The Keeper of all Emotions

The Keeper of all emotions has somehow taken control of my actions, my thoughts and my words. I am one of the lucky ones. As I move through this life I see so many people struggling through sadness, anger and regret. From a very early age, I have been blessed with that feeling that I just want to be happy. Its all I have ever wanted. Somewhere along the path of life, I have mastered the fine art of just being happy. It is an art, and a struggle everyday. To be happy-It is all can only hope for, to be balanced and in tune with the universal dance. Once you feel happy and in balance there is that underlying worry that a person or an experience is going to knock me on my bum and I won't feel that sense of control over my feelings or my moods. That I could never get that happy feeling back, much like that person who started out with a ton of money then all of a sudden was extremely poor, to know you might never get that back and how do you live like that knowing the other side. I picture this keeper of emotions as an all powerful being, delighting and marinating in the power of holding us hostage, balancing on the center of a fence, ready to teeter from one side to the other, risking the possibility of a bout of depression or a flare up of anger. This is also a kind keeper, one that walks along side of you if you are willing to do the work. So the work I will continue to do. The first step is to breathe and breathe fully. This in the form of filling your lungs to capacity, taking your time and really holding that breath for a moment. And the second step is to be willing to let it go completely and I mean fully emptying out all the air from your lungs. When I breathe in that way I feel close to God-Jesus-Angels-My Mother-My cat Pebbles-my connection to all things positive and good and safe. I start in the morning when I first wake up with the intention of being in my breath for the whole day, no matter what transpires or what challenges or obstacles may block my path. I am protected, brave and safe, armed with my breath. It calms and centers me. There was a brief period in my life ten years ago that taught me a very valuable lesson about giving up your power to someone else. An old friend from the past came into my life by way of the internet and what started as a innocent reunion quickly turned to an exchange of power with a malignant narcissist and with me ultimately losing that battle. I ended up a mere shell of who I was when we started. I will go into more detail on that story later, however it is important to mention that during this time, I was unable to catch my breath. I felt like I had a huge weight on my chest preventing my lungs and ribcage from expanding. When we feel cornered and small, the breath simply is not there. The air around my body felt heavy, unbreathable. I felt like I was the only person on earth that could not breathe and it made me feel weak and insignificant. When this happened I fell into a deep depression, fell- like I fell into a deep never ending hole, flailing always flailing. Not grounded-like I was always running towards and at the same time, away from something, scattered, and never ever safe. I sought relief in the place where most people should seek it but hardly ever do and if they do they almost never talk about it. Therapy. Its like this quiet little secret here in the midwest. People on the East Coast wear it proudly,if you live in NYC and you have not been through some kind of therapy you are a enigma, at parties they seem to swap names of therapists like they do babysitters or personal trainers. People of the West Coast love to chat about it because it’s healthy and chic and everyone is doing it and if you aren't doing it and talking about it you are not cool. Then it seems everyone in-between the coasts regard therapy as something you don't talk about. My mom thought I was crazy to see a therapist-- exactly...Someone once told me that the really healthy people seek out therapy to work through their problems and those who are really sick, the ones who truly need it, are the ones who run in the other direction. I decided I was in the first category and quickly sought one out with the best method I could find. I picked one with a nice name. David, meaning beloved, sounded good so far-he has been a therapist for 30 years and better yet was married to one. (I can only imagine their discussions during dinner) It was right about this time that I decided to get serious about my Yoga practice. Up until that point I simply used yoga as a form of exercise. Working a stressful corporate job, I only regarded yoga as a means to sweat and burn calories to counteract an extremely sedentary life behind a desk for 14 hours a day. During this challenging time period my yoga practice turned into something that was like food or water for my soul. I needed it to exist, to just get through the day. I found that it was in this yoga practice, it was the only place where I COULD breathe. And something happened when I started meditating, I was able to let go of my terrible heavy thoughts, shame and guilt, for even just a moment I was able to be my old self again. No worry, no fear, no anger. I speak as if I had done something terrible, but affairs of the heart, emotional