Share on bsky
View this post on Instagram
There was a time when emotional discomfort was my cue to check out in some way.
If something felt overwhelming, tense, or embarrassing, I knew how to make myself small.
Sometimes, I’d walk away. Other times, I’d retreat, change the subject, try to see all sides of the situation, blame myself, or decide to never be in that situation again.
There are moments when I am still like that, and on a recent sunny Friday morning, I found myself faced with a situation that presented two choices again. Run, or stay and work out the conflict?
Here’s the back story.
I’m a writer, musician, composer, intuitive coach, dreamer of big dreams, and founder of the Facebook community Shift of Heart: Paths to Healing and Love. My days disappear into writing an article, composing or singing a song, posting inspirational questions on social media, creating podcasts, mentoring, or imagining the impossible becoming possible.
It’s meaningful, joyful work. It’s also sedentary. We’re talking lots and lots and lots of sitting.
One day, I decided enough was enough. It was time to pay attention to my body. I grabbed my exercise bands, light weights, bathing suit, towel, and the most comfortable sneakers I own and headed off to try a free week at a popular exercise facility.
There I was. The new and improved me. Focusing on her body. Round of applause, please.
Every day for five days, I walked a few miles on the track and did my best in an exhausting exercise class for older, but pretty fit, people. I also tried their pool and ordered their smoothies for delicious energy.
By the end of the week, I was ready to become a member. There was one problem. The timing. In a few weeks, I’ll be leaving for a trip abroad. Between packing, traveling, recovering from traveling, and getting myself caught up once I return home, I knew I would need to freeze my membership almost as soon as I committed to it.
I explained my dilemma to the person behind the desk, and to my surprise, she generously offered me another free week. I didn’t expect to be an exception to their protocol, but I was delighted. All was well.
Until it wasn’t.
On the last day of my second trial week, I planned to take an exercise class and then walk on their indoor track. I went into the women’s locker room, used the bathroom, and when I came out, I heard someone calling my name.
“Melody? Melody?”
I took a few steps toward the woman calling my name and smiled. Usually when people ask for “Melody,” they’re happy to see me. This time, it wasn’t like that.
The woman met my smile with an intense scowl, came way too close to my face, and in a mean, accusatory tone, yelled: “You can’t come here anymore.”
What a poisonous bunch of words to say to anyone. That one phrase instantly makes you feel like “the other,” separate, left out, mocked, chastised, demeaned, overpowered, and bullied. For me, it was “mean girls” all over again.
She went on and on.
Her story? She believed I had intentionally extended my trial membership and had taken advantage of the facility.
My story: nothing I did was intentional, preplanned, or manipulated. After listening to my situation, the extra week was offered to me by a staff member. I had assumed they had the leeway to do so.
There I was: one minute I was confident, happy, and proud of myself, and the next minute I was standing in a locker room being accused of something I hadn’t done… and with other women listening to the whole thing.
I felt humiliated, embarrassed, and shamed. I could feel the heat rising in my body, tears coming, and my first instinct was familiar.
Bolt. Run. Get out of there. Now.
The old me would have done exactly that. She would have found a way to leave, swallow her feelings, blame herself for the whole thing somehow, and gone home to replay the conversation 4,000 times in her head.
But something different happened this time. I wanted to run. But I stayed.
And something else stayed, too. I stayed centered, grounded, and my heart remained open. I felt solid in the core of who I am.
I was able to experience the injustice of what was happening, feel a whole range of icky feelings, witness the scene objectively, and also see the human being standing in front of me who chose to say all those nasty things.
I was shaken to the core, and yet I was able to calmly and directly tell her that the way she chose to speak to me—with irrational accusations and “you messages” —was completely inappropriate and disrespectful.
I told her that she had made assumptions about my intentions and confronted me as if she had proof that I had deliberately done something wrong.
I reassured her that nothing had been deliberate. One of the staff members offered the extra trial week due to personal scheduling issues and I accepted her offer.
I didn’t attack her character. I didn’t call her names. I didn’t try to hurt her back. I simply spoke my truth, and somewhere in that moment, I remembered an affirmation I’ve carried with me for years:
“I speak my truth with clarity, strength, and love.”
I was calm and I was crying.
I was shaken and I was centered.
I was angry, humiliated, and hurt, and I tried to reason with her human being to human being and heart to heart.
Here’s the part that surprised me the most: I allowed myself to feel a whole range of feelings without putting any of my negative emotions or unhealthy reactions in the driver’s seat.
Maybe that’s new behavior. Maybe it isn’t new at all. I just hadn’t realized how much I had changed.
All those transformational workshops, personal growth books, meditations, journaling, tears, conversations, mistakes, forgiveness, starting over, and starting over again integrated into my being in one crucial moment. Without realizing it, maybe all my inner work took root.
Maybe I really have changed.
After I had time to process what happened, I began to realize that this woman had changed, too. To her credit, she apologized profusely, admitted that she overreacted and had assumed the worst about me, and she agreed that she had handled the situation badly.
“We’re all human,” she said. She encouraged me to take the class I had planned to attend, and (here’s an irony for you) she even offered me the rest of the month free.
