brain is so heavily fixated on something else, whether its a pole class I am about to run out the door for, an upcoming trip I am planning, and less healthily, anxiety regarding some eating disorder thought permeating.
That one fixation consumes all my attention, appearing in screaming colour, with all other tasks and thoughts muted and black and white in the background.
I don’t like living this way, at the mercy of whatever thought is giving me that hit of dopamine, limiting my ability to comprehend and act in a way that acknowledges the big picture of whats going on around me.
So I am taking steps to figure out how to function with this ADHD that I am finially acknowledging.
I could write so much more about what I am already learning, but this blog post is long enough. Hopefully, I will manage to have trained my attention to write more posts on this ADHD discovery journey as I go.
Have you ever suspected you might have ADHD? Have you ever held any of the same beliefs I did about how it manifests?
Stay tuned to see how this chaotic brain of mine is working to sort itself out.
Til next time,
Jae
Tis’ the Season (for being sick) — some musings about resting to return back to health
I feel like some kind of omniscient game is being played on me. Looking back on my bullet journal from last december, it turns out the very same day I came down with the covid last year, is the very same day —- December 13— that a whopper of a cold hit me this year.
For the past 3 days I’ve been coughing my lungs out, nursing a headache and a fever, and not able to do much other than sleep, eat, watch TV, and occassionally fiddle with my knitting.
Perhaps even more karmic, is that this cold hit me right after I was beginning to feel some of the inklings of my usual pre-holiday anxiety about being out of my routine, subject to more food and indugences, and less opportunities to exercise, and how that might wreak havoc on my body, and my mind. It was the fist weekend of several from now until post new years— of holiday parteis and events with family and friends, with all kinds of boozy drinks and full dessert platters and and rich hearty meals.
It was a fabulous weekend— the Friday I was at my partner’s work christmas party, where we stayed well past midnight before heading back to our hotel only to carry on the party at the bar, and then the room.
Waking up late the next day, we were just in time to pull ourselves together and make it out for my family’s big neighbourhood Chritsmas party that night, where there were even more food and drinks to be had.
Sunday, was our family’s celebration of St.Nicholas day, essentially a warm up to christmas with a table of plates being magically filled with all kinds of small treats and goodies over night. Its another lazy festive morning in pajamas, lovely and lots of fun, but once again, out of my usual food and movement routine and after a two previous days of festivities, it was starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
The nagging voice in my brain started to pipe up again. I was acutely aware of how many days- how may hours— it had been since I had gone for a long “enough” walk, done a quad draining bike ride to class, or had a training session for pole. I also found myself becoming more and more aware and anxious about my body, and how it was changing (if it was. Are my thighs closer to touching? Is my stomach bigger? My arms feel like they arer flabbier.
In reality, it had been 3 days— not long enough to make any drastic changes.
And when I did go back to doing 2 pole classes that following Monday, I felt as if my body was instantly back to the way I wanted it. Obviously, not because a coule pole classes have that kind of body sculpting power, but because I never really changed in the first place.
It was just my anorexic, compulsive brain kicking me in loud enough to believe it.
Yes, it felt good to move after that rather sedentary week. I felt like I could exhale, already planning and lookig forward to resuming my fairly active routine up until gouing head to head with christrmas.
But waking up on Tuesday with a bad chest cold and the chllls it became evident that wasnt quite the case. I had come down with the same virus that took out a number of people at a party we went to over the weekend.
I was laid up on the couch for three days. Too tired and full of phlegm to exercise or even pole— even if I wanted to.
The funny thing was, my anxiety didn’t skyrocket being sick and sedentary (again) like i expected it to. In the past, when I was severely disordered, ity would have been practically impossible for me to have layed on a couch for three days especially after a weekednd of food and festivities.
The only way I probably could ahve coped owuld have been by eating as little as I could possibly get away with, thinking my bdy relly didnt need it if I wasn’t being active. I remember sneaking in squats and jumping jacks and situps in my bedroom if I was sick for more than a single day, and even quietly lacing up my running shoes to sneak out for a run, despite a sore throat and chest cough.
It wasnt even because I wanted to. It’s because I needed to. The only thing that I was dreadinfg more than the cold air in my inflamed lungs in that moment was having to be lying down for another minute, my mind being attacked by pulsating anxiety and shame over “what I was letting happen” to my body .
Being sick this year in a way was like a breath of fresh air. For three days, I didnt sterp foot out of my house, or even my pajamas. Even after my fever broke and I was feeling a bit more energetic on the second day, I still prioritzed rest,, and enjoyed watching christmas movie after christmas movie, knititng and crafting and puzzling in the glow of the christmas tree lights. Yes, I still felt small tremors of guilt, for choosing this kind of routine even when I probably could have braved a walk around the block. But these were just ripples, not the tidal waves that used to overtake me.
I don’t know if the timing of this onslaught of sickness was pure;y coincidental, or if there was a greater universal intention behind it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. The universe, or God, or consciousness, or however you might phrase it, has a way of granting you something you need, whether you want it or not. Of course I didnt need to be sick. But I needed something to break me out of the anxcious and destructive throught patterns that I was beginning to fall into again. I needed to be reminded by something with some force, that rest is sometimes neccessary, and breaking routines on occasion is more than okay.
I was also reminded of how far I’ve come, being able to actually allow myself that rest. To be able to hole up on a couch alll day with christmas movies and crafts was something I secretly craved, and yet could neverallow myself to do.
The few times I tries to enjoy a movie midafternoon, I couldnt hear the TV over the blaring voices in my head screaming at me to get up, go for a run, you have to burn some calories to deserve this.
This year, coccooned in a blanket watching Netflix at noon on a wednesday, all was quiet. And it was bliss.
Merry Almost Christmas,
Don’t forget to rest and enjoy it,
—Jae xoxo
5 Things to Do When You Get Out of Bed in the Morning (Even if you “hate” routine)
1.Take a Deep Breath.
It sounds simple, because it is. Breath deeply, and mindfullly. Notice the inhale and exhale. And note the place of calm and balance from which you are breathing. Set an intention to stay in that place throughout the place, and to always return to that place when anxiety, stress or other emotions start to throw you off balance.
2. Be Thankful.
Rhyme off three reasons you have to be grateful right now. Maybe its the amazing night’s sleep. Maybe its a delicious breakfast you will have before you start your day. Maybe its the simple fact you didn’t sleep through your alarm. Set your day off on a good note by searching for the positive. Even quantum physics has recently proven that the energy you put out into the world is the energy you will get back. Exude positive, happy thoughts, and you are more likely to encounter positive and happy events in return. Don’t believe me? It’s science.
3. Be Intentional.
Make a to do list— not a long one— of three things you want to accomplish today. Once you have those clear goals in your head, you can more easily direct your energy and actions towards those goals as the day goes on.
If you are so inclined, you can also go beyond a simple list and journal an intention for the day. Whether it is to be productive, be kind, or be calm, keep it simple. Make at a single phrase to capture an overall feeling that you can continue to come back to throughout the day.
