A Loving Hand (Or Foot)

We were frustrated. Correction, I was frustrated. So I withdrew. I did the classic cool-down to the point of coldness that I was this big ice zombie walking around. For a good week I snapped and crashed, cried and threw my weight around—also known as brat syndrome.
What caused this inner tension and outward aggression I’m not sure. Maybe just the daily passage of life; the traffic, the horns, the “hurry up”, “the hustle” the missed lunches, the need for more hours, the bags under my eyes, or the dishes in the sink. Whatever it was it irked me.
I stopped kissing, stopped touching, pulled back, and went numb.
For a solid week I carried this weight with me to yoga. I tried to breathe the anxiety out. I tried to push it out through Camel and Triangle, and yet I took it home with me at the end of the day.
I’m not sure when I realized that this feeling needed to be solved in a very literal “hands on” way. I didn’t realize it when I pulled into the driveway that Friday night, and didn’t realize it as I lit candles and dimmed the lights, I still didn’t realize it as I rolled out my yoga mat and came to a seat.
I think it was a few minutes after that, as my boyfriend walked through my door, that I had set up my room not for myself, but for him. I brought him to the mat, my mat, and tried to recall a bit of Thai Yoga massage. I walked up and down his spine, rubbed his feet with mine, and ran my fingers through his scalp. We didn’t say a word. We remained silent for almost an entire hour and at the end he sat up smiling, but with a glimmer of tears in his eyes.
It was at this very moment that this “hands on” realization hit me. A full week of tension had drained for my body. I was overwhelmed with relief, a sensation I was not expecting. Through pushing myself to love, I loved myself. It was the ultimate freeing experience.