connections are so much more damaging than an actual physical connection and I was incredibly hard on myself. My daily yoga practice soon turned into a physical type of therapy session which evolved to an additional quick trip to the gym. I say quick but it soon turned to obsession. I would find myself there lost in the sweat and the pumping and the music and oh my, I barely could think deep emotional thoughts and that was what I was after. I became more than obsessed. I was trying to get my control back. To take back my power. To purge myself. I would be there for hours pumping on the elliptical machine, then the treadmill, then the weights and weight machines. Then it was off to tan and jump in the sauna, hot tub and shower. My family called me “The Overexerciser” I was physically in the best shape I could be- strong on the outside, falling apart on the inside. This is about the time I went to see David, my therapist. See how proud I am to say that. “Meet David my therapist.” It's taken me a long time (and a lot of co pays) to not be ashamed of my therapy. He was a smaller, older man with white shiny hair and kind eyes. He welcomed me in on my first day handing me a box of Kleenex and we began one of the most valuable and important relationships I have had. For an hour each week I would cry and talk his ears off and he would listen and only offer advice or comment only if I asked him to. I started out with a stranger and ended up with a friend. One of the things he said the first day was “This may be more about your mother than this guy” and “Is there something I can prescribe for you to make you feel better". I said no to both. He was a great listener but he was a terrible psychic. Why is the first inclination to medicate, to numb the feelings. Even in sensory overload, in my deepest darkest days, I did not want to start something like that, to have another thing to deal with. The whole mother thing, that's for a different story. He actually was on to something but to this day he isn't aware but he is a bit of a psychic. Through it all I turned my eating into something stellar, pristine and organic. I stopped eating meat, quit drinking alcohol, gave up sugar and salt. I was turning into this strong, healthy person. Each week I would meet with David and recount the same story over and over and over again, it was like opening up a wound, letting it bleed, and then allowing it to heal in the week following until our next meeting. This therapy, both physical and emotional, went on for a year. During this time David encouraged me to begin a journal and keep it under lock and key. A safe place to put my thoughts, emotions and yes those moments when the Keeper of emotions was more in control than I was. I filled up journal after journal obsessively purging my emotions onto paper, often reading them to David or leaving them with him. I instructed my friend Laura to locate and to destroy those journals if anything were to happen to me. At the end of that year I had less tears and felt ready to move on. I felt stronger and more equipped to cope with what I called my kryptonite should he ever come back into my life. I know there were a few things that kept the Keeper of my emotions in check during that volatile period of my life. Some real tools that I learned. It almost always came back to the breath. Closing my eyes and letting it all go, finding peace within and going back to that strength I found inside when I needed it the most. I also found praise music. To this day I am forever grateful for the uplifting music that turns all my energy to Jesus. To focus on gratitude and someone else, taking myself away from my worries and fears. I can close my eyes and know that all of this, the good and the bad is for a reason. I am filled with gratitude for the experience and the knowledge that I was not alone. Ever. I am forever grateful to David, the yoga and meditation, the gym, the journaling and writing, but most of all proud of myself for pulling myself out of the depths of sadness and into the light again. A short while later I quit my Corporate job and became a yoga instructor with the intention of helping others through life’s challenges. When I look out into class I often see that same face that was staring back at me in the mirror all the years ago, that look of sadness-panic-regret-anger-fear, that same face that show the Gods of emotions have taken over and there is no control or power left. I approach that student, place a hand on his or her shoulder and say what my Father used to say “Everything is going to be ok” I see the eyes soften and I am grateful to that Narcissist for coming into my life all those years ago and shaking up my cage. But I will never let him know that. That is my secret and my story to tell, not his and to give him the credit for the change or the catylyst in my life would be to give him back that power again. Last year I came upon those journals, 10 years after I wrote them. When the house was quiet and everyone was gone I had a big bonfire in the backyard and burned every one of them and had one last good cry. I feel stronger now, happy even, but please know David’s number is still in my contacts in case my email pings and it's kryptonite. And I know "Everything is going to be ok".