4.Move your body.
That could be a leisurely morning walk, a heart pumping weight session, a meditative yoga flow, or even simply some gentle stretches before you even get out of bed. Whatever you do, it is enough. Find what works for you, what energizes you and puts you in a better mental and physical state for the rest of the day. Whether its 50 minutes or 5 minutes, that little bit of movement will bring you into your body before it hits the ground running.
5. Do something to clean your vessel.
As important as it is to move your body, it is also important to care for it in other ways, and paying individual attention to different aspects of your physical being. This could mean dry brushing your skin, moisturizing your face and body after you shower or before makeup, cleansing and exfoliating your face, oil rinsing your mouth, jade rolling, applying hand cream, doing a hair or face mask, or any other hygienic self-care act that you enjoy that might fit into your time frame here.
This kitty cat understands the joy of dry brushing
I know this might sound like something from a beauty magazine. But its the one morning habit that took me years to develop, but is now something that I find helps my sense of mental wellbeing just as much as anything else on this list. Taking the moment to do something that feels like a little bit of “extra” care for my body helps to remind me how to treat and talk to myself.
In the past, the only thing I would do on this list was the movement. And in that way movement became a form of punishment rather than care. Making myself deliberately build in a small act of care continues to shift my perspective of how I view my body from something I need to tame or force or control, to something to respect and appreciate.
I don’t manage to do all of these things every morning. Some days I only manage three, or two , and sometimes I barely manage one (I mean the breathing one is hard to avoid). But I find that having the intention of grounding myself first thing with these simple habits can really make a difference in how I feel going into the day.
As always, take what serves you, leave what doesn’t.
How do you start your mornings?
xoxo- J
Mental Flossing: My March Meditation Challenge (“it’s good for you!”)
I’ve been feeling a bit off-kilter lately. Bouncing back and forth and up and down in just about every aspect of my life I can envision at the moment. Everything feels like too much and not enough. I feel restless and completely drained simultaneously, my thoughts running one hundred miles a minute, my brain struggling to stay engaged and present long enough to see a single task through to completion.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve struggled with anxiety. Not the emotion that all of us experience in one way or another in spurts or short-lived situations, like the night leading up to a test or a first date. Mine is of the chronic, disordered kind. Often I don’t even recognize its overwhelming presence, as I am completely consumed in a tangle of thoughts from overthinking even the smallest of things.
What begins off as simply thinking ahead or “good planning” quickly becomes a rabbit hole of “what-ifs”, “but-then’s” and “even-so’s” and a endless spiral of no perfect solution to problems that in reality, are not really a problem.
An example, for just this week has been me trying to decide which night after school I should plan on going to a café after work to write this blog post.
How could someone possibly overthink the decision of buying a coffee? You might ask.
Well, welcome to the inner workings of my mind.
Today would be a good day to get coffee. I can stop at the Starbucks at the halfway point on my way home from school.
But I do have unopened almond milk in my fridge. Maybe I should go home and use that up first.
Then again tomorrow is Friday, and I have all weekend to get through it.
Or should I go to Starbucks to write over the weekend then.
But I also have coffee at home and a fancy brand new espresso maker so I probably wont want to leave the house to do that. Might as well save money that way anyways.
Maybe I should save money today though if I have that almond milk in my fridge.
Can I stretch the carton to three days?
If i can’t maybe I can go grocery shopping over the weekend for some.
How much money have I spent this month? Where should I buy it?
No frills is cheapest but its a bit of a hike. I could take the streetcar. But that’s three dollars. Almost as much as the almond milk.
A latte at Starbucks is almost twice that much with soy milk.
Why am I going to Starbucks anyways then?
Maybe I shouldn’t be. Its a waste of money.
But you write better there.
Oh yeah.
Unless your brain starts producing thoughts like this…
And. it. keeps. going.
I eventually DID decide to go to Starbucks and purchase a six dollar latte. And I DID get some writing done. Not much though, because even with nothing to do but sit or stand by a 2 foot wide table with my laptop my brain still got in the way.
I am getting fed up with these anxious cyclical thought patterns. I came across a Ted Talk video where a speaker in a very calm and melodic voice (irritatingly so) mentioned the benefits of meditation.
I got over my annoyance to let that sink in.
Mediation. Of course.
Meditation has been something I have always held with the utmost reverence and respect. But that doesn’t mean I am a regular practitioner of meditation.
For me, meditation is a lot like flossing. Something I know is so good for me, with both proven and reported health benefits from daily practice, and yet something I never do.
And both seem to take much more time in a day than they actually do.
Meditation is alot like flossing.
When I was doing my Yoga Teacher training, I was (forced) into the habit of meditating every day, often multiple times throughout, and it soon became something I truly enjoyed.
In the daily ritual of carving out space and time to devote a few minutes (at least) to sitting in stillness, I did truly experience a significant shift in my overall state of mind.
But when my yoga training ended, work ramped up, and life got busy, little by little, my meditation practice became as rare as my flossing habit. And given that the floss currently in my bathroom I receiver from my dentist on a visit back when I was in high school, you may get an idea of how rare that is.
But in this new wave of anxiety and negative thought patterns, I am committing to getting back on the mediation wagon.
For the month of March (and the last couple weeks of february) I'm committed to meditating every single day, for no shorter than 5 minutes.
I say 5 minutes because if I tell myself I need to do it for longer than that I feel too daunted by it to actually do it.
But in reality, every day that I have sat so far I have surprised to find myself coming out of meditation and realizing I have done much more than 5 minutes, usually somewhere between 12 and 20 minutes.
Its only been about a week so far, but I have been pretty consistent. I’ve managed to do it everyday, except for one where I chose to go out for dinner and stay out late with friends, but hey, I’m human and I have no regrets for being social and connected.
On the weekends, I like meditating first thing in the morning, and then transitioning into some yoga and stretching or more active movement and its sets a nice tone for the rest of my day.
I would like to keep the same time during the workweek but I wake up so early and so exhausted, I’m 90 percent sure I would end up just falling back to sleep finding that sense of stillness.
So Monday to Friday, I have been choosing to meditate sometime after dinner. Its also a time of the day when I find my anxiety can peak, as often thoughts about what I’ve eaten or how much I’ve eaten start to creep in.
Actively choosing to witness and observe those thoughts, it becomes much easier to detach from them, and find a more level-headed and balanced place to deal with the anxiety that they bring up.
Again, its early days, but I am honestly amazed at how simple and yet powerful this daily practice of 5 minutes a day is for my mindset.
Have you ever had some kind of meditation practice? Interested in learning more what mine looks like? Perhaps I’ll shine a light on some of the prompts and images I use for myself in a later post.
As for now, wishing you all love and light and a beautiful week ahead,
Jordan xoxox
10 More Things I Learned During Covid Isolation
This is a continuation from my last post, where I talk about my experience of having Covid just before Christmas.
