Hanging up the hoop.

I made a big decision this week: I'm giving up hooping.

Well, at least for a while. I don't want to give up hooping at all, but I have to. I've written before about my issues with RSI. Things haven't been good with my arms, shoulders, neck and back recently - I've even had to have some time off work - and on the advice of my physio I've decided to hang up my hoop.

Hooping has brought me all sorts of joy over the past three years. But the reality is that it no longer makes my body happy. Quite the opposite - it makes my body tense and aching and painful, and I don't want that for my body.

For a while I tried confining myself to hooping only on my waist and below, thinking that would ease the strain on my upper body. But it makes no difference at all.

I've also had to give up writing with a pen, except in very small doses {such as writing my shopping list}. At work I now record all my interviews rather than taking notes, which is working well, although it's a little more time consuming. Surprisingly, I can still knit without strain.

My physio tells me I need to improve my posture, as well as get up and move around more. Sitting hunched at my computer for hours on end is a big no-no. I need yoga, fresh air, plenty of walking around. Today I bought myself a Fitbit and can see I will be obsessively counting steps before too long. {I'm walking around 4,500 steps a day - less than half of what I need for good health!}

So, although I'm disappointed at having to give up hooping, I am looking forward to being pain-free before too long. And I've always enjoyed walking so I'm looking forward to the opportunity to stretch my legs more often.

Just like the trees.

I'm writing this beside a roaring fire, with a certain happy dog stretched out on his sheepskin rug before it. Outside, heavy thundery showers keep passing over; it's dark, and it's cold. I'm feeling very grateful for all this cosy warmth.

It's a bleak time of year here in New Zealand. I find it hard going to work when it's still dark, and coming home after sunset. I even have to do most of my hooping inside at this time of the year.

A friend and I were walking our dogs at Kowhai Park last week, on one of those rare fine, windless, winter days. I confided to him that I often feel depressed at this time of the year, no matter how positive I am or how mild the weather is.

"I feel stripped bare," I said.

I didn't really understand my own words, but as we walked on I watched clouds of dead oak and liquid ambar leaves drift down to rest on the grass below. Some trees were only just starting to shed their leaves while others were nearly bare. I love the trees that fully lose their leaves in winter. They may appear to be naked and lifeless but they have a certain majesty about them. Without its covering of leaves, you can see a tree as it really is.

Maybe I am like the deciduous trees in winter. My leaves have been stripped from me, leaving only my bare branches. In winter, I see things - I see myself - as I truly am. Which is not always a comfortable thing.

I like this analogy.

The next day during my morning devotions I picked up Caitlin Matthews' wonderful, wise book, The Celtic Spirit {which I recommend to any Pagan with an interest in the Celtic world}, and the reading for that day contained the following paragraph:

"At this time of the year, when the trees look dishevelled, when growth stops, we may feel the loss as a personal thing and cross the threshold to depression. Yet the roots of renewal lie in the contemplation of the way in which this year's leaf mould on the forest floor will become the rich earth for next year's glorious growth."

I still long for warm sunshine and long days. Yet I feel I've been given a different perspective on winter: without the cold, the dark, the depression, the being stripped bare, we cannot experience the growth of spring.

Midsummer reflections: Release

We are just about to release 2014 and move into 2015. And I have just released my dreads, after many years of having them - a really big step for me.

I never expected to get to the point where I wanted to let my dreads go. Sure, they could sometimes be annoying. They interfered with my hoop and they were so heavy they gave me headaches. But they were {literally} part of me, and part of my identity. Because they formed naturally over several years I developed a deep emotional attachment to them. People knew me and recognised me by my dreads, and they gave me a certain amount of cool. I loved how low-maintenance they were - I didn't even have to comb them.

The first suggestion of releasing my dreads came this time last year. I was irritated by them. They hung down to my hips, massive things that seemed to drain my energy. I took one tiny dread and combed it out, freaked out, and stopped halfway through. I definitely did not want to get rid of my dreads. My husband suggested I cut my dreads to a manageable length, and all was well again.

So when, this November, I started to feel twinges of wanting to get rid of the dreads, I figured it was just something that happened at this time of the year. I sat with the feeling for a while. Then one morning - just a couple of days before the anniversary of starting my dreads - I woke up convinced the dreads had to go. That evening two of my dreads actually broke off in my hands - something that had never happened before.

