Espacio en gris.
When you have an abusive relationship with yourself, when you objectify yourself, you can actually become less aware of what you physically feel. You’re so focused on making your body do things and obey you that you start to tune out your genuine experience. For example: Are you angry? What is angry? How do you breathe when you’re angry? Some people say they stop breathing and harden themselves physically. For me, it’s a buzzing feeling, like I’ve had too much coffee, and there’s pressure right at the top of my chest. I don’t withdraw—I engage, often stupidly. “Going into angry” let me get the sense of all the physical energy that often kept me from walking away.
You can get into every emotion this way. An emotion changes you physically. It sets off chemical and physiological reactions, which you can perceive. Fear might feel cold, because your veins literally constrict to send more blood to your muscles. When you’re happy, or safe, your posture might change—you stand up straighter and your arms hang at your sides, leaving all the vulnerable baggage you carry near the front of your body, like your gut, open to attack—but when you feel guarded, you might drop your chest and hunch your shoulders, because evolution has taught you to perceive that creepy dude in gym class like he is a bear who might snack on your internal organs. Focusing on this stuff isn’t a distraction or a waste of time. It’s teaching you to perceive your experience instead of intellectualizing it. You can’t honestly say “I’m not angry” when you notice that reliable cramp in your jaw.
And it’s not a problem if you’re angry or sad or afraid. It’s just a fact. It’s an unpleasant fact, but so is gravity, because someone could conceivably drop a piano on your head and kill you. You are an intelligent person who knows that ignoring facts doesn’t change them, so there’s no point in ignoring or denying pain, either. But it’s not just about the bad stuff—you can be more mindful of pleasure, too. You can go for a walk in the sun and try to experience every moment of it hitting your skin.Sady, You Are Some Body (via staceymayfowles)
Virginia Woolf’s suicide note, written to her husband Leonard.
On 28 March 1941 Virginia Woolf put on her coat, filled the pockets with rocks and walked into the River Ouse near her home and drowned herself. Her body wasn’t found until 18 April 1941. Her husband burried her cremated remains in their garden.