Sexy Naps

Years ago—ten?—my coach, Katie Peuvrelle, gave me an assignment: I was to find a comfortable chair and make it part of my home.

The purpose was to get me to sit.

To stay.

I tried.

The problem with sitting is that if your guts hurt or your head hurts or if you have an impending sense of doom, moving is often so much more appealing than sitting.

I heard someone say if you want to see what your internal life is like, look at your external life. If I was not comfortable in my internal life, how could I create a comfortable external life?

The opposite of a comfortable chair is caffeine or sugar or anger or depression or compulsive dating or shopping.

Part of my intention in moving to Spirit Hill Farm was to see what I could learn from going Thoreau on my life. I wanted to see if it was possible to shift a primarily dysregulated nervous system into one that enjoyed peace and quiet without needing to run to the freezer to fill a hole with Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.

I grew up with a mother who believed there was never enough time, and so I am quick to stress over the clock. I thrive when I feel as if I am of use, when I feel I have a purpose, but when I have a to-do list that overwhelms me (teach three classes AND be a mom AND do laundry AND wash my hair AND be friendly AND make dinner? FUUUUUUUUUCK!!), I tend to feel a sickening rot of despair.

When you have a brain that is still trying to negotiate a traumatic past, managing a stressful present is a sure-fire way to a landmine of crappy choices. Sex with a near-stranger to get a little dopamine? Awesome! Trade in the old car for a new one you can’t afford! Excellent choice! Mouth off to your boss so you get fired? Excellent move!

I have a lot to do at Spirit Hill. The work, in fact, is endless because it’s a place full of life, but I also have a support system. I am part of a group, and we talk to each other. We support each other. The other thing is that I have decided not to look for ways I am failing. I have decided that as long as I know in my heart I am 100% whole-heartedly doing my work, that’s all I can do, and I can feel really good about showing up so completely. I don’t have to do more than I can do. I have permission to be me.

And I gave myself that permission! I signed my own permission slip! I could have done this when I was in junior high, only I didn’t know. I thought my parents had to sign those slips, my teachers, my friends, my community. I thought my job was to please all of those people! I had no idea my job was to please myself! It just so happens that part of pleasing myself involves pleasing others, but my ultimate sense of self-worth now comes from checking in with myself first instead of with others.

One thing I’ve been focusing on recently is what I do after lunch. Generally afternoons are a struggle. I just want to sleep, so instead I get jacked up on more caffeine or eat a cookie or buy myself some bribe to get myself moving. I’m trying to kick my sympathetic nervous system into gear—I’m trying to have the fear of god in me to keep me on, keep me moving, keep me productive. The parasympathetic is called rest and digest because, (duh Anne), the process of feeding the body doesn’t end when the mouth is still.

So now part of lunch for me involves at least thirty minutes of meditation and/or a nap on my comfortable couch. (Sorry, Katie, I just like couches more than chairs!) It’s interesting to see how screwed tight my body has gotten since I had woken up that morning. I lie on the couch and I take a deep breath, checking in with my skeleton, and every time I feel like a plank of wood. I have to talk myself down, into softness. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Let go, let go, let go.

Relaxing in the middle of the day is so hot! Talking myself down is practically like I’m having sex with myself. My body eats up letting go like it’s honey. I want to let go more, and then more, and then even more! I am so let go!! Who knows what will happen next with a body as loose and comfortable as that!

I’m a party of one on the couch in the middle of the day.

Even rockets sit on the launch pad for long, long periods before they are shot off into space.

And then things get really wild.