My experience at the Holistic Surf Coaching retreat: Deb Emick
“We all begin as a bundle of bones lost somewhere in a desert, a dismantled skeleton that lies under the sand. It is our work to recover the parts. It is a painstaking process best done when the shadows are just right, for it takes much looking…Wild Woman promises that if we will sing the song, we can call up the psychic remains of the wild soul and call her into vital shape again.”~Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run with the Wolves
My recent week at surf camp reminded me why we sometimes do hard things.
There is something to be found solely within the act of the hard thing itself, but most often, it’s what the hard thing does to us in the process—the dismantling— that is of most benefit.
For the sake of context, it’s helpful to note that at the top of the new year, I set an intention to finally, finally love myself and my body just as they are.
To be honest, this isn’t the first time I’m working toward loving myself. I’ve said I was going to in the past. I set aside time for it. I read books. I meditated on it. I sought advice. I tried a little Feng Shui. I even dabbled in writing about it a bit in a chapter of my book.
I felt that love for myself and my body at moments, for sure, but the thing about the love I found, self-love, in the past is, it was fleeting. It was conditional. I said, to myself that I was practicing self-love. Yet, before I even realized, I had all these conditions on when and why and how I could love myself. Like, how my body looked; what clothes I had on; how much I accomplished in the day/week/month; my perception of what others might think of me, and on and on and on. So many conditions.
My Holistic Surfing Retreat with Surf with Amigas was booked long before I decided this was the year, not just of acceptance, but true, unconditional love for myself and my body. As I traveled to Southern Costa Rica, I wasn’t aware of how one might be connected to the other. Then I showed up on day one, greeted by a beautiful soul and goddess of a surfer, beautiful outside and, as I would learn, inside as well.
That’s where the comparisons of my ego began.
What were the stories of my ego coming to light?
I’m too old. Like, I look old, and I started too late. My knee aches with arthritis.
I’m too out of shape. Like, my ass is big and covered in cellulite. My upper body is too weak.
I don’t look like a surfer. I’m not a surfer. My clothes and gear are all wrong. I mean, I live in Colorado of all places. I don’t fit in.
All of those conditions I had placed on myself, requirements for self-love, quickly came bubbling right to the surface. Not only exacerbated by being around a bunch of new, amazing women but because of it.
The thing is, it took no time at all for me to truly see all of the women that surrounded me. I sincerely admired their beauty. The beauty of the uniqueness in each of their physical shapes and appearances, yes, but also the beauty of their sense of humor and the way they could make those around them light up with laughter; the beauty of their calm presence; the beauty of their elegance on and off the surfboard; the beauty of their vulnerability in showing up so honestly as themselves; the beauty of the way they found the best in others and encouraged it; the beauty of their quiet reservedness built out of self-protection; and the beauty of their open, loud, unprotected expression, just the same. Each woman different and beautiful in all of those differences, for all of those differences. I could see it in them. Why could I not see it in myself?
On the sand, before getting in the water for our first session, I answered honestly when asked my intention for the week, “My intention for this week is to truly love myself, my wild self, exactly as it is.” I knew that would mean finding her again in the first place, too.
I said it. I meant it. I accepted the waves of love granted and gave waves of love to the other women as they shared their intentions. After that first session, I cried with them on the sand in reflection saying, “I just feel so much gratitude for this place, these women, and this experience.”
Then, as we sat down to review the video from that morning all I could notice was how bloated my stomach looked, how silly I looked, wobbling on the smallest of waves. All of the stories of my ego were confirmed and recycled on a loop as I watched.
These were the hard things. It wasn’t just doing something physically hard, though that carried a weight, too. It was also difficult because of what it meant to truly do the hard work of showing up authentically, vulnerably as myself, in a group of women I didn’t know, without hiding or shrinking or pretending through it. I wasn’t the only one. We were struggling through together.
To truly SHOW UP as oneself in a task that tests our skills and self-perception is to be exposed, to choose utter vulnerability. That exposure forces a shedding of all that is not essential, all that is misconception, all the trappings of the ego.
From that place we may best begin to consciously repair and restore what has been masked, harmed, unacknowledged, and unloved.
I was reminded that, while this may be possible alone, it is much more timely and effective in a group of women showing up through their own vulnerable dismantling to support each other in the process.
I was reminded that we are all alike in this way—a bundle of bones buried beneath the sands of time, waiting to be excavated and put back together.
I was reminded that we are more alike than we are different if we’re only courageous enough to show up in our truth.
I was reminded that the wild self is always there waiting to be resurrected if we only sing it lovingly back to life.
That week near Pavones, we each continued to show up for ourselves and for each other day after day. We were led through the shedding by the experience of our coaches. Much space was held, until on the final night, we circled up around a small fire.
Encouraged to write down the negative thoughts we’d been telling ourselves that week, the ill-fitting stories I’d been trying to shed for so long came rushing back. All of the terrible things I’d been telling myself about how I looked, what I was capable of, and who I was flowed out on my paper, as a vision of someone I hadn’t thought about in years came to mind. In that moment, I once again became the 13-year-old girl whose confidence was taken from her by the actions of others. The clarity that came to me about the origins of those stories was sharper than I’d ever felt before. Along with my Amigas, I burned those lies in the ceremonial fire. We gave and accepted waves of love to and from each other. Then I walked through the sand and into the ocean, feeling a primal need to cleanse myself of any of that filthy layer that might still be clinging.
Finally, for the first time in quite some time, I felt nothing but love for all of the parts of me.
That week I shed (for maybe the 100th time) so many mistaken stories gathered from long ago as a result of a darkness passed on to me, that I so deeply wanted to shed.
In its place I found exactly what I was seeking, the bones of my own divine, wild self, patiently waiting for restoration. Will this be the last time I shed this darkness? I can’t give you that. What I do know for sure is, I trust that I’ll shed it over and over again, as much as it takes, and the light of my truth will always be waiting for me on the other side.
Sometimes it takes tearing down to build back up. Sometimes the rising is that much greater for all the depths it took to get there.
“Within us is the potential to be fleshed out again as the creature we once were. Within us are the bones to change ourselves and our world. Within us is the breath and our truths and our longings—together they are the song, the creation hymn we have been yearning to sing.” ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run with the Wolves
May you find a faith deeply rooted in your own truth, today—a faith that allows you to show up vulnerably to the tasks of life, big or small. In that showing up, may your eyes and your soul be widened, not just to the beauty all around you, but the beauty within. And may you let that beauty shine without hiding, lighting the way for those around you, knowing that with each step forward, your wild self is patiently waiting to be pieced back together as you arrive.
About Deb:
"Debbie Emick is the author of The Other Side of Perfect: Discovering the Mind-Body Connection to Healing Chronic Illness and co-creator at gobucketyourself.com. She is co-host of the Go Bucket Yourself Podcast. She lives on the planes of southeastern Colorado with her husband, two daughters, Tucker the dog, and her chickens. When she's not traveling to the mountains, the beach, or Spanish-speaking countries, you'll find her there, in her sunroom, or on her back porch sipping hot tea."
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