I tried to narrow what I learned from 10 days on my own to 10 items, but I failed miserably. So here are 10 more things isolation taught me.
To read the first 10 learnings from my experience with Covid click here.
10 (more) things I learned in Covid Isolation
It’s a good time to make a photobook whilst in quarantine.
Photobook creation websites like Photobook Canada (which I used) have some pretty amazing programs to create truly unique and professional books. 10 days honestly flew by just learning how to use the different features, and create a photo cookbook of all my Nana’s recipes that I was sure my mom would love. Honestly, hours went by without a thought dedicated to this very consuming project.
It takes a f***ing long time to put together a photobook.
Spoiler: It took me so long to make the photobook that it did not arrive in time for Christmas. On the final day of my isolation, I actually kind of wished I had another day or two to finish working on it in peace.
Sometimes exercise feels unproductive.
Don’t get me wrong, I will always feel a high after finishing a workout, whether its a HIIT workout, a challenging pole class, or a long walk. But when you have a 100 page document (or photo cookbook) to edit and a fast approaching deadline, sweating for the sake of sweating or leaving your house to walk the same route for an hour only to arrive back where you started feels rather redundant. For that reason, as well as for the sake of my immune system that was currently being attacked by virus particles, I took a pretty big step back from exercise during my isolation. And I felt pretty accomplished by the end of it.
I own too few pairs of pajamas.
Pretty much all I wore the entire 10 days I was isolating. And the few days I was sick and without test results before that. I even started walking my dog in my PJ’s, just throwing on my boots and coat. How many days did I go wearing the same pajama bottoms? I will take the answer of that to my grave.
Bras are overrated.
See above. The closest thing I came to a bra were the sports bras I would wear for pole. And sometimes they doubled as a shirt paired with my PJ bottoms for the rest of the day. I had surprisingly very little laundry to do after those 10 days quarantined at home.
Even introverts succumb to loneliness at some point.
While I am not a through and through introvert (hello Leo), I definitely have an introverted side along with my streak of independence. For most of quarantine, I was pretty content with my puzzles, a hallmark Christmas movie, and my pole. However, there were times where I really and truly felt like an outsider to the rest of the world. I would see instagram stories and posts of friends getting together for christmas parties, work events, or even just coffee dates and that’s when loneliness would hit. In those moments, I would even consider giving up my PJ pants for some human interaction.
A bit of dancing everyday keeps sadness at bay.
While I didn’t do much in terms of “working out,” most days I did end up finding my way to my pole, fuelled by my Spotify playlist of a few good songs in a row. I just moved and grooved and spun myself around, for as long or as little as I was feeing, and inevitably, I came out of those dance sessions with a little happiness boost. Well worth the slight feeling of out of breathness after (which did thankfully go away after my 5th or 6th day in isolation).
Even dogs need space.
For 10 days, it was just me and my 13 year old husky/shepherd Jaeda. I am a cuddler. Jaeda less so. Craving some form of interaction and affection, I often looked to Jaeda for a good cuddle session. She would always oblige for awhile, but after 10 or so minutes had past of me skootching into her bed with her, she would look sideways at me, give a little groan, and heave her old bones off of her cushy bed to lay on the floor in another room alone. It could be said that perhaps Jaeda fared isolation even better than I did.
Thank God for Facetime.
In the moments I didn’t even have the affection of my dog to quell my feelings of loneliness, Facetime was always there to give me to the kind of human connection only eye contact, facial expression, and a familiar voice can offer. To all the beloved friends who called to check in on me, or answered my calls where I had very little new and exciting to share, you know who you are, and you are appreciated.
There are some hidden gem christmas movies on Netflix.
I watched more Christmas movies this year than I have in the past three years combined, thanks to Covid. As someone who is not all that fond of rewatching movies, especially those of the Hallmark variety, I was pleasantly surprised to find several new ones that were more than decent. At the top of my list were Lovehard, Let it Snow, A Knight for Christmas, A California Christmas and Klaus.
So there we have it. 10 Learnings from 10 days in Isolation. In the end, not all that miserable, and in many ways, rewarding. But would I willingly do it again? Probably not. I prefer my puzzles with a side of conversation. And I am running out of pajamas.
Have you had to isolate for covid? How did you kill the time?
Happy New Year,
Jordan xoxo
A Very Covid Christmas (again)- and 10 Things I Learned in Isolation
This Christmas I officially joined the covid club. I still have no idea where I got it, although between teaching in person and a busy social life, there are several possibilities. I am very lucky, in that my symptoms were mild. I had a scratchy throat, and a light cough for a few days, but in all honesty if it was not covid times, I would have felt guilty taking off any more than a day of work for it.
It started with feeling tired , and as a new teacher I didn’t really consider that a symptom, as much as an unavoidable way of life. But then my throat started feeling weird. I thought I was just dehydrated. It wasn’t so much sore as it was scratchy. Honestly it was only as I was sipping a beer in the distillery, feeling as if lacerations were being lit up as I swallowed the carbonated liquid that I started to make the connection. However, after two bouts of pretty bad colds/flus already this fall, I wasn’t super concerned it was covid. I really just didn’t want to be sick in any kind of way in these weeks leading up to christmas.
I went home, went to bed , thinking a good sleep would help. Instead I was up half the night feeling feverish, hot and cold at the same time, with a pounding headache, and achy as if I had arthritis in my hips. At 4:30 that morning I sent an email with my principal with typo laden plans explaining my absence that day.
I woke up feeling much better. My fever was gone (did I even have one in the first place? I wondered). My throat felt much better, and my headache was mostly gone too. I did have some phlegm and a cough, but it was much milder than the cough I had the last time I was sick, and that was not covid.
I somehow miraculously did not infect any member of my family, despite seeing them over the weekend and on the very day I started having symptoms, and for that I am eternally grateful. I did, however, land my lovely roommate with Covid for the second time. And unlike me, who luckily gets to leave my isolation the eve before Christmas eve, she only started having symptoms a few days ago and must spend Christmas on her lonesome until the 27th. She isn’t holding it against me, and I’ve been showering her with early Christmas gifts including a delivery of Craig’s Cookies and an UberEats gift card, but I still feel awful to have thrown a wrench into her family Christmas plans.
The most distressing part of this whole debacle is that I have to suffer the inconvenience of 10 days of isolation during the week of excitement and anticipation leading up to the 25th. I missed several Christmas events, including the annual Christmas reunion dinner with my high school friend group, and our family Christmas on the 19th with cousins who live in BC was cancelled completely. My hopes of sipping (chugging) mulled wine with my cousins watching our parents get equally as toasted were dashed.
But as I am continuously reminded, it is just the times.
I feel like I’m going through the ultimate 2020 rite of passage having covid. In a fucked up kind of way, receiving my positive result from a PCR test almost felt like a golden ticket to Wonka’s factory-- something I had heard about, and always knew was a possibility, but never quite believed I would ever be the recipient. It felt as if I was just hearing the term “Omnicom” and gossip about Covid becoming a big “thing” again, when all of a sudden I had it.
