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Can Sweat, Tears and Pain Pave the Way to Healing and Happiness? My First Time at SoulCycle.

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

Some of you may have no idea what SoulCycle is, most likely because it is a fairly new company and currently only resides in affluent communities, justifying its hefty price tag of approx. $30 a class. While that is certainly out of my desired price range for a fitness experience, I was able to justify the purchase when it was specifically for a fundraiser organized by Jacqui Saldana of BabyBoyBakery.com. If you haven’t heard her story, I highly recommend going to her site. She is an amazingly raw, inspirational and openhearted woman who is living through her darkest hours with her husband as they grieve the loss of their 3-year-old son, Ryan Cruz.

As I entered the cheerfully bright lobby of SoulCycle, I immediately noticed the crowd of athletically attired people, each equipped with fitted cycling pants, sweat bands and cycling shoes. I didn’t quite stick out like a sore thumb, as there was a handful of others who were clearly there for the first time, with shared characteristics of yoga pants and loose fitting gym tops. Fortunately, SoulCycle offers shoe rentals and the attendants at the front desk were excited to prepare us for our first ride. To be clear, I have attended numerous spin classes, both in college and at 24 Hour Fitness, but what I was about to experience is in a completely different realm in both intensity and significance.

Once in the cycling room, it’s uniqueness from any other fitness class is instantly apparent. The lights are dimmed, almost completely off, and flickering LED candles are interspersed throughout the compact room filled with dozens of cycles. I was about to embark on 45 minutes that would test my endurance, both physical and mental, and would bring out a part of myself that I am not yet well acquainted with. Led by an energetic and sincere instructor, who demanded of us that we give it our all, the class was asked to support each other, to motivate our cycling neighbors by pushing through and sending them compassion and acceptance. We were asked to acknowledge that each and every person in that room is going through something, whether good or bad, and that for those 45 minutes we would let everything else fall away and be present in that room with those people.

At the peak of our pain, our instructor refused to let up, declaring that this pain is temporary, similar to whatever pain and trials we experience during our lives, it is temporary, so long as we keep moving. Perhaps the most unexpected, was the segment in which we all cycled standing up, with our eyes closed and our heads bowed, reflecting on whatever struggle is at the forefront of our life right now. Those couple of minutes, sweat poring down my face, arms, back and legs, dripping in between my finger-tips, were laden with self-realization.

I was in an environment in which I felt safe to acknowledge my fears that are frequently on my mind: being helpless to protect my loved-ones, letting my dreams and goals slip through my grasp, and a fairly recently acquired fear of losing touch with my essential self, the part of me that has been a constant throughout my life, that has influenced who I am and who I want to be, as well as how I connect with those around me. In those moments I struggled to breathe through the tears choking me, fighting to get out. Tears that were born from pain over the trials of every person in that room but were transformative in their release. Somehow, after such an emotionally and physically exhausting set, I was flooded with an electric energy that shot out from my spirit and stayed with me long after the class was over.

SoulCycle, while financially draining, is without-a-doubt worth it. Even if you only go a couple times a year, when you most need it for a physical and spiritual renewal, you will walk away feeling empowered and centered. This experience has left me feeling ready to take on whatever may be coming my way, with the knowledge that it is okay to have moments of despair. For once we trudge through the doubt, grief, etc., we become that much closer to actualizing our full potential and strength.

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Until next time,

Candace

An open letter to that person who keeps harrassing and shaming me:

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

You beat me down, I’m bleeding out

Dreams shatter on the floor

Can’t walk out the door

This shame I feel

Is all too real

 When you batter me

Loathe me

Disarm me

And disrobe me

Standing naked before you

Thinking, once, I adored you

And now, I implore you

Love me again

Be a true friend

See the beauty within

Forgive the sin

Of my lethargy

And decaying dreams

A soul that’s imploding

From all this self-loathing

Stifling trepidation

Highlights every imperfection

Deteriorates my hope, my joy

All things that uplift

Fall into a void

An eternal stalemate

With this viscous ingrate

Clawing

Ripping

Shredding throughout

Fueled by a deep, dark pool

Filled only with doubt

I know this place

I’ve been here before

Sometimes I forget

But I’ll prevail once more

Never giving in; I’m Rising up

I know, I know. I was tricky, making you think this was directed at someone other than myself. But that’s the thing. That part of me, that judges and inflicts so much pain feels as though it is other than myself. I am never that cruel of a person. I am forgiving and compassionate and encouraging. Except, unfortunately, with myself. I would chalk it up to the fact that I am an actor, but this toxic self-judgement is not unique to actors. So many people get caught up in measuring their self-worth with the ideals of others. Whether it be appearance, hobbies, career, parenting style, or even personality, which is essentially who you are, we are constantly finding ourselves to be lacking.

