PROVING YOUR WORTH
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I rode a hundred miles on my bike with a broken back to prove something to people who weren’t even watching. Years ago, I signed up to ride a century. I had never undertaken such a massive challenge and spent months training for this event. One week before the ride, I badly injured my back, and I could hardly move. The only pain-free position was lying flat on my back. And yet… I was determined to ride this race. I don’t know what I thought I had to prove, but surely, there was something. And it quite likely had to do with needing love and approval from imaginary people. Perhaps I needed to be seen as fit so I could feel better about my body? Maybe I needed to be seen as someone who never gives up just because of an injury? I mean, if I did opt out, then I was probably looking for an excuse, right? Despite my injury, I chose to ride the race. My sweet biking friend and I waited for the race to begin at 8:30 a.m. As first-timers riding the hundred-mile route, we didn’t realize that the other hundred-mile cyclists had started hours earlier. Instead, we were lining up with people riding much shorter routes that day. Surprisingly, I managed to ride the bike. What was terrible was getting on and off. But I endured. I’m sure my injury and lack of experience slowed us down in addition to starting later than we should have. But I didn’t give up, and I pressed onward. We made it to our lunch rest stop, and the staff was cleaning up all the food because the rest of the 100-miler riders were long since gone. We managed to get a few scraps of what was left and continued on. When I finally made it to the finish line over 9 hours later, everything was being packed away. There were no riders left. No families cheering people on as we rode through the air-filled arch in celebration. In fact, the finish line arch was already packed up and gone. I had just completed one of the most challenging physical feats of my life, and no one was there to see it. No one was there to cheer and tell me I did amazing. And worst of all…there was no medal. NO MEDAL! I just rode a freaking hundred miles with an injury, no less, and no one gave me a medal!?!?!?! I have medals for events far less impressive. Years later, I still feel the injustice of no recognition. No proof that I did something hard. I pushed past my limits, and no one cares. Where else have I done this in life? Dress a certain way. Have my body look a certain way. Take on responsibilities or goals to be seen a certain way. I could list things for days. And the irony is that no one gives you a medal for any of that either. And yet I fool myself that if I can just do xyz, surely I will finally arrive. But that “finish line” just keeps getting packed up before I get there. I thought I wanted the love and acceptance of others, when really, all I wanted was for me to love me. I’ve done so much work the past few years learning to love myself. So when this memory surfaced this week, I brought it into meditation and visualized myself awarding that tired cyclist a medal. I told her she did amazing riding her bike, I cheered for her, and then I told her she never has to ride injured again. I would love her whether she rode a hundred miles or sat at home on the couch. It’s been good for me to look at my life and ask, How am I contorting myself in hopes of a medal from someone else? And better yet, can I give myself the medal? If I do, what happens? Maybe it reveals what motivations are authentic and which ones I’ve taken on just to please others. Life is too short to seek medals that are never coming. What if… We could just love ourselves exactly as we are right now and enjoy our amazing life. What would that be like? You are a creator. Feel, be, see, say, do. The light in me honors the light in you. Namaste, brooke P.S. If you know someone who would enjoy this email,
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