People are continuously fascinated by Covid. It has this air of intrigue composed of both awe and fear around it, the virus equivalent of “He Who Must Not Be Named” (AKA Voldemort, for the non-potter-heads). When I got my test result, I contacted all the people I had seen the weekend leading up to it. The owner of my pole studio sent out a message to those I had been in class with me letting them know they had been in contact with “a positive case.” “Don’t worry! The owner assured me. I didn’t say it was you! I Kept it anonymous. It was very kind of her to do that, but also, why do we have this attached shame complex to a positive test? Its not as if anyone conspires to get covid and then spread it to as many people as they can. Its a virus that as a world, we are all fighting together.
Friends reached out with the same questions:
How are you?
What are your symptoms?
How did you get it?
My not very exciting responses were okay, fine, and no idea. They were relieved I was okay, but at the dame time there is a sense of disappointment. Like that’s it? This is what we’ve been hiding from for close to 2 years?
I get it. But still, I am grateful that this, for me, is all covid was.
My isolation companion, Jaeda
10 Things I learned in Covid Isolation
Covid feels like a mild cold (and I thank being vaxxed for that.)
I’ve been sick three times this fall/winter already, and each time my symptoms were much more severe than this. Other than a short bout of feeling feverish in the middle of the night when I first started feeling off, covid felt no worse than a mild cold. I had a scratchy throat for two days, and a very light cough and not a ton of energy for a few more after that. However, by day 4 or 5, I would’ve been back to my regularly scheduled life if what I had wasn’t covid.
I know some people might take this as proof that covid really isn’t a big deal, and that there are unnecessary precautions and restrictions being made out of fear/ corruption/ ignorance etc… But I am pretty confident that being double vaxxed probably had something to do with the very mild and manageable experience I had. And, for what I am very grateful, keeping my parents and family, and students from not getting infected by me, considering I was in close contact with many people right up until the night I had my fever. Yes, I got covid, BUT it could have been MUCH worse.
2. It's very convenient to isolate in walking distance to family.
This fall, my grandfather moved into a care home, leaving his house right next to my family home empty, Even before I got my official positive test result, my parents invited me to do my isolation in this empty house so I would have room to sprawl out and also be nearby for them to help me out. I know I am beyond lucky to have this convenient set up, but it was honestly a life saver. And every home cooked meal that was lovingly delivered to my door did not go unappreciated.
My Grandfather’s empty house where I spent the past 10 days in isolation
3. I will never again take for granted the opportunity to grocery shop in person.
Grocery delivery services and Instacart are very convenient, and during my 10 days of isolation, they kept me well fed and well stocked. But as a grocery shopper, I am much more of an in-the moment impulse buyer of what looks good versus writing a list. I swear I spend longer navigating the instacart website, trying to rack my brain for what I want to eat for the next week versus walking the aisles and buying what looks yummy at a good price. I also felt denied the experience of food shopping in the days before christmas… Meandering the festive displays of chocolates and oranges and fresh figs as Christmas music blares through the aisles. People watching the festive folk grocery shopping in Santa hats and holiday sweaters , carts filled with things for entertaining like wheels of brie, giant panettone, and cartons of egg nog. Maybe I am a bit of an odd duck, missing food shopping in this way but there's nothing like being locked indoors for an extended period that makes you miss these ordinary experiences of being human.
4. I am more introverted than I thought
At first, the prospect of having to isolate for 10 days sent me into a spiral of dread. I hate being alone, I thought. I am an extrovert! I need people. Turns out I can be pretty content on my own with a puppy, a home pole studio, and a puzzle. I was able to get lots of writing done, make several gifts for family, friends, and their dogs (hello, hand sewn bandanas) and watch anything I wanted without compromise. Actually by dat 9, I was kind of wishing I had one more day of isolation to get a little bit more done before my time was up and I was thrown back into the mayhem of a family christmas.
5. I still remember the majority of every Taylor Swift song
I love to sing, but living in close quarters with a roommate, I never subjected her every often to my belting it out musical theatre style impromptu concerts. In a big house on my lonesome, with Taylor Swift playing on my spotify, I didn't hold back. Turns out I remember the obscure lyrics from obscure tracks on Red and 1984 just as well as I did back in 2010.
6. Christmas cookies taste better when you can share them
Near the end of my isolation, when I figured I was mostly noncontagious, I started christmas baking, making dozens of beautiful cookies. It felt nice to bake, but when you are sharing the finished result of a perfectly shaped sugar cookie or lightly whipped aquafaba meringue with none but yourself and your dog, the joy falls flat just a little. I could've eaten oreos with my hot chocolate after that day of baking and been equally as satisfied, and created much less of a mess.
7. The truest friends don’t forget about you when you are MIA (out of sight out of mind)
Despite my new discovery of an introverted side, it was really amazing to hear from friends throughout my isolation. I totally get out of sight out of mind, and I hate to say I often fall into that pattern of interaction, especially with friends and family in different cities and provinces. So when I was dropped off a covid care package from my extremely thoughtful long time friend, I felt loved and appreciated and cared for, and I think that itself made the entire isolation experience so much more endurable. Even something as simple as the texts I received from various friends and family checking in on me, or saying hi in just a sentence or less were beautiful reminders of the connections I had in my life, and the friendships I do not take for granted.
covid care package from a dear friend <3
8. A walk does not need to be 5 kilometres
In isolation, technically you are not supposed to leave yourself. In a very quiet street in the suburbs, I made an exception twice a day (morning and night) to venture out to walk my dog (masked) and keeping away from people. My dog is 13. We do not go far and we do not go fast. The furthest we ever go is barely 2 kilometres and it takes close to 45 minutes, with lots of breaks for sniffing things. Usually however, it's closer to ½ a kilometre, to the park to walk through a woodlot and back .
Before getting covid, I had a pretty ingrained habit of getting at least 5 km in a day. Sometimes it was all at once. Sometimes it was a few kilometres to school, a few back, and then another few over lunch. Anything less felt well-- lazy. After 10 days of slowing down to Jaeda’s senior citizen pace, I realize getting out for just a slow walk around the block can do just as much for my spirits and energy as a speedy 7 km loop around the city. Also, I think having a dog as company on these walking ventures is also a big factor in the happiness level achieved.
9. It's okay to walk zero kilometres a day.
Expanding on the last point a little more. There were some days in my isolation where Jaeda was sore or the weather was rainy and miserable where it made no sense to break covid protocol and venture outside. And while the first day this happened I felt pretty anxious , I did it and (obviously) nothing bad happened. If anything, it felt freeing. As much as it was a downer getting covid, especially at christmas time, in a way I am thankful that it forced me to face this very deceptive compulsion I have continued to hang onto. As healthy of a habit of walking every day is, the fact that I was doing it pretty compulsively was important for me to break.
