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The other day, I arrived at the gym,
The other day, I arrived at the gym,
stopped outside the door, released a big sigh, turned around, and walked back to my car. I don’t want to be here, I told myself. Roused by a frantic mind, I had already dragged my weight out of bed and sustained the minimum consciousness required to eat a snack and drive myself there.
Moving my body in an intentional capacity everyday is non-negotiable. So, sitting in my car, I had two choices: I could shame myself into doing my original workout or I could adapt it to what I needed in the moment. I chose the latter.
I turned on José González—an absurd workout music choice, I know—and what was supposed to be a heavy lifting day, turned into doing half of my sets with lower weights in a semi-dissociated state. After I finished, José’s song “Lasso In” played in the car:
Follow through the swellsFeel the sting burn and melt awaySunrays caress your tingling skinNote the state your disposable soma is inLasso in the ruminating thoughtsAcknowledge, pat them, send them offLasso in, lasso in againLasso in gently my friendWatch the tireless monkey mindGrasping for things in frontFor things from far behindAmbient sounds mixed with notions withinNote the state your meme machine is inLasso in the ruminating thoughtsAcknowledge, pat them, send them offLasso in, lasso in againLasso in gently my friendLasso in, lasso in again and again and againLasso in gently my friend
He caught me with the first Lasso in the ruminating thoughts and had me crying by the last verse. I felt equally exhausted and encouraged by his ask to do this again and again and again and to do it gently my friend; his tender vocals and merciful rhythm seemed to request the same.
I’m coming out of the longest swell of fear I’ve experienced in a while. Many days, my mental compulsions, including rumination, have paralyzed me. These swells are familiar and I know how to weather them. And after they pass, I surface with new perspective, having shed some superfluous pieces of my past. But within them, I survive off of the gasps of breath between waves before I’m dragged back to sea again and again and again.
Several years ago, a similar surge forced me to seek professional help. Fast forward a year and a bit, and I’m weeping on a call with my therapist at the end of my treatment discussing how I plan to move forward with the new freedom I had created. I remember sobbing about wanting a life of gentleness, one where I’m not controlled by shame or fear, so I can love myself and others as fully as possible.
Gentleness was so alien to me then that I’m not sure I fully knew what I had committed to or exactly what I meant. In our world, gentleness feels impossibly inaccessible. It’s not our fault. Colonial systems are built to kill us; they are brutal and unfeeling. Embracing gentleness fundamentally disrupts the shame and fear these systems depend on to function, rendering a life defined by it an onerous necessity. I was initially terrified I’d give myself too much grace with my new vision, mistaking gentleness for ease. A scandalous misconception.
Gentleness asks us to be present with all sorts of feelings, to avoid isolation and connect with community, to make space for every part of ourselves, especially those that we’d rather disappear or ignore, to allow ample room for imperfection, to seek slowness and patience, to choose responsiveness over reactivity. All of these threaten foundational tenets of supremacy systems, making their practice an arduous, but reliable path to liberation.
Yesterday, gentleness meant upholding a commitment to movement in a manner that subverted shame and centered love. Today, amidst this storm, I will caress my tireless monkey mind as it tries desperately to keep me safe using a once vital, but now irrelevant, strategy—I will help it slowly embrace a new version of safety. Everyday, I will forgo the shame that destroys us and fuels systems of death for a radical, gentle way of being.
JaiHind.. 🇮🇳 JaiBharat..
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