10 Minutes at a Time

Apparently, when I meet people, whether they’re people I know, strangers I’ve just met, or even characters in books or movies, something strange happens to me. Like a reflex, I immediately forget who I am. What I stand for. What I want. What I love. I become the version they need me to be. It’s like I have a secret superpower: I know exactly what they need to feel at ease and content. And without thinking, I supply it.

Living like this for years, always surrounded by people who needed me, because I made it easy to depend on me, I forgot who I am. I know I wear a mask, but I don’t know what the mask is masking. And that feels dangerous to me, because it makes me feel completely lost.

I feel bad before social interactions because I know it will necessarily mean giving up on myself, but I don’t even know what I’m giving up on. That confusion sends me spiraling and makes me feel like I’m unraveling.

My therapist, knowing how much I love yoga and writing, and how helpful they’ve been in the past, challenged me to write for 10 minutes every morning (hence this "Thoughts After Sunrise section), and to do 10 minutes of yoga. No matter what. Even if I’m away. Even if I’m with friends, feeling unwell, alone, whatever the case. Not out of discipline, but devotion. Like giving myself something solid to hold on to. Ten minutes of each, without exception.

It’s like making space for what I know I love. For what heals me. For what reminds me of who I am.

So far, I’ve done it for two days in a row (and once a few days ago). The yoga has actually turned into an intense 30-minute morning workout. And even now, as I’m writing this, I feel so much more aligned. More connected. I just pray I can keep going. Maybe this is how I find my way back, ten minutes at a time.