Heavy Lifting

“This was a terrible idea,” I said to my husband Rick.

 The U-Haul that was backed up to our garage was filled with an entire bedroom set that we bought and picked up from a home in Buffalo, 75 miles away. It’s a gorgeous cherry ensemble – a sleigh bed, two nightstands, a double horizontal dresser, a vertical chest of drawers, and a huge framed mirror.

 “It didn’t look this heavy in the photos,” I said.

When we first looked at the photos we saw how beautiful the set was, imagined how lovely it would look in our bedroom, and recognized how much money we would save by buying it from someone directly and then picking it up and moving it ourselves. 

What we didn’t see in the photos was that the back end of the U-Haul was two feet off the ground. We didn’t notice the absence of a dolly or a ramp. We didn’t recognize the steep incline of the driveway leading to our garage. The photos didn’t reflect the unwieldy weight and shape of solid wood furniture.

But there we were, with a rented truck full of incredibly large pieces of cherry wood backed up to our house. We had no choice but to figure it out, so we employed ropes, blankets, bungees, our wits and prayers, and we got all the furniture off the truck and into the garage.

It wasn’t like we didn’t think it through first. We loved the idea of having that new furniture and we were willing to invest the time and money to get it. We just didn’t fully appreciate what the experience was actually going to be like when we went to live it.

It strikes me that this is what it’s like when we attempt to live out our deepest values. We like the idea of being virtuous… we love how we imagine it will feel to take the high road, or to accept hardship with good cheer, to show kindness to strangers, or to forgive someone who has wronged us.

Yet when it comes time to do the heavy lifting, we often find that we are ill-prepared. We don’t realize how difficult it will be to remain silent when we want to lash out at someone who pushes all of our buttons, to stay calm and positive when we are called upon to make sacrifices in an emergency, or to reach out in compassion to someone who has deeply hurt us.

When we imagine what kind of person we want to be, we are looking at photos of our desired character. When we decide which values are most important to us - the ones we really want to live out - we are renting the U-Haul. When we are called upon to exercise kindness, forgiveness, helpfulness, and love, it’s time for the heavy lifting, and it’s always harder to do than we think it will be. 

But we can do it. We just need to remember how lovely the bedroom will look with that gorgeous cherry furniture in it, and then grab a clever friend, find some ropes and blankets and bungees and maybe pray a little until the heavy lifting is done. 

Sending you strength and courage for the task…

🕊 & ❤️

Julie

Julie Scipioni is the co-author of the bestselling novel series for women, "Iris & Lily," and author of “downward facing dogs” also now available on Amazon. For more information, see Julie’s Amazon Author page.

Crooked is as Crooked Does

In the trauma game, there are no winners, but there is a scorekeeper: The body. 

The body absorbs fear, oppression, violation, abandonment, and every significant breech of its sense of safety and well-being. 

For most of my life, I suppressed my own trauma, preferring to shove it down rather than deal with it. It’s much more convenient to ignore the bumps and groans coming from under the bed than it is to face the monster. 

The problem is that ignorance comes with a price. 

My trauma first manifested itself as nicotine addiction, depression, chronic stomach issues, and more recently, a severely compromised posture. 

In other words, I’m crooked. 

I started working out seriously when my boys were small. After my divorce, I really poured it on. I drove myself constantly and without mercy. I don’t know if I was releasing my anger over what was happening to me, or punishing myself for dismantling the status quo by refusing to be complicit in my ongoing oppression. Probably a bit of both. 

Exercise became its own addiction. Kind of ingenious when you think about it. Self-flagellation and rage all dressed up like health and fitness. And people praised me for this, so it was easy to keep it going. I even competed in a worldwide physique transformation competition and finished in the top 2%—all fueled by my suppressed fury. 

Then there were the foot races, the 100-mile bike rides, the fasting, and the yoga marathons. Each feat demanded more of me than the last, and like a good little girl, my poor body always obeyed. Until it couldn’t. 

There were minor set-backs along the way—a bout with idiopathic gut pain that landed me in the hospital, and a hip that finally succumbed to years of pounding abuse by refusing to take me anywhere. 

But I always got better. Until I didn’t.

Sometime during 2020, I developed such back pain that even walking was agonizing. At the same time, a chronic cough had me choking and gagging, which aggravated my back further, locking me into a cycle of debilitation. The doctors couldn’t find any source for the cough. So I did what I always do; I pushed through it. Until I couldn’t. Until my body completely broke down and my mind and emotions did a crash-and-burn. 

I stopped even trying to work out. I took Gabapentin at night and slept for 9 or 10 hours at a stretch. I could barely walk down the stairs in the morning. I woke to coffee and drank it until it was time to switch to wine, which I began drinking every afternoon at 5:00  and stood watching with detached curiosity as the volume crept ever higher. I stopped seeing friends, and visiting with my sisters. I knew I was depressed but I was too sick and in too much pain to care. I couldn’t talk about it with anyone. Not even God. 

