See Alexia Blog: Make Time

Last weekend, I participated in an intensive yoga and writing retreat in the Sierra Nevada Foothills.

Prior to its start, I felt blocked and unwilling to accept my place in life. I had been trying for the last 5 months to write something, but I felt stuck because to write meant to face some pretty heavy stuff that happened to me recently.

In addition to feeling blocked with my writing practice, I also felt like running had lost its appeal. Lately it seemed like every time I laced up my shoes, it was to become better instead of what it used to be, which was a way to practice mindfulness and escape from an overwhelming desire to constantly be the best.

In short, running and I were on the outs.

I arrived at the retreat excited to have a weekend with no cell phone reception and a mission to empty my head of all the crap I had been hearing as well as telling myself this year.

We spent the weekend, well, doing a lot of yoga and writing. It never once got boring, though. Each yoga session asked us to go deeper, and I found myself remembering a quote from Cheryl Strayed’s Tiny Beautiful Things where she writes, “Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you. Start here.”

So that’s what I tried to do. I let yoga gut me and open me.

At the end of each practice when we had settled into Savasana (my favorite pose), I found myself setting intentions to stay present and engaged, which I've found extremely difficult because of my anxiety. I know it might sound crazy, but I actually felt myself peeling off layers of stress, anger, and sadness as I lay there on my mat. I hadn’t realized how heavy those feelings were until they were gone.

The writing, however, was met with resistance from my inner critics. Each time I picked up my pen to do a freewrite or an exercise, I heard the voice inside telling me that I wasn’t good enough.

Late last year, I wrote an essay about my experiences running my first marathon and how finishing that event created a stark contrast to my estranged father who never finished anything he’d set out to do. It was well-received by people, which was great for me, but it also made me fear that I’d never write anything like it again.

While we were in our final workshop of the weekend, however, I learned that everyone at the retreat has the same inner critic that tells them that their writing is shit and that no one will want to read it, but they keep going.

To end the weekend, we sat down and made commitments to ourselves to make time for writing. I wrote that I wanted to wake up every morning at 6am and write my morning pages. This last week, I stuck to my commitments everyday by getting up no later than 7am (I like the snooze button, what can I say). I must admit, last Sunday night, I thought to myself, there’s no way I’m going to get up at 6am. It’s summer, and I’m tired. But somehow, I did it.

I’ll never forget the people I met last weekend and the honest, inspiring conversations that evolved from our love of writing.

I drove up thinking that I would have a nice break from my otherwise busy life, but what I left with was a deeper commitment to finding inner peace and a recommitment to my writing.