10. After a long time of not being around other people, it starts to matter less what they might think.
In isolation I didn’t wear makeup for the whole 10 days. I also did not wear anything but pajamas (and pole shorts) for most of that 10 days either. At first, the exception was putting on a pair of leggings to go walk the dog. But in the latter half of my isolation period, I found myself not caring enough to get up and change out of my pjs and would simply throw on a coat over my fuzzy plaid pj bottoms before leaving the house. After doping it once, I did it every time. I didn’t even feel silly. I just felt like a girl walking her dog in her pajamas and I owned it.
I came out of isolation on the eve of December 23rd, just in time to celebrate christmas with my family. In some ways, it was a very convenient circumstance of covid. But I am still happy its over.
Out of isolation, Christmas morning. Jaeda was happy too.
How was your covid christmas?
xoxo
Jordan
Spring Growth Challenge (an Inner Spring cleaning to grow your mindset)
#MayGrowth30 :
30 Days to a Healthier, Stronger, and Clearer Mind
I love spring. There is something about this season of growth and renewal that has always sparked inspiration and excitement in me. I suppose its seeing the changing of seasons, the melting of snow, and the slow invasion of green, new life life that makes me feel empowered to take undergo some of my own change and self-growth, and come out of the winter dormancy that so many of us find ourselves in.
Over the past several months, I have found myself in a bit of a mental rut. I’ve fallen into less-than-helpful patterns and habits. I stay up too late for no real reason, wake up feeling tired and lacking energy to face the day, and spend too much time in front of my computer, consuming content rather than creating it.
I have also found myself feeling more stressed and anxious over little things that really shouldn’t get to me, and in turn, becoming so wrapped up in my own problems that I am not always able to respond to the needs and feelings of others around me.
I value being a generous, kind, and compassionate person, and when my own mental health is suffering, I am not living up to this version of me.
And so, I am dedicating this month to spring cleaning my mental health.
Just like spring cleaning of our homes inside and out is a common occurrence with the end of winter, shaking the cobwebs off some of the goals and resolutions I have made for myself earlier in the year just seems to come as a natural inclination as soon as the days get longer and warmer.
Especially this year, where once again, we find ourselves in lockdown here in Toronto in these early days of spring. It feels counter-intuitive to what spring usually inspires in me: to be holed up by myself up indoors, cancel plans, and put off all the activities and gatherings that usually fill me with a new energy this season.
So this May, I have decided I need to take kind of internal “spring cleaning” into my own hands. I am giving myself a 30- Day Spring Growth Challenge (#SpringGrowth30).
I know that challenges especially these short and sweet month long endeavours are all over Instagram, TikTok and every other social media platform. A lot of them focus on our physical fitness or body goals (just Google Chloe Ting and you'll see what I mean).
And while people may find some benefit out of these fitness-focused challenges, the kind of change I am after is more holistic than that. I am trying to achieve mental, spiritual and emotional growth.
More simply, I am trying to be a better human; a stronger, kinder, more resilient, more content, and more productive person.
This is not an easy task, and it will require a lot of rewiring and retraining my brain to think different thoughts and form new habits. It won’t happen overnight. It likely wont even happen in thirty days.
But I am committed to making a good start over this next month, and making the necessary first steps to lay down the foundation for the kind of lasting change I want for myself.
I want to level-up my mindset.
Here are my goals for this challenge:
Goals:
Shift my mindset from scarcity to abundance
Gain clarity on what passions I want to pursue
Be more productive (ie. get more done in pursuit of those passions)
Strengthen my relationships
Foster my creativity.
Without further ado, here is my 30-Day May Growth Challenge.
May Growth Challenge
Everyday, I will:
Do something creative (writing, painting, dancing, etc)
Wake up the same time every morning (one hour later on weekends)
Write down three things I am grateful for every morning and every night
Do one act of kindness
And, most importantly,
5. Post on Instagram my daily updates about this challenge.
That last part of the challenge is *key.* I will be keeping myself accountable through posting what I am grateful for each day (twice a day!), what time I woke up and went to bed the night before, and whatever creative outlet and act of kindness I may have done.
I have also been beating myself up over not blogging or writing more. So forcing myself to post about this challenge everyday on my seedling of an account @dayslikeblankpages will also work towards my goals of becoming a more productive person.
So if you are curious on how I do, and how I (hopefully) grow in the next thirty days. Follow me there. Better yet, join in this challenge with me!
Maybe you will share the same goals I do, and maybe you have unique goals of your own, and will make your own version of this challenge, whether its getting outside every day, drinking more water, being more spontaneous, or being more organized, you can craft your challenge to meet your own unique goals and values.
Day 1 starts tomorrow. Stay tuned, and let’s GROW.
(pun intended; you can take the teacher out of the classroom, but cant take the classroom out of the teacher!)
How are you challenging yourself this month?
xxoo
-Jordan
The Fear of Being “Ordinary” (and why being average is perfectly enough)
“Shoot for the moon. For even if you fail, you will still land among the stars.”
This was the poster that greeted me on my first day in my Grade 4 classroom. It was hung by my kind and enthusiastic teacher, who wanted nothing more than to inspire and motivate her students to live up to their potential; the message essentially being to do better, we must aim for nothing less than the best.
As innocent this message may seem, it stems from a “never enough” mentality that is destructively pervasive in our culture. A mentality that being ordinary is not enough, and that in order to be “good” we must be special.
We must do whatever it takes to be extraordinary.
Throughout our lives, many of us have fallen victim to this mentality of self-deciprecation. We learn to view '“average,” “normal,” and “ordinary” as lacking. We fear that falling into the category of “average” is settling for a lesser identity, or accepting a loss of power.
When we hear the word “ordinary,” it is loaded with negative connotations of monotony, or boredom, or the mundane. When at is essence, ordinary is a very neutral term— and who is to say, not a positive one?
For a long time, I considered being “ordinary” a failure to live up to my potential.
And its a shame (and quite f***ed up really) to walk around carrying this fear of ordinary. Ordinary is synonymous with average. And average quite literally means “the norm”-- the category most people and endeavours fall into (duh).
By rebuking and fighting anything that falls in this category of average- whether it be our average job, average body, average grade, or average skill or ability at a sport or art or hobby- you are ultimately leaving yourself with very little chance to be happy.
This pursuit of the extraordinary is NOT something for which we can really blame ourselves. It is something that is pervasive in our society, birthed in the same seeds that planted the American Dream, and the unquenchable thirst for “more” and “better” that consumes and drives our modern lives.
Its these seeds planted in you with the best intentions and love when you were little, with parents and loving adults promising you that “you can be whatever you want to be,” and that “no dream is too big.”
You take one dance class and they assure you that you were on your way to become a prima ballerina. You take a liking to your family dog and they start setting aside a fund for vet school. You sing and you dance and you are told you can grow up to be a famous performer, that all you have to do is “try,” and to “believe in yourself.”
Unfortunately, the biggest dreams often require much more than that.
I grew up with these messages. And I never questioned it, or even thought it strange. Still today, I will find myself making the same grandiose statements to the kids that I teach: “Oh wow, percy, look at that beautiful drawing! You are going to have a painting in a gallery one day!” and Aliza, you can be an olympic gymnast!”
