I don’t know about you ladies but this year started off ROUGH for me. And not the good kinda rough š
It started with a 36-hour trip from Austria to Colombia that included 2 cars, 2 trains, 3 planes and a subway ride.
Everyone was talking about resolutions, planning sessions, goals, intentions and themes for 2015ā¦
ā¦while I was dealing with jetlag, trying to figure out how to order a coffee in Spanish, and the emotional tidal wave that hit me when I arrived in Medellin.
It was shaky. I felt really uprooted and disconnected from myself ā even though weād been traveling like this for a year. I wasnāt sure if it was the city or the time of the year or my relationship or what. I was sad, anxious and resentful that I didnāt have a theme or a set of resolutions and that all these other people did.
I pushed against my bodyās need for quiet introversion and tried really hard to follow the PLAN.
You know the PLAN. Especially āthe January Planā.
It included so many new fun projects for my business, more yoga & cardio, and of course daily Spanish classes ā cuz overachiever Nadia was convinced she could learn a whole new language in 2 weeks. Duh.
But every day, it would get to noon and Iād be exhausted and ready to throw in the towel. And every day I would say, āItās all good, Iāll start again tomorrow.ā
And that went on for two weeks until one day I just stopped. I stopped committing to going out, to getting any work done, to making it to yoga, to cooking 3 meals a day, to being the perfectly happy girlfriend.
And all it took was ONE day of that and low and behold I was back up and running! One day of letting myself go. Of not pushing against what is meant to be.
So hereās my proposal to you.
Let this be the year of PERMISSION.
Permission to not give a fuck.
Permission to not make resolutions.
Permission to not follow the plan.
Permission to not go the gym the day before your period just cause someone (probably a dude) decided ācalories in, calories outā is a paradigm we should all live by (total BS, by the way.)
Permission to fall apart at the most inopportune time.
Permission to never again eat broccoli if you hate it.
Permission to be yourself and honor EXACTLY where you are today.
But also
Permission to nourish yourself even when your inner critic wants to sink her teeth into a slice of chocolate cake.
Permission to sleep 10 hours when your body asks for it, even though your mind cannot pinpoint a single reason why you may be tired.
Permission to skip out on the social commitment you made with the confidence that your true friends will respect your judgment.
Permission to drink a glass of wine even though you swore at the last holiday party you that you wouldnāt drink a drop of alcohol in all of January.
Permission to cry in front of your partner even if heās knee-deep in work and youāre convinced he has no time for you.
Permission to follow your desires.
Permission to melt into yourself.
Permission to fuck up and know that you are worthy and loved no matter what.
Because when you stop pushing against the flow, you give permission for pleasure to enter again ā and thatās where your true power lies.
Not in being regimented enough to make it to the gym.