The next day I came home from work feeling like I was being smothered and couldn't breathe properly. I grabbed the kitchen scissors, handed them to my husband and told him to start cutting. He snipped them up to my shoulders ... ah, what a release. I took a bottle of conditioner and a comb and spent the weekend combing, combing, combing. Before I began on each dread, I ran my fingers over it and whispered, "I thank you - I release you."

In two days I had combed out 22 of my 42 dreads and filled an entire shopping bag with knotted hair. {I put most of it in the compost heap, but buried one dread under my elderflower bush in the garden.}
I spent the next two weeks combing out the rest of the dreads, just a few at a time.

This Saturday, just before the new moon and Midsummer, the very last dread was combed out. I washed my hair and rinsed it in rain water that had had rosemary, sage and lavender soaking in it, and allowed it to dry in the warm summer air.

And now I am starting to get to know this lovely new hair of mine. A lot of people don't recognise me; I still get a surprise when I see myself in the mirror. I love the feel of the wind on my scalp! I'm enjoying the texture of my hair, which somehow manages to be soft and rough at the same time {I've never had sleek, shiny hair}. My hair doesn't like to be combed or brushed; it just goes flat and sullen, like a dog that's been told off. So I comb it before I go to bed each night and finger-comb it each morning, which seems to work well.

Happy Midsummer to you all!

Before {the last picture I took of myself with dreads}:

After {completely dreadless and with hair freshly washed}:

Weekend, alone.

Last weekend my husband and my stepdaughter went away for two days, leaving me along at home with only my wee doggie, Monty, for company.

When I first realised I would be alone all weekend, the thought scared me. I used to be so good at being alone, and was quite comfortable spending an entire week in my own company. But since I got married I’ve become used to having other people around at [nearly] all times. What would I do with a weekend to myself?

But as Friday rolled around, and I got ready to head home from work to a silent house, I realised I was looking forward to it. Here was an opportunity to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, without needing to take other people into consideration.

So this is what I did with my weekend alone:

I spent most of Saturday on the back lawn, in my pyjamas, hooping. [Pyjamas are good for hooping in, by the way.]

I stayed up till 3am Saturday morning watching all eight episodes of Outlander [sigh] and till 3am Sunday reading The Bronze Horseman [meh].

I ate Thai takeaways. I visited friends.

I did some spring cleaning.

The sun shone all weekend, so Monty and I went to the beach. He followed interesting smells all over the beach, and I paddled in the water and hooped.

Such a simple weekend, yet such a delight. I felt reacquainted with myself. I felt refreshed - like I'd drunk a glass of cool water on a hot summer's day.

And, of course, when my people arrived home Sunday afternoon, I was very happy to see them again.

Happy hooping,
Anne-Marie x

What I should be doing at Imbolc.

Monty and I admiring daffodils at Kowhai Park.

Today is Imbolc, or First Light, the mid point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Officially, winter has another month to go here in New Zealand; but right now you'd never know it. Spring is bursting out every where - warm north-west breezes blowing, daffodils blooming, birds singing, and daylight lengthening.

This is my one day off work this week, and I lay in bed this morning and thought of all the things I should be doing: you know, cleaning-the-bathroom-type things. Then I remembered it was Imbolc, and instead decided I would do the bare necessities of SHOULD today, and no more. I do far too much SHOULD.

As if to emphasise my decision, my body has gone out in protest. Doing almost anything - including hooping!! - makes the muscles in my back, neck, shoulders and arms spasm painfully. This is probably the result of too much work and study. I really need a massage and some serious relaxation.

So I have spent most of today doing very little, and it's been most enjoyable [despite the nagging voice telling me how lazy I am]. The best part of the day so far has been walking with Monty through the trees and daffodils and sunshine of Kowhai Park. Tonight I'm looking forward to having a hot bath to try and ease my aching body.

I want more of this. I don't want to slack off from my responsibilities, but I do want more fresh air and relaxation in my life. It's nearly spring - what better time is there for fresh air and relaxation???

Happy hooping,
Anne-Marie x

On comparing myself to others.

The hoop is a source of such joy for me that I hate negative emotions coming any where near it.

Yet some times the hoop has difficult lessons to teach me, such as uncovering a dark part of my personality. Like … ooh, let’s see, my tendency to compare myself to other hoopers.

Eek.

I’ve written before about comparison and how futile it is. But it seems that learning not to compare myself as a hooper is going to be a long journey for me.

I noticed recently that I had started feeling dissatisfied with my hooping. Winter doesn’t help, but there was more to it than that. It often happened after I had been on Facebook, where my feed was dominated by posts from a very large hoop group. While every person in that group was drawn there by a mutual love of the hoop, I seemed to have very little in common with the majority of them.

I started comparing myself to them. Unfavourably. Because, let’s face it, I’m not a 20 year old in a teeny tiny bikini, doing astonishing things with a teeny tiny hoop after just six months of hooping.

“Well, that’s it. You’re a failure,” says the very nasty voice in my head.

And it doesn’t stop with hooping. A friend posts about her world travels. Another friend is making a decent living as an artist. And I hear about yet another who has just snagged a book deal.

“Look at them. What are YOU doing? You suck,” says that nasty voice again.

Perhaps I should cocoon myself from the world so I don’t ever have any one to compare myself to? Nah. Sounds a bit lonely, doesn’t it?

I did have some thing of a revelation while I was hooping the other day. When I’m comparing myself to some one else I’m thinking about the other person and what they are doing, rather than what I’m doing. I can’t control what other people do. They’re just trucking along, doing their thing.

So may be that’s what I need to learn how to do. I can’t be any body else. I can only be me, in and out of the hoop.

Happy hooping,

Anne-Marie x

Hooping for dark times.

Two happy-making things.

I'm not in a good headspace right now; in fact I'm struggling to cope with a lot of day-to-day living.

I know exactly what this is about: one area of my life is unpleasant for me, and I feel like I'm unable to get out of the situation or do anything about it.

I'm feeling powerless.

I'm feeling anxious and disconnected. I'm struggling to find the joy that normally comes so easily to me.

I have, of course, been here before - more times than I wish. So I know the depression will pass; it always does; I just wish it would pass sooner!

I'm trying to keep my head above water by looking after myself physically - eating fruit, getting enough fresh air and sunshine, and going to bed early.

I've also put together a plan to make the unpleasant situation easier, and to [eventually] get away from it.

And each morning I honour my commitment to my hoop. I get up and, no matter how crap I feel, I hoop for 15 minutes. When I can, I hoop during my lunch break and after work.

When I hoop I feel better. My hoop gives me the space to be creative, to move, to free my mind from doubt and fear. I feel "normal" again - as though there is hope for me still.

This morning on Facebook my teacher, Christine [I consider her one of my teachers even though we've never met in person], wrote this:

That way that you feel when you're dancing and it's just you and the music and you've totally got this? That. That's the true you. No baggage. No garbage. Free. You.

Happy hooping,
Anne-Marie x

15 minutes.

I've got into the habit of hooping for the first 15 minutes of every day.

I get out of bed, get dressed, make a cup of tea, and go outside [or clear the furniture in the lounge, if it's raining] to hoop.

I've never been much of a morning person. I hate waking up. I struggle to talk coherently before 7am. And physical activity? Forget about it. When I practised yoga regularly I was always in envy of those people who could roll out of bed and straight onto their yoga mat. I tried, but it made me feel like I was going to vomit.

But in this, as in so many other ways, hooping is different.

I may be only just awake when I step outside with my hoop. The sudden burst of fresh air makes me a little more alert. The first birds are singing, the sun hovering on the horizon, the air crisp. I mumble my hoop prayer and begin to move, slowly at first, but as the familiar rhythm settles into my body I wake fully and move with more confidence.

I always dance this first dance of the day without music. I prefer the sound of the birds, the wind, Monty barking at something I can't see.

I wish I could say these 15 minutes guarantee I'm going to have great day, but it's not always the case. Still, I can't think of a better foundation to my day than this. Before all the clamour of my day begins, I take 15 precious minutes for myself to dance, to reconnect with myself and the Divine.

Happy hooping,
Anne-Marie x

This is my flow.

This is my flow

There are many like it

But this one is mine

It's revolutionary by design

-Tiana Zoumer

It's ironic that I begin this post with a quote from Tiana Zoumer, because this post is about how I discovered I didn't want to be Tiana Zoumer.

Recently, I've taken a few hoop lessons via Skype with the one and only Brecken Rivara. Brecken and Tiana are my two favourite hoopers, so to learn from Brecken is a dream come true. She is a great teacher and a thoroughly likeable person, so if you get the chance to take a lesson with her, do it!

In our first lesson we spent quite a lot of time talking. One of the things we discussed was hoop speed. I told Brecken I had got a shock when I first videoed myself and discovered I am actually a very slow hooper. I do not move fast in my hoop, even though I feel like I do! I shouldn't be surprised by this because I have never been fast at anything, but there you go.

During our discussion Brecken made three points on this topic:

1. a naturally slow hooper incorporates speeds easier than a fast hooper incorporates slowness;

2. a good hooper, whatever her natural speed, will learn how to vary her speed at times to provide texture;

3. if I'm a naturally slow hooper, it's my mission to make that my personal style.

I found myself thinking about the last point during my next session in the hoop. I realised that deep down part of me had wanted to be some kind of hooping composite of Tiana Zoumer and Brecken Rivara! If only I dedicated myself to the hoop enough, I would magically develop Tiana's speed and energy and Brecken's athleticism. Sigh.

Tiana and Brecken aren't much-loved members of the hoop tribe just because they are fast, energetic and athletic. They are admired for their unique flow and their creativity. So do I want to be a copy of Tiana or Brecken, or do I want to be myself? Do I want to force my body to do things it doesn't want to do, or do I want my body to feel gooooood?

The answers are pretty obvious.

I also realised that the times when I walk away from my hoop feeling dissatisfied are those times that I have been comparing myself to someone else [usually Tiana or Brecken] - which is never a path to happiness!

So my hoop mission for 2014 is to begin finding my own flow, my own personal style within the hoop. This totally makes sense to me, and I wish I had thought of it before.

This does not mean that I now believe I have nothing to learn from anyone. I'm still going to take lessons from Brecken, and you bet I'll be learning everything I can from Tiana when she comes to HoopFest in March [squeal!]. But I no longer want to be Brecken or Tiana - I want to be me.

Happy hooping,
Anne-Marie x

The big D.

Despite all the good things that have been going on in my life, it’s been challenging times in my little corner of the world recently.

The black dog has paid me a visit, for the first time in about six years. The black dog has been my companion since my teenage years, mostly staying in the background, but occasionally attacking me with sudden, sharp ferocity. I like dogs, so perhaps that’s not a good analogy. It felt like a gradual ascent into a black pit – it began with the realisation of a low-level sadness running through my days and reached its zenith when I found myself on a stormy Sunday afternoon, after a bust-up at home, at the beach contemplating walking into the wild waves and never coming back.

That’s when I began to cry and couldn’t stop. That’s when I realised I needed help.

For those who have never suffered depression, it’s hard to understand. It’s not just feeling sad. My experience of depression is a literal absence of colour: when I look around all I see is grey. I feel completely alone, disconnected from my loved ones. I feel trapped down the black pit and I’m looking up and seeing, at a far distance, light and happiness and life – but I can’t be part of it because I’m down in the darkness. It’s struggling to fall asleep at night and hoping I never wake up in the morning. It’s nasty voices in my head telling me how worthless and useless I am. It’s feeling like nothing good will ever happen to me again.

Yet most people wouldn’t have a clue that anything is wrong with me because I’m really skilled at hiding it when I feel I need to. Perhaps that’s not such a good thing…

I think I’m coming out the other side now, hopefully. I still have bad days but the possibility of feeling joy again seems real. John has cared for me tenderly and I’ve had several sessions with a counsellor I trust. Depression always has something to teach me, so I’ve been looking for the lesson. I know I need to make some changes in how I live my daily life and I’m trying to work through that.

Throughout these dark weeks, hooping has been one of the few things to make me feel like a “normal” person. I’ve continued to hoop, even on the days I felt like I was barely capable of lifting my hoop. I’ve even continued to teach, although now most of my teaching has finished for the year. Even the big D couldn’t destroy the joy hooping - and teaching hoopdance - brings me, although my joy is a muted one, as if felt at a distance. Because I haven’t had much energy I haven’t been at my usual spot in the gym; mostly I’ve hooped for short periods of time in the garden, in the sunshine - sunshine is definitely good for my state of mind!

I have had some wonderful hooping experiences recently, including hooping on the beach with some of my students, hooping with my youngest nieces, and taking part in a celebration for World Hoop Day. All of which have helped, in their own way, to nudge me back towards the light.