Of course, encouraging kids to try hard and “dream big” is important to build their sense of worth and self-confidence. But what about when they are 18, and not admitted to art school? Or 25 and they only job they can get is some entry level accounting work, far from the “pursue your passion” speech they had been spoon-fed ever since they were being spoon-fed?
And who knows, maybe Aliza will be an olympic gymnast, and Percy a famous artist. But chances are, they will not. But that does NOT mean they will not find happy, meaningful, and rewarding lives.
The truth is, the majority of people in our society are working average jobs, making average wages, in so called “ordinary” fields or professions. I am sure Karen did NOT dream of growing up to be a retail manager for a tile company. And while these kinds of jobs are likely NOT anyone’s true passion or life calling, they are doing work integral to the functioning of our society.
And who is to say that people that are working these mediocre or average jobs, are living lives that are any less fulfilling or meaningful or joyful, than someone working in a so-called “noble” profession.
For myself, this fixation on the extraordinary kept me in a long season of tire spinning— wanting to do everything, but nothing seemed enough. I was rooted to the spot, unable to take a step in any direction afraid of stumbling into a career that was anything less than my “calling.”
I did not want to settle for anything less than the glamorous dreams I had birthed unto me as a kid. Respectively, I dreamed I would grow up to become a vet, a gymnast, an olympic snowboarder, a best-selling author, a broadway star, a professional horseback rider/trainer. and a plant-based chef/food blogger.
Notice what each of these dreams have in common: the element of fame, and of top-tierdom, of being the best.
It wasn’t even so much as choosing which of these paths to purse that caused me so much angst, but the very true possibility that whatever I did, that I would not be able to do well enough to achieve the level of fame or recognition that I so valued. I wanted my name to be known, whatever I did. I wanted to turn heads when I walked into a room. I wanted to be anything but ordinary. Because to be ordinary, to have an average, unknown existence, felt worse than failure.
This has been a big obstacle for me in recovery too. Contrary to widespread perceptions of eating disorders, I never saw myself as fat, or even overweight. I never considered myself to be ugly. Even when I was in the depths of ED, avoiding mirrors and hiding from my appearance, I still innately understood that on the spectrum of ugly to beautiful, or fat to thin, that in both categories I was at least “average.”
But that didn’t stop me from feeling loathing towards my body. I did not want to be average. I wanted to be thin, uniquely so. I wanted bones. And then I wanted to be the fittest. I wanted washboard abs and veiny arms, and rock hard limbs. I wanted to turn heads. And in that pursuit of extraordinary, I spent years iron-fisting my body to be my masterpiece.
If I were to get all psychological about it now, I could say that all the fear and uncertainty and pressure I was feeling about what I would do with my life, I channeled into my feelings about my body.
As cliche as it is true, the lack of control and powerless I felt over the greater meaning of my existence, was compensated by exerting control where I could— controlling my food, and my body. But this is tangential, so I will leave this for another post.
In essence, an “average body” was something I dreaded and feared. Even being told that I was approaching a “normal” weight, I felt like a failure.
I felt like I was sliding down the rungs of a ladder I had given years of my life and all of my strength to climb. I was letting myself go, and slipping back into the throes of mediocrity.
I felt silly, and narcissistic, admitting to this realization, but it was truly how it felt. Allowing myself to settle at an “average” weight really did feel like I was giving up.
This is not unique thinking. I am NOT the one lone human who feels dissatisfied with a perfectly good and “normal” body. Countless studies have reported a surprising percentage of the population, all genders and ages (although especially young women) suffer from negative body image, and desire to change or “fix” their appearance.
Once again, we can thank the glamorized body ideals that pervade our society. With every photoshopped, face-tuned, airbrushed image posted to a feed, what is extraordinary is presented as a standard to which we perpetually struggle to live up to.
There was lots bundled into the pile of kindling that ignited my eating disorder, but a significant piece was the unattainable ideal of what I should (could) look like -- I just needed to try.
It takes a lot of work, a lot of time, and a lot of therapy to rewire the belief that the extraordinary is achievable simply through try. And even more to come to accept the ordinary, the normal, the “what is” as just as worthy and meaningful.
I am now in a very average position in my life; I am paying an average rent, living in a perfectly average house, working a very average, but rewarding job as a teacher; I am at an average weight, in an ordinary body, that is beautifully healthy and functioning. I bake sourdough bread that is far from perfect, but tasty. I take pole classes with fellow students and instructors that keep me humble about how much I still have to learn. And I love every minute of it.
I am coming to realize that the worst part of being “ordinary” is holding on to the belief that you shouldn’t be.
As soon as you can let that go, and embrace what is for exactly how it is, happiness and meaning and purpose just start pooling at your feet, as if a hose has just been unkinked and freed to flow.
There is a fine line between self-acceptance and self-improvement. I may never be a vet or an olympic snowboarder or a broadway singer. I will never look like a Victoria secret angel, or be 5’8 with long legs and a short torso.
But I can be perfectly happy and fulfilled working towards being the best version of average me, teaching and writing and riding and snowboarding for the joy of it, laughing over my mistakes and failures, and making connections with other people who are equally as human-- NOT allowing my insecurities and shame to isolate me.
This is self-acceptance. To be okay and happy exactly as you are, and where you are, grateful for you in all its ordinary excellence.
And once you do that, you might start to notice where meaning and happiness truly reside— and be free from the unattainable ideals of perfection.
The Post-Christmas Mind-Fuck (A Survival Guide to “New Year, New You” and other BS)
We all know it. You might be in it right now—that vacuum of time and space that exists between Christmas and New Years. That one week of the year where you don’t know what day it is, and don’t really care, when it gets to be late enough in the day that it feels counterproductive to change out of your pyjamas and christmas cookies remain a viable food group.
In all honesty, its this aftermath of Christmas that is my favourite time of the holidays. The shopping, cooking, cleaning, and wrapping have all been done, and (in none pandemic times) there are no more relatives to visit or guests to entertain.
There is literally nothing to do but revel in the wrappings of all the festivities that went down, enjoy some of the new toys or gadgets you received, and crack open that bottle of wine and box of chocolates that was under your tree.
And it’s important to enjoy this time— to truly enjoy it. Because as soon as New Years’ Eve hits, reality as we know it turns on its head. This, my friend, is the Post-Christmas Mind-Fuck
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The Post- Christmas Mind-Fuck (Explained)
January First hits with the force of a a full champagne bottle, and in the blink of an eye, reality is turned on its head. Everything we have been told is right is now wrong, everything we are told to buy and eat and do we are told to avoid or undo. It is like being in a snow globe being shaken so violently that we can no longer recognize the scene within.
All the messages and ads and posts for the past month telling us to indulge, bake cookies, buy candy, eat, drink and be merry, and watch christmas movies huddled under blankets, are replaced overnight with messages about new year cleanses, detoxes, exercise regimes, and self-discipline.