I appreciated her apology and told her so. I also told her that I felt too shaken to take any class that day and wouldn’t return to this facility ever again.
I wouldn’t be able to walk into that place or step into the locker room again without remembering what happened.
Negative energy fields are just not my thing.
So, dearest reader and friend, I decided not to return. I’ll find another place. And no, I don’t think I am running away this time. Quite the opposite.
There is a difference between running because we’re afraid to face something versus consciously deciding that the environment or relationship is no longer good for us.
Sometimes growth means staying and speaking our truth, and other times growth means walking away. The wisdom is in knowing the difference.
I also wrote the executive director a letter. I didn’t write my letter from a place of revenge. I wrote it because I believe that speaking up has the potential to create positive change.
And here’s the part I love: he wrote back, validated my feelings, and said that he would be holding meetings and making changes right away.
Isn’t that something? One uncomfortable conversation led to another conversation which may lead to something better for other people who walk through those doors.
Never underestimate what one person can do.
On a side note, my situation got me thinking about our current leaders and all the destruction, brutality, cruelty, injustice, and suffering happening these days.
It also got me thinking about all the courageous people who are organizing, protesting, marching, making phone calls, writing, showing up, creating, speaking out, and standing together because they believe their voices and actions make a positive difference.
“We the people” continue to stand up to injustice with courage, strength, and love. Staying. Not running from it. Facing it all. Not denying it’s happening.
Courage is required in both little and big conflicts, and sometimes courage looks like standing in a locker room with tears in your eyes and saying, “This is not an acceptable way to speak to me.”
>> Courage is telling someone you love that their behavior hurts you.
>> Courage is apologizing when you know you’ve been wrong.
>> Courage is refusing to participate in gossip or cruelty.
>> Courage is setting a boundary you’ve been afraid to set for years.
>> Courage is choosing not to hurt the person who hurt you.
All the ordinary moments matter as much as the bigger ones because, as the saying goes, “Peace begins with me.”
So, how do you know you’ve changed until you’ve been presented with one of those unexpected pop quizzes in life? Sometimes, we don’t. I’ve been sitting with that question ever since that sunny Friday morning.
Think about yourself five years ago. Ten years ago. Twenty. Or even yesterday.
What kind of situation completely unraveled you in the past?
How did you respond then and how do you respond now?
Is there room for growth? Have you had a few “wins”?
>> Maybe you still get angry, but you don’t stay angry as long.
>> Maybe you still get triggered, but you recognize what’s happening sooner.
>> Maybe you’re finally speaking up instead of swallowing your feelings.
>> Maybe you can say no without spending ten days feeling guilty about it.
>> Maybe you’ve learned that staying isn’t always a sign of loyalty or strength.
>> Maybe leaving feels empowering and healthy at times.
>> Maybe you’ve found a way to disagree with someone without destroying the entire relationship.
>> Maybe you’re kinder to yourself than you used to be.
Notice. These are all signs of progress. They count. Every personal inner win counts.
We’re all so quick to state our weaknesses, but when was the last time you gave yourself credit for how far you’ve come? Growth doesn’t mean that we’ll never take a step backwards, but one difficult day doesn’t erase all the steps we’ve taken forwards.
The next time life pushes one of your buttons, ask yourself: “What did I do differently this time?”
Did I pause before reacting?
Did I speak my truth instead of shutting down?
Did I listen?
Did I apologize?
Did I forgive?
Did I set a boundary?
Did I walk away when I needed to?
Did I stay when the old me would have run?
Even if the answer is yes to only one of those questions, give yourself accolades and expand that personal acknowledgment into a self-hug as you look in your mirror and say, “I love you. You’ve come such a long way. I’m so proud of you.”
Nobody else knows how hard that moment was for you. Nobody else knows how differently you could have responded. Nobody else sees all the years of inner work that went into that one small moment of choosing differently.
But you know.
Yes, you and I might fall apart again. After all, we are all perfectly imperfect, always learning, growing, and always a work in process and a work in progress.
But once you have a win, you can never fully go back to the old you again. You’ve changed, transformed, and grown from inside out.
Congratulations!
Personal growth doesn’t mean you won’t ever get angry again, never feel hurt, afraid, triggered, or never make a mistake. That person doesn’t exist.
Last week, I stood in a locker room with tears in my eyes, spoke up for myself, and didn’t lose my center. I stayed true to myself while still finding a way to recognize the human being standing in front of me.
I didn’t plan to be this way. Didn’t rehearse it. Didn’t pull out a 20-year personal growth manual and flip to page 349. Didn’t wake up and say to myself: “Today I won’t overreact.”
What I did was simply there and ready.
Life 101 is our school, and it often gives us the very situation that would have once knocked us off our feet.
Lo and behold, we discover that we can still stay grounded, strong, and openhearted in the most difficult moments.
Sometimes. Not all the time.
Maybe there is another question worth asking:
What would the old me do?
And:
What did I do instead?
Think about it while you’re brushing your teeth, taking a bath or shower, walking in the woods, or resting in bed. Maybe you’ve changed quietly in ways you never stopped long enough to notice.
And maybe, just maybe, the person you’ve been working so hard to become has been there all along.
~
Read 6 comments and reply