January 7 2025
The Weight of Today
This morning started with an unexpected twist: I woke up to a dead phone battery, the only outlet far across the room. As my battery dwindled, I listened to my nightly tarot reading until my phone finally gave out. When I opened my eyes again—without waking at all through the night (a rare occurrence)—I plugged in my phone, only to see a time that made my heart drop. 6:45 AM?! Surely, I had slept through morning practice.
But as soon as the screen turned on, I realized it was actually 4:30 AM. Waking up at four-something without an alarm—again—feels like nothing less than divine intervention. As if God, or Shakti herself, whispered, Get up. You’re supposed to be here. After some hesitation and resetting my alarm for 4:50 to “see how I’d feel,” I couldn’t go back to sleep. I took this as a sign to get myself dressed and make the cold, silent walk to satsang.
The Walk to Satsang
Anjaneya was outside my door as I left, and we walked in silence together. I had my AirPods in—a bit of a ritual for me these days—and listened to Sons of the East, a band introduced to me by my Aussie friends. The cold morning air wrapped around us, the sound of my music keeping me company until we arrived at satsang just in time.
While I was present for the discussion, my heart was really yearning to sing. Still, I listened closely as Ragu led a meaningful talk about spiritual identity. He spoke about the body as a vehicle and how we are not the vehicle itself, but the driver within. This reminded me of The Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna teaches Arjuna about his divine duty, emphasizing the importance of stepping into the eternal self and not getting lost in the illusions of this temporary world.
The false identity, Ragu said, creates false pain. That hit me hard. How much of the pain I’ve carried has been tied to clinging to identities—of who I was, who I should be, or who I thought I was?
Asana Practice and Self-Compassion
Asana practice followed, and while it was challenging, I gave myself grace to move at my own pace. My body has been aching—my wrists, fingers, knees, and especially my low back—and I’ve started feeling a bit hopeless. But then Ragu’s words echoed in my mind: The false identity creates false pain.
Today’s practice became a meditation on balance: How do I challenge myself without forcing? How do I honor my limitations without giving up? Cindy, the teacher, is a badass yogi who owns a studio in Nashville, and her energy was inspiring. I moved in a way that felt authentic to me, letting go of the need to perform or prove anything to anyone else.
After class, I stayed to finish writing my reflections from yesterday. Discipline has started to feel less like a chore and more like a gift. Waking up at 4 AM without an alarm, over 100 days without binging and purging (102 to be exact), daily asana and bhakti practice, learning a hard new instrument—I’m changing. I’m proud of myself. This wouldn’t have been possible at any other time in my life. I trust that I came to Govardhan Eco Village exactly when I was meant to. For that, I am deeply grateful.
Conversations About Pain
After breakfast, as I walked back to my room with a couple of small pieces of fruit in hand, I crossed paths with Cindy. We had a short but deeply meaningful conversation about pain and identity. I opened up to her about my injuries and frustrations, and she surprised me by sharing that she’s been dealing with similar struggles. This caught me off guard, considering how strong and badass her practice appears to be.
The topic of teaching yoga for so long that it becomes part of your identity came up. We spoke about navigating chronic pain as both a practitioner and teacher. Then Cindy asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks:
“What if this is what it’s going to be? If the pain is part of your journey, how can you lean into it instead of running away?”
Her words echoed what Ragu had said earlier about identity and pain. The idea of leaning into the pain—not as an obstacle but as a teacher—feels like a shift I’m being called to make. Cindy encouraged me to explore resources like Joe Dispenza and John Sarno to learn more about how to live with and transform pain. It feels like this is the next step: to stop resisting and start asking, What is this pain here to teach me?
The Afternoon Drumming Session: Exclusion and Surfaced Memories
By the time the afternoon arrived, I felt like the day was already impossibly long, but I made the effort to go to the drumming session. I arrived ready to immerse myself in the experience, but it quickly became clear that the day wasn’t going to unfold the way I hoped. We were literally doing nothing. The teacher spent so much time sitting with others, and I couldn’t help but feel excluded. I kept waiting for my turn, waiting to feel part of the group, but that moment never came.
That familiar sense of not being enough started to bubble up. It was as if I had been transported back to elementary school—those years between 5 and 10 when I often felt invisible, overlooked, and unimportant. These emotions weren’t just subtle; they were so close to the surface, almost as if they were begging to be acknowledged.
Eventually, the weight of it all became too much. I left early and retreated to my room, where I sat alone in the dark, dissociating. The feelings of exclusion and “not being enough” felt overwhelming, and I wasn’t sure how to process it all. It’s amazing how quickly present-day situations can trigger deeply buried wounds.
Evening Satsang: Connection and Disconnection
I planned to skip evening satsang, but Gisonia, Alex, and Anjaneya called for me outside my door. Their gesture reminded me that people here do care and want me to be present. It was a comfort I didn’t expect after a day filled with feelings of isolation. On our walk to satsang, I struck up a conversation with a woman who was a therapist, and we talked about my dream of attending Naropa University. She encouraged me to look into somatic experiencing, which feels like a nudge from the universe I need to explore.
Despite the beautiful setting above the cows, kirtan reinforced my sense of exclusion. The leader had called on almost everyone to dance and sing over the past week—except me. It felt like being the last kid picked for the soccer team, not for lack of skill but because they just didn’t like me. I texted Trish, needing someone to talk to. She grounded me with her calm presence, reminding me that sometimes you have to let things roll off. I know this is wisdom, but my inner child is still crying for validation.
A Call with My Mom
After Trish, I grabbed dinner to go. The vegan and gluten-free options were limited, but I was pleasantly surprised by a dried banana coconut dish. I had texted my mom earlier and decided to call her while waiting for some boiled veggies. Her words, “It’s always something,” triggered me deeply. It wasn’t her intention, but I felt invalidated, like the little girl inside me wasn’t being heard.
I got upset, and our texts turned into an argument. When I called her to clear the air, she explained what she meant: life is full of challenges, and you have to roll with the punches. I know she’s right, but it’s hard not to take things personally when old wounds are so close to the surface. Still, I’m grateful for her support. We worked through it, and I walked back to my room with a beautiful fruit salad from the café.
Reflections: Grace and Growth
Today was the most challenging day I’ve had here so far. The process of evolving isn’t always pretty. Sometimes, it looks like crying during kirtan, lashing out at the people you love, and then humbling yourself to ask for forgiveness. Sometimes, it’s about surrendering—again and again and again.
But I’m learning to give myself grace. I didn’t act out on my eating disorder. I didn’t numb or escape in the ways I once would have. Instead, I felt, I processed, and I grew. It’s messy, but growth is messy. Recovery is messy. And slowly but surely, I’ll get there.
With love and gratitude,
Eve aka Kali Grayce
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