Every Christmas baking recipe on Instagram is replaced with an ad for a detox tea, juice cleanse, or Keto diet trial. The influencers that were posting pictures of candy-cane rimmed eggnog and gingerbread donuts are now posting pictures of their new Gymshark clothing doing “damage control” at the gym for their “holiday guilt.”
It is enough to make you want to crawl beneath your new weighted blanket and not resurface until March. But then again that would be disregarding the revered commandment of “thou shall turn off Netflix and exercise away every ounce of chocolate consumed.”
And that is the mind-fuck.
Everything that was being toted as festive and merry and of the “season” become demonized overnight , and implying that you, dear, sweet, ignorant mortal, now have the duty-- no, the privilege, to rectify your moral wrongdoings by fixing your body.
Perhaps you have not been directly told to “fix your body”, but instead to “shed weight,” “get back on track,” “cleanse your system” or “detox your gut.”
Regardless of how it is worded, the message that bombards us every January that the most productive thing you can do this New Year is to change your body.
As someone who once subscribed to this message not just on New Years but all year round, for many years, I am writing this post to call bull sh**, and to hold your hand through this mind fuck so that you can still eat your chocolate if thats what you want to do on January 1st without feeling like a less worthy being.
So here is a survival guide to help you through the next few weeks of diet culture propaganda headed your way..
The Christmas Mind-Fuck Survival Guide
Arm yourself with knowledge
“New Year New You” and the messages about diet and weight loss that accompany it exist so people can make money. “You are fine exactly as you are doesn’t exactly spur people to buy things. However “Change your body to be better” and “here are the training plans, workout gear, cookbooks, and other products that will help you do it” has a better chance of having people spending money.
Become Diet-Culture-Literate
Check out this post here for myths about food, exercise and metabolism. Understand that so much of the cleanses, detoxes, crash diets, and even lifestyle restrictive diets from Keto to paleo to vegan to whole30 don’t quite live up to their promises. While it is true that most of us eat more and move less around the holidays, and that can result in some weight gain, studies have found that to average in one pound of weight gain for an adult human. And that minimal amount is easily lost as the person returns to their normal routine after the holidays. Our bodies are wonderful, intelligent mechanisms that can maintain equilibrium and maintain a healthy set point weight with little to no intervention or micromanaging on our part. Silly human.
Walk Your Own Path (use a filter for what you say and what you hear from others)
This time of year, everyone and their mother has a comment to make about how much they’ve been eating or how little they have been exercising or how excited they are to get started on their new resolution to start the ____diet or ___exercise program in the new year.
If you typically feel yourself anxious or stressed by these comments of food or body by others, you have a few options:
Change the Conversation. Spend time with people who have more interesting things to talk about than their bodies. Politely ask those people if they wouldn’t mind changing the subject if they bring it up, or better yet, slyly make the subject change yourself.
Be the change. Set an anti-diet example by reaching for a second cookie as they start talking about their upcoming cleanse. If they give you any kind of shocked or harrowed expression, tell them that they are welcome to do them, and that you will do you. And you trust that your body can handle a little extra energy and rest without any conscious efforts from you to “detox” it afterwards. And then send them over to this post.
Smile and nod and stay in your lane. Listen without actually listening, because whatever someone else’s choices are for their one bodies will not affect yours. Just because your best friend is going Keto January 1st does not mean that all of the sudden your own body is going to start rejecting gluten. Follow your own path, and do what works for your own mental and physical health-- NOT just because you saw it on Instagram.
4) Enjoy the rest of the holidays (and your life) in peace. It is going to be back to real life before you know it. One day in the not-so-far-off future, you are going to be back at work (whether in person or in your living room), fully dressed, with a dog to walk or kids to get to school and dinners to make, with not so much as a lindt chocolate ball in sight, and you will be wishing you spent December 29th watching one more Christmas movie.
Life is going to keep going, so enjoy the slower rhythm while we have it. Move in ways that feel good, whether thats a walk around the block, a skate at the local rink, or tobogganing with your kids. Eat food thats feel good, whether thats leftover mashed potatoes or a big salad and a plate of cookies. Honour your hunger, respect your cravings.
5). Make some resolutions for the new year that have NOTHING to do with what you look like.
Thats what I’ll be doing as I sip on my latte and eat some leftover potica today.
potica!
Want to see what those are? Hang on for my next post!
Hope you are all staying positive and testing negative, and Happy NYE!!!
Jordan
The 5 Minute Rule (A reflection on loss and perspective)
Grateful for this view in my back yard (almost).
I’ve been stressing out over a lot of things lately.
Some small, and some not so small. Many of which I do not feel ready to divulge yet here. Lately, its been causing me so much anxiety that I feel sick and restless, exhausted and heavy-limbed and yet unable to sleep.
I have been thinking circular thoughts, dwelling on problems that make them seem much larger than they need be, and overthinking bits of conversations and moments that have taken place in the day when they have probably long been forgotten by the others I was with.
I was in one of those moments, obsessing over something someone said in passing, anxious over the way my clothes have been fitting, and feeling overwhelmed by the thirty parent interviews I will be hosting for my kindergarten classroom this week, when I was abruptly met with a hard hit of reality.
It was learning a new friend of mine, a beautiful vibrant, compassionate soul of a person, does not have parents on this earth. My friend and I were discussing plans for Christmas. She listened sympathetically to me rant on about the stress and overwhelm of going home for christmas, and how full and busy the house is, laughing as I made reference to my mom’s thwarted efforts of an early Christmas dinner year after year. Then I asked about her plans. She confided that she might go to her sister’s might not do anything. I asked if her parents lived far away, or if she would see them.
And that’s when she told me both her parents had passed away. She didn’t offer why or when and I didn’t want to pry. I told her I was sorry to hear that, and followed her lead in changing the subject.
This time it was my turn to laugh at the stories she recounted from her day at work, offer ahhs, and ohs in all the right places. Meanwhile, every schema and internal perception of the world was being rewritten. The interviews this week felt meaningless. I felt ashamed and embarrassed for allowing negative body image to even be a thought in my mind. And I began to think back to every comment or mention of my parents or family to her, trying to remember exactly what I said, and gauge just how insensitive it might have been.
It’s a week later and I still cannot stop thinking about this.
Yes, I am in the middle of interviews, and working thirteen hour days to talk to parents.
No, I have not yet been able to book a covid test, and may not be able to go see my family over christmas.
And yes, we are in lockdown yet again, and that means I am no longer able to train at my pole studio which has been keeping me sane these past few months.
The truth is that none of this matters. All that does is that my family is still safe and healthy and together. I have never needed to survive a loss so close to me, although for many years of my life it was my greatest fear.
While I cannot even begin to understand how difficult it might be to experience losing my family, I know it is a devastation from which one never truly recovers. It is life changing.
And that’s the thing. All that which I am currently stressed and worried about is not in any way going to impact the trajectory of my life.
