Body Part Bingo

And other fun games to play

I could write a hundred love letters to my beautiful Friesian horse, Thymen, who we call Ty. He is undoubtedly one of the kindest, sweetest, and most thoughtful horses that has ever lived. Just being near him heals something inside of me. And part of me – the part that can stay a little open minded even though I’m generally a skeptic – feels like we’ve known each other for many lifetimes.

Listing his attributes, I wanted to add “levelheaded” to the list, and for the most part that would be true. However, he has his quirks: Those flashes where he is frightened by something and his reaction could be small, but then again, it could be explosive.

I have eleven broken bones as testament to the latter.

There is no doubt he is an imposing and spectacular creature. Someone asked me recently if he was carved from stone, his musculature is so defined. Thankfully, he has brains to go with the brawn. He is talented and smart and can learn new skills through which he moves beautifully.

Yet with all of that, he is terrified of a crinkly bottle or some other unfamiliar sound. I tell him all the time that he is a big, strong, powerful creature and doesn’t need to be afraid of anything. And if, for a moment he forgets, his human (me or whoever is riding or handling him) is there to reassure him.

He really does seem unaware of his imposing size and stature. I suppose he just doesn’t think about it. He is just who he is, inhabiting whatever space he inhabits. Like the elephant afraid of a mouse, looking strong does not translate to being strong. And gosh golly can I relate to that.

You see, I have this thing called “imposter syndrome”. And I know I am not alone here. For anyone who does not know what it is, it’s that feeling that though the outside world may think you’ve got things down, inside you really feel like you have no idea what you’re doing. Some may think that you are accomplished, smart, and strong. But that’s just because they don’t know what a total loser asshole you really are.

I will say that no longer working in a thankless corporate job has helped ease my syndrome some, but it’s likely I will never completely recover. As a doctor would say, it’s a condition that can be managed, but may not be curable.

These days, for most of my working week, I teach Pilates. I studied it, learned it, and I continue to practice it. I’d say I am reliably informed and qualified. Yet, standing in front of my Pilates classes, I can feel that syndrome creep up on me as I lose a word – like what is that part of your foot called again? Right, the arch! Duh.

Suddenly I feel the eyes of judgement upon me, as I imagine people are wondering who exactly do I think I am standing there telling them what to do. Me, the idiot, who can’t even remember a part of the foot. Or when I lose count during an exercise or forget what exactly I wanted to do next. I feel the judgement again. Of course, I pick it up and move on, but I can’t help feeling like a complete dork in the moment. And sometimes that feeling lasts.

Luckily, I have many regular clients with a sense of humor who will helpfully call out the word I’m looking for. I think some of them even enjoy it. It’s like a game show. Oh we’re playing body part bingo again - yay!

Some have even told me they relate to my dorkiness. I guess we are all haunted by our own screwy brains.

I had a dream recently that knocked me for a loop. It came after a week when I accomplished several things that made me happy and a little proud. But my succession of wins was followed by a dream where my mother reminded me that I’m nothing special, and oh, that I rarely do anything correctly, and ooh, also, nobody likes me.

I know that we could spend all kinds of time being little Freuds and dissecting my dream, but the result was I woke up completely deflated and terribly sad. For days afterward, every time I didn’t do something perfectly, I was right back in the throes of it – my inability to do ANYTHING right.

My mom was actually a loving woman who would never have intentionally said such cruel things to me. But she was a human being with her own wounds and insecurities that had been passed down to her, and she dutifully passed them on to her daughters. It is fortunate I suppose that neither my sister nor I have children to pass the damage on to.

After some soul searching, it occurred to me that perhaps that is how it is for everyone. The reality is that we are all spectacular creatures. We are all beautiful, amazing, and courageous. And we are all vulnerable and frightened and often find ourselves wondering if we’re up to the demands of… well… life!

So, I went to the barn. I looked at Ty. So strong. So powerful. So beautifully chiseled. Yet so fragile and a maybe just a little flawed. I remembered a quote I liked:

“There is no perfection, only beautiful versions of brokenness."
— Shannon L. Alder

And perhaps, my friends, that is just the nature of being alive.

“Thymen” Photo by Kellianne Jordan www.kelliannjordan.com