Last week I resumed my tai chi practice. I was a little nervous about it, thinking that my practice was still new enough that in more than a month away all the elements to the long form I do would drain away and I’d have to relearn everything again, but no. There it was, stored within my body, waiting. I readied myself, dropped my awareness into my dantian, and began. It all flowed from there.

Surely there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, right? Trusting the body — the inner awareness — to hold a space even when we feel we’re unable.

Healing has been a long road, a road I’m still on. I am impatient when it comes to things like this. My way in the past has always been to push. Push through the pain. Push myself into doing and being, even though my body or heart was weary. I am finding I don’t want to push any longer. I can allow things to simply Be.

I went back to dance also. They scattered chairs around the dance floor for me, and I knew I had complete permission to simply lie on the floor for the entire time if that’s what I needed. If ever there is a no-pressure dance practice, it’s 5Rhythms, which is all about being truly present with your body. Being aware of what you need in that moment. It was a good reminder for me. At first I felt the incredible anger toward my body that I have been storing all this time — for years — anger that erupted once in anorexia and still lay latent within me. Anger deeply rooted in feelings of child-helplessness. Anger I didn’t need to hold onto any more. Anger I could release in beauty. Anger that became joy in the transformation.

I began to welcome my body, in the state it was in. Welcoming felt good.

The path back to center has been carved out in baby steps. Literally! One day I went outside to practice walking. With a cane, I could just make it to the telephone pole at the far side of my yard before resting, turning around, and walking back again. A woman getting out of her car across the street saw me and remarked that in watching me she felt more fortunate about her own body, her own two strong feet. In any given interaction, we are but a mirror for someone else’s experience and perception. In other words, if you see someone else’s strong reaction, it’s probably not about you. I saw that when telling people I had cancer. I learned so much about people from their reactions. It was beautiful.

Now I’m wearing two shoes. No cane. I walk, but slowly and not far. I get tired easily. Every day brings a new experience, a new level of awareness. If nothing else, I have had the opportunity to feel my body in a way these past two months that I could not have had without this experience. I keep thinking, What should I be learning from this?

And then I realize. This. This moment. Right now. Breathe into it. This is where I am. There’s nothing more to learn than that.