It feels wrong, and selfish, now for me to be stressed out by these problems which in perspective are really NOT problems.
I am trying to use this new knowledge to help me shift my perspective from worrying about these things that may or may not happen, many which are out of my control, to being grateful everyday for all I do have. Most importantly my health and well-being, and the health, happiness, and love of my family.
Grateful for pre-covid christmases.
So if you’re finding yourself stressing over something today, getting caught up in feeling like you have too much to do, or worrying about something, take a second to zoom out. And then apply the five minute rule:
Think of your life five years from now. Is whatever you are stressing over in this moment going to make a big impact in your life in five years? If the answer is no, then it is not worth spending more than five minutes worrying about now.
And once you do that, think about my friend, and what she has lost, or the people in your life you know who have may also suffered true loss. Perhaps you yourself have suffered a great loss (in which case, all the love and compassion in the world to you). And then think about all you do have: the people that fill your life with love and happiness.
The healthy, functioning body that allows you to move and breathe and hug your loved ones.
The opportunities to try new things, go new places, and be whoever you want to be. The freedom to make mistakes, to fall and get back up again.
And the oft overlooked gift to feel all these things-- joy and sadness, pleasure and pain, thrill and fear, for how can you truly know the first without experiencing the latter?
A snapchat I am happy I saved several years ago.
The point of this post is NOT to say I will never feel stress or worry again. Even as I write this, it has flashed through my brain that I’ve been sitting too long, and perhaps I should take a break from writing this to do some kind of exercise.
There’s a good chance tomorrow or one day next week some curveball will come my way at work and begin to send me into a tailspin of “what-ifs” and “I can’ts” and “if onlys”. However, this story will help ground me, as it is now, quite literally, keeping me in this chair to finish this post, and quell the voices in the back of my head vying for my attention.
Five years from now, it won’t matter that I spent an entire night sitting at my desk instead of getting in some movement. However, in five years, I will likely be glad that I took the time to put this revelation into a post, and create a tangible reminder for myself and you that are now reading this of the importance of perspective, and being grateful, truly grateful, for all we do have that enriches our life with happiness and meaning.
Have you heard of this five minute rule before? How do you practice perspective taking in your life?
Love,
Jordan
Everything Happens For A Reason (A Story of Blood and Granola)
I have gone through enough life to start to recognize that nothing happens for no reason.
Even the most difficult, trying, and painful situations, that may seem impossible to make sense of at the time, always seem to have some unexpected truth borne from the ashes- even if it is years later.
Life is mysterious, unpredictable, and chaotic. But I still believe that there is significance and silver linings in every seemingly unexpected turn of events.
My experience of life thus far is relatively short. But I can still recall several occasions where life threw something at me that felt like a blow, but ended up being a gift that I didn’t know I needed.
The walking boot I had to wear for most of Spring 2019
One such gift was a severed extensor tendon in my big toe.
It was May 2019. A couple years since in the worst of my eating disorder, and well into recovery… Mostly. I was eating regularly, flexibly, going out with friends, not over-exercising.
However, my brain was still “hooked” on several compulsions and behaviours, and I was still operating under a huge fear of further weight gain. I managed this fear through movement.
While I was no longer working out for hours at the gym or running for kilometres on end, I was making every effort to maximize my activity everyday. I was walking everywhere, taking the long way whenever possible, and even running a couple kilometres if the distance was longer than fit my time frame. I was doing yoga every morning, and often some other form of conditioning or strength training exercise in the evening if I wasn’t out walking.
It was never excessive in time or intensity, but the discomfort of being too sedentary in a day remained a lingering attachment of the days when it was.
The injury resulting from a jar of granolaI was frustrated. In so many ways I felt “recovered”- except this need to walk and move. And I was still not getting a monthly cycle, so my hormones were not up and running properly yet.
However, spring and the sunny weather was just ramping up, and the urge to join the legions of walkers and runners taking over the sidewalks was only mounting.
Then came a freak accident involving a jar of granola. After a late night of dancing and drinking at a wedding, I was at home, starving for breakfast. Wanting something fast and easy, I decided to throw together a big bowl of fruit and granola.
Somehow as I was grabbing the jar of granola off the shelf it slipped out of my hand and went crashing onto the floor (yes, I was hungover).
Somehow, a piece of glass had broken in one very long shard, that landed diagonally across my foot as it shattered on the tile. My foot was swimming in blood, glass, and granola.
I’ll skip ahead a bit.
At the hospital, I received 14 stitches to repair the severed tendon, a plaster cast, a set of crutches with the orders I could not bear weight on it for several weeks. I was told that if I applied too much pressure that the stitches could break and the tendon would sever again.
Suddenly, I was faced with one of the greatest challenges I had yet in recovery: I was being forced to be sedentary. My fear of not walking enough had become a reality of being unable to walk at all.
Who knew granola could be so dangerous?At the time, I couldn’t understand why the hell this was happening. I blamed the freak nature of the accident, cursed my clumsiness, and moped in misery and frustration.
However, I was told repeatedly by doctors to continue to nourish myself well, and how I still needed ample protein and energy in order for the tendon to strengthen and repair.
So I had no choice, but to eat as I would normally, even though I was doing no movement that helped my brain justify the calories.
And it was hard, the first week.
But then it got easier. I realized I could eat, and rest, and nothing drastic happened.
After a few weeks I started to enjoy being able to sit around and chat with my roommates instead of walking across the city after work.
It was freeing to read a book out on the porch, and still have a snack before dinner.
And for the first month since the New Year, I got my period. My body was functioning even healthier than it was while exercising.
Yeah, the recovery process of healing that tendon sucked. But now, along with the scar on my toe, I have been left with a greater sense of freedom regarding my relationship to movement, to my body, and ultimately, my intuition.
I still enjoy being active, but if there is a day that it doesn’t quite fit my schedule, or my frame of mind, I can go without.
While stillness is not always my first choice, it does not instill me with the same fear or dread. I know I can allow myself to rest, and more than that, periods of rest are healthy.
In all honesty, If I hadn’t been forced into those months of stillness, I probably would have never been able to sit long enough to start this blog.
It’s hard to dedicate time to hours of writing and posting when you’re compulsively walking everywhere.
I still have the scar.
I’ve heard there are creams and oils to put on it, to make it disappear. I have yet to use any, because I really don’t mind it. It remains a nice little token of the lesson I had to learn through a mason jar of granola.
This is just one story of how life gifts you with something you need, even if you don’t know you want it. And the more of life I am living, the more I am realizing how often even the most uncomfortable or seemingly unfortunate of events ends up gifting us with some golden lesson or opportunity down the road.
Maybe what that is becomes apparent in the next month, or week, or year. Or maybe not until after you have lived your life time.
But it is comforting to think that in this big wide universe of ours, there may be some reason or meaning behind the chaos. I am not claiming to know anything.
But I will continue to embrace the idea that whatever life throws at me, I can handle it— and I will be stronger for it.
What lessons has life thrown at you?
xoxo
-Jordan