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Recently, I had a day that was really rough for me emotionally, so much so it gave me a bad headache.  I felt so drained I didn't get done anything I'd planned. I felt worse and worse emotionally as the day went on, and fell in depressive habits of trying to distract myself by scrolling through Facebook until my phone died and trying to self-medicate with sugary junk foods.

When I was depressed, I would often get like that, where I felt so down and drained that the little voice in my head going, "you could do this and that and such to feel better," made me feel resentful and resistant.  The resentment was a source of irritability; the resistance an expression of anxiety.  Instead of recognizing my unhappy feelings and acknowledging them, I ran away from them, avoided them, suppressed them, did my best to numb myself.

I’ve never been drawn to stories of fleet footed maidens like Atalanta, or athletic goddesses like Artemis. Even at the occasional peaks of my fitness, I lean more toward a rigorous yoga practice than intense cardio, and I’ve always said that I hate running. I remember being forced to run the mile in gym class growing up, and cursing every sweaty step as I fell farther and farther behind my classmates. When I played tennis in high school, we ran briefly every day as part of the warm-up, but the only time I remember having to run a two-mile circuit around town was one Friday when we’d pissed the coach off somehow, and running was our punishment. I’ve had friends who’ve run, and I’ve always cringed at the thought of voluntarily racing around, but I tried to be supportive even though I didn’t share their idea of “fun”.

But then, two years ago, I sustained what would become a chronic wrist injury, which limits my ability to do weight bearing yoga poses like downward facing dog and plank, and which made me kiss my rigorous vinyasa practice goodbye for the time being. And then, almost a year later, when I realized that I needed to replace my fast-paced moving meditation with SOMETHING (for both my physical health and my sanity), I spontaneously decided to start running. I made a playlist of my favorite music, laced up my walking shoes, and started jogging in the living room, using the Wii Fit to “train”.

My non-Pagan partner, though he has generally supported me in my path, has also challenged me. At one point, he sat down and had a talk with me. The Pagan community hasn't been supporting you emotionally, socially or spiritually- in fact dealing with Pagans just makes you crazier! You're not really practicing the religion. If it can help you be a better person, help bring you hope and inspiration, and connect you with a supportive and healthy community then, great. I'd totally support you in that. But if it's not, then what are you searching for? He was right. While all kinds of lofty ideals that other Pagans dedicate themselves to- devotionalism, social justice and so forth are well and good, to begin with at least, I needed to base my practice on self-care, on simply getting myself in a healthy and steady place.

"The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them."  ~ Thomas Merton

The August New Moon, in fun-loving, generous, heart- (and sometimes self-) centered Leo, forms a threesome with Venus, planet of relationships. This configuration tends to turn astrologer’s minds to hearts and flowers and “Love Is in the Air” . But a closer look at the chart reveals that you won’t be able to get away with a saccharine and shallow approach to relationships this month. (Though by all means, feel free to drag out the disco music. Someday I’ll do an astrological study of the disco scene in the 70s and will, I have no doubt, find a prominent Leo signature in the charts).

This past Valentine’s Day I wrote about celebrating Valentine’s As a Self-Married Woman, and in that post I quipped that I’d never forget my anniversary.

Well, I did.  So much has happened this year, and I filled my birthday with so many activities, that celebrating my first anniversary as my own wife completely slipped my mind.  Fortunately, I forgave myself…no flowers, chocolate, or wine necessary.  Okay, there may have been some chocolate...

(Blog image by Tom LaBaff)

This is my first Valentine’s as a self-married woman.

I used to sing Ani DiFranco's song "As Is" and think of others. Now I think of myself.

And I've got
No illusions about you
Guess what?
I never did
When I said
When I said I'll take it
I meant,
I meant as is.

I have a body. I am a body.

My body is many things. My body is soft and supple. My body is flexible and strong. My body is prone to allergies and skin irritations. My body is ample hips and delicious curves. My body is endometriosis and blond hair. My body is tiny wrists and scoliosis. My body is tattooed kindness and frequent urinary tract infections.

I am soft, supple, flexible, strong, prone to allergies and skin irritations. I am ample hips, delicious curves, endometriosis and blond hair, tiny wrists and scoliosis, tattoos galore and UTIs, too.

My body experiences chronic pain. That's part of being in my body.

I am chronic pain. That's part of being me.

And sure, there are times that I have wished that I didn't have the physical issues I have. It has been comforting to think that someone else's body could not only be tried on, but could fit.