One of the things that kept me going were my weekly visits with my grandbabies. The remembrance of precious giggles and kisses from each visit were like tiny Chinese lanterns strung across my week, lighting my life up enough so I could see a glimmering reminder of something worth living for.

I knew I couldn’t go on as I was, but I needed a way to address my situation without going back to the doctor. I didn’t want to talk to her about my depression and I didn’t want to be prescribed more expensive tests or dangerous painkillers.

I managed to do some research and discovered a clinic that offered posture therapy boasting a 94% success rate. Rather than address the pain, they said they would address the root cause, which could be found in the structures of my body. My therapist asked me to send her photos of me standing up. Then she laid a grid over my image to determine whether I had any misalignment. 

In the photo below, the red line is supposed to run down the center of my face. Oops.

I didn’t notice this crookedness in myself and I never felt it happening, but one day, there it was. Years of misuse, abuse, lack of rest, day after day, year after year, bent me over like a tree growing on a windswept plain. 

Just as improper balance and overuse of certain mechanisms in the body cause physical imbalance, the current of the repeated and continued emotional burdens of regret, bitterness, sorrow, and thoughts and ideas initiated by trauma lead to twisted views of self and of the world.  

Trauma shows up everywhere. It might start in your mind and emotions in small signs and warnings. Irrational fears, or a persistent nagging feeling of unease you can’t pinpoint. And when it shows up in your body, maybe it seems like a tension headache, or a little heartburn. If you don’t pay attention to the small signs, trauma will find a better way to get your attention. As my husband likes to tell me, “You wouldn’t pay attention to the small signs, so God had to knee-cap you.”

In whatever ways trauma shows up for you, I can guarantee you that it won’t be pretty if you don’t take heed. And I hate to tell you, but it won’t get better on its own. 

I’ve been in posture therapy for about 2 months now, doing prescribed exercises daily. As you can see in the before and after photos below, I’m getting straighter. It’s been a lot of work, and has required a lot of patience on my part. 

Before (December 2021)

During (February 2022)

Treating my back has taught me so much about my psycho-spiritual life and the healing I seek. I’m working on identifying the ways in which I am reinforcing the skewed beliefs and ideas that got my mind and emotions all bent out of shape.

This will also take patience and time and a commitment to doing small things every day that make a big difference in the long game.

Chipping away, bit by bit, at the deformities created by the winds of my life.

🕊 & ❤️

Julie

Julie Scipioni is the co-author of the bestselling novel series for women, "Iris & Lily," and author of "Taking the Stairs: My Journal of Healing and Self-Discovery.” Julie’s debut solo novel, “downward facing dogs” is also now available on Amazon. For more information and to order, see Julie’s Amazon Author page.

Campfire of Ordinary

At the beginning of the pandemic, I wanted to write a lot. I was scared, confused, and angry, as most of us were. Writing was how I processed what I was experiencing. But it wasn’t long before the feelings were coming at me faster than I could type; they overwhelmed me. Confusion set in, despair too, and it became evident to me that the writing didn’t really matter. It was futile; there was no way to process what was going on. The writing wouldn’t change anything and it wouldn't provide any answers. So I just stopped, and I slowly began to shut down.

As it appears that we may soon be coming out on the other side of this holy mess, I’m seeking a reason to write again.

My writing still doesn’t matter. At least not in the sense that it will change the world. And I still sometimes feel overwhelmed and I still don’t know what I have to offer. 

In other words, I still don’t have any answers. 

What is dawning on me now is that my mistake was thinking that the writing was ever about answers. Some writing is. Text books, newspapers, and people who think they know better than you do about what you should value and how you should live your life. My writing is not that.

I’m not an expert on anything except my own life experience. And maybe my experience is not so different from yours. Maybe we can find some common ground there, in the ordinary, and in doing so we can keep each other company, encourage one another, and travel together for a bit. 

I am releasing myself from the pressure to be profound, or right, or poetic, or expert in anything except being human. 

So writing about ordinary things can become the campfire that I can invite you to sit by with me. Maybe we can sing a song, roast a marshmallow, and get that wonderful smell of smoke on our clothes. 

That’s how we’ll know we spent some time together as friends. 

🕊 & ❤️

Julie

Julie Scipioni is the co-author of the bestselling novel series for women, "Iris & Lily," and author of "Taking the Stairs: My Journal of Healing and Self-Discovery.” Julie’s debut solo novel, “downward facing dogs” is also now available on Amazon. For more information and to order, see Julie’s Amazon Author page.