Here’s something fun. Sitting or standing up, flex all your toes into the floor. Then try to lift only your big toe(s), but leave the other 4 (or 8) on the ground. Do this several times. Big toe up, big toe down. Then reverse the process. Keep your big toe(s) on the ground, but lift the others. Go ahead, try it.

See if you don’t cuss.

I got this exercise from Kate Galliett and The Unbreakable Body, an online coaching program I signed up for years ago and recently rediscovered. The exercise is meant to rebuild and/or strengthen the arches in your feet, which, by the way, you apparently have three of on each foot, not just one. For me, the exercise is difficult, especially the second part, especially with my left foot. My toes shake and quiver and won’t do what my brain tells them to. (My nephews don’t obey me either.) And whereas that’s frustrating as hell, it motivates me to keep trying.

With my toes and my nephews.

Kate says that if you were going to learn a new language you’d learn a little at a time and it would be awkward at first, and it’s the same with your body. If you want to learn a new movement, or even teach your tense muscles how to relax, it’s going to take time. But positive changes can occur. You just have to slowly teach your body the language you want it to learn. Relax, be strong, be mobile, whatever.

Lift your damn toes in the air.

This idea of language has been on my mind today. This afternoon I finished reading a book by Joseph Murphy about your subconscious mind and positive self-talk. I have an off-and-on relationship with these types of books, the kind that tell you to affirm the things in your life that you want to see increase or grow. Sometimes I think they’re fabulous. Sometimes I think they’re crap. Still, I can’t deny there’s an inner monologue going on in my brain virtually all day long, and it makes sense to me for that monologue to be positive (God, you’re a handsome devil, Mr. Coker) rather than negative (I’m so disgusting, I’m going to eat a worm). I mean, if I have a choice in what I think (and why wouldn’t I, it’s my brain), I might as well choose thoughts that feel good rather than thoughts that feel bad.

Along these lines, the book said one positive affirmation is, “I am the only thinker in my universe. No one call tell me what to think about (blank).” I really like this. Recently someone gave me crap about my long hair. I was not amused by this. (My therapist says it’s not appropriate for one adult to tell another adult how to live their life. I agree.) I bring it up because even if the entire fucking world told me they didn’t like my hair, I am the only thinker in my universe. No one call tell me what to think about any part of my body. Likewise, even if someone has done me wrong (ripped my heart out and stomped that sucker flat), I don’t have to think bad thoughts about them. Indeed, I can wish them well if I want to, if for no other reason than letting go of a grudge feels better than holding on to one.

I am the only thinker in my universe.

Granted, it’s not easy to turn your thoughts around, just like it’s not easy to control your awkward toes (if you toes are anything like mine, that is). It’s not easy to learn a new language. Most of today I’ve felt nervous and fearful. Not because anything bad is looming on the horizon, but I do have a few tasks and appointments coming up this next week that I’m not looking forward to. Hell, I didn’t want to write tonight’s blog. Even now I’d rather be watching a movie and zoning out. My point being that along with my feeling nervous and fearful, I’ve had nervous and fearful thoughts (duh). What if I do something wrong? What if they don’t like me? What if I’m not good enough? And whereas I wish I could immediately banish these thoughts and feelings, I can’t.

Learning a new language is hard.

Still, I am determined to learn–determined to learn how to lift up my little toes while my big toe stays on the ground, determined to learn how to think about the world differently. Everything’s going to be okay. People like me (and if they don’t, fuck them). I’m good enough. And I’m finding there’s a lot of relief in just starting. That is, even though I can’t lift my toes quite right, I’ve started to learn, so the process isn’t as intimidating as it was before. Even though my self-talk has a long way to go, I’m at least aware of what’s going on “up there.” They’re just thoughts, and thoughts are changeable. Nothing is set in stone.

More and more, I’m learning to not come at myself with a sledgehammer. My dad’s been going with me to work out at night, and tonight he said, “I’m trying to add one or two new exercises each time we go.” How perfect is that? A month ago when I started going to the gym to rehab my leg, I wasn’t even breaking a sweat. But, like my dad, I’ve been adding in exercises one at time, and now I leave the gym glistening. (My next goal: leaving with a wet t-shirt.) So both at the gym and at home, I’m trying to add in good habits, add in good thoughts. I keep telling myself, Sweetheart, be patient. We’re learning a new language.