Let’s have a “Mean Girls” Moment. Raise your hand if you’ve thought one of these:

I’m too fat.

I’m too skinny.

I wish I was funny.

I am so stupid.

I am so lame.

I am a loser.

I am a failure.

Why can’t I be more like THEM?

Granted, these are only a handful of criticisms we often have of ourselves, but we seem to hold them in such high regard that we are blinded to the attributes we do have. We do not have to look like that person, act like that person, or live like that person. I am an individual, as are you. Each of us with unique life experiences and insights that influence who we are and what we do. Now, once you remove the useless comparisons, what is left? Your goals and dreams. Who do you want to be? What do you want to accomplish during your time here on Earth?

A few months back, I finally got my second wind after a long bout with crippling insecurities paired with grief. I reacquainted myself with my goals and dreams and started this blog to give myself an outlet as well as a way to hold myself accountable to the pursuit of my dreams. Unfortunately, I faltered and have not written a new post in several weeks. I have had countless ideas for posts and would acknowledge them thinking, “That would be an interesting post.” So why didn’t I ever write them?

That nasty creature, that resides somewhere within me, reared its nasty head again: doubt. I questioned my abilities, talent, and a number of other things and, before I knew it, three months had passed without me posting anything. Even more damaging than the doubt, though, was my inability to forgive myself. After acknowledging that I had faltered, and why, I still did not take up writing again. Because I was so frustrated and angry with myself for faltering in the first place. “Think of where you’d be now, Candace, if you had kept at it!”

It seems that, regardless of what you are internally shaming yourself for, the same viscous circle begins to take form. “So you want to lose weight? Well, why did you eat those Oreos?! You’re such a pig! You are weak! You’re never going to lose weight!” While the supposed “sin” and insults can be substituted, the sentiment cannot. What is most harmful to your success and happiness is not faltering in the first place, but a failure to forgive yourself and move on.

Bouts of insecurities and doubt seem to be a part of growing and evolving. We question ourselves, doubt ourselves, and, hopefully, challenge those doubts. The poem or “open letter” was something I wrote the other day during an hour long drive with my mom. The first three-fourths of the poem are fairly negative and difficult to give life to, but in my heart I knew where the words were leading to, and I didn’t want to give-up until I reached that message of redemption and resilience.

Instead of making a bunch of New Year Resolutions that are supposed to make me more successful and happy, I am going to make an oath to myself.

Candace,

    I vow to be forgiving. To allow you to stumble and fall, without censure.

    I vow to be your biggest cheerleader. Constantly reminding you of what you are capable of achieving.

    And, lastly, I vow to love you. As I love my family and friends. With my whole heart.

Back to the Drawing Board

/ Candace Smith / 2 Comments

Does life ever go as planned?

A little over a year ago I was on top of the world. I had just graduated after 5 grueling years of all-nighters, way too many eccentric roommates to handle and an overall exhilarating experience where I felt that I had truly discovered who I am as an individual. In spite of the impending student loan re-payments, I packed up a (way too small) backpack and flew to Europe with three of my favorite gals.

We had taken a leap over the pond that represented much more to us than a mere vacation. This was the first time  in which we were solely responsible for getting from point A to point B and making sure we had a roof over our heads by the end of the night. Our phones were deactivated to avoid international charges and our only hope of connecting to any form of technology was through free Wi-Fi, which was far and few between. We had no one to fall back on when we struggled to navigate curved streets that seemed to end abruptly and begin elsewhere without our being the wiser. At times, we were overwhelmed (especially during a particular outing that found us wandering the streets of London at 1 in the morning trying to find our hostel). But we did it. We adapted. We rejoiced in the spontaneity of it all. We explored. And walked. And walked. And walked. It still baffles me that I was able to gain weight with all the walking we did, but I guess that’s a testament to how delicious European cuisine is.

By the time we returned to the States, I was exhausted and changed. I felt empowered, as though I could tackle any hurdle. I had faced the fear I felt toward the unknown and emerged a victor. Now before you scoff, I am aware that traveling abroad is not the perfect manifestation of the unknown, but it’s pretty close. It was a place where everyone was a stranger, and frequently there was an impenetrable language barrier. The food was new, the streets were confusing and we were without the comfort of knowing that regardless of what happens we would be at home in our beds by the end of the night. I had discovered a part of myself that I had never been aware of; I am adventurous, and, at times, even fearless.

After my adventure, I was ready to go into “The Real World.” I had a pretty piece of paper attesting to my five years of higher education and was preparing to move into an awesome apartment in Burbank. Why Burbank? Because that was where I was going to make my dreams come true. I could go to acting classes, write at home, and (hopefully) be surrounded by other creatives who would connect with me instantly and help me navigate this journey toward success. Only, that’s not quite how it worked out.

When Reality Steps in.

I had finished setting up my apartment, with whimsical world traveler decor becoming a common theme. The only thing left was to go back home for some last second summer fun and return to my new home with my beloved pooch in tow. Sasha (named of course in honor of Queen Bey), was a sturdy, spunky and ridiculously affectionate Cairn Terrier. To save you the time from googling it, she was a “Toto” dog. She provided me with an endless supply of love and laughter through her sweet little kisses to her habit of rolling onto her back the second I entered the door. Some day soon I’ll dedicate an entry solely to my love of her and the truly miraculous bond that we humans share with these amazing creatures. But for now, I’ll begin at the end. After seven years of her being the last thing I saw before I went to bed and the first I saw upon waking, I had to say goodbye. Since she first came into my life, I loathed the cruelly short life-span of dogs. I would calculate in my head how old I would be when she most likely would pass and imagine what my life would be like at the time. I would be in my early 30s, married, maybe already a mother. I would think, ” Man, that’s going to be a really hard year.”

Instead, I was in my early 20s, recently returned from Europe and greatly anticipating the next year of my life. I was watching Les Mis in the living room with my mom when it happened. Sasha had gone out the doggie door at some point, presumably to prance around the grass as she always did and mark her territory (she was quite masculine that way). As the end credits began to roll I got up to call her inside. When she didn’t come running right away, I thought nothing of it, because she often would become obsessively captivated by a squirrel or some other critter. The first moment of panic came when I realized I couldn’t hear the faint jingling of her collar. I instantly clamped down on the fear and told myself that maybe she dug a hole under the fence and was in our neighbor’s yard. I held onto that belief, especially since their dogs were uncharacteristically loud and aggravated. With flashlight in hand, I began to walk the perimeter of our yard to see if I could determine how she had gotten out. As I neared our back fence-line the unyielding clarity of the LED light landed on Sasha. Sounds and words I did not consciously choose to make exploded from my mouth as I backed away and mom and dad came running outside yelling “No! No! What happened?” Somehow I ended up on the couch, sobbing and repeating the same word over and over. No. No. No. I had never been so unselfconscious when crying in front of someone else. I sobbed, I screamed, I punched the couch cushion.

A quiet, remote part of my brain still functioned. I felt like I was floating above, a spectator to my horror and disbelief. I saw myself contorting my face in a hideous representation of my loss. I saw mom trying desperately to comfort her daughter while she herself was devastated. My first semblance of control came when dad came back inside after moving Sasha and putting her somewhere safe for the night. Safe is a weird term to use here, as she was already gone, but he knew the importance of protecting what was left of her. Realizing what he had done, what he had forced himself to see and do broke my heart. He loved her just as dearly as I did and the thought of him seeing her like that and not being able to run away as I had brought me back into my body. I was no longer drowning in my own emotions. It still felt like I was, but I kept my head above water and took in the pain that my family was feeling. They were there with me, mourning with me. The true testament to their empathy was that they didn’t waste time and effort saying “It’ll be okay.” They formed a shield around me with their hugs and said, “I am so so sorry. Candace, I am so sorry.”

That was the longest night of my life. I didn’t sleep for a second, and the minutes crept by like hours. Some may not understand this level of grief over a dog. I hope to change that, or at least give you some understanding, when I get around to that entry. For now, I’m just looking back on the past year since then. I have lost several months from the grief-struck blur I was living in. Instead of tackling my new adult life with zeal, I was overcome with loneliness.. My apartment felt empty and uninviting without Sasha there to greet me; her bed and toys I had yet to hide from sight taunted me with her memory. Suddenly, this new town was no longer exciting. It was scary. Not only did I not know anyone in the city, but I also was met with unfamiliar faces at home. My security blanket and constant companion was not there to distract me from the unfamiliar territory and all of the confidence I had acquired on my trip to Europe had fled me.

It has now been just over a year since I lost Sasha, and my life is nowhere near where I had thought it would be.  I am now back in my hometown as my rent was raised astronomically. My extreme desire to avoid house-hunting and going on awkward “make sure my roommate isn’t a psycho” coffee dates are totally fine with that. I’m back where I was before I  started this journey, but I’m not at the beginning. I am changed. I am stronger from my experiences, even my grief (don’t let the tears fool you) and I have found my love for life again.

This isn’t what I planned, but I’m going to make it work. No more being intimidated by the Mark Zuckerberg and Jennifer Lawrence success stories. No more constantly comparing the reality of my life to the calculated presentations of success on my friends’ Timelines. I am living in the moment. I am embracing being present to my surroundings and the fascinating people I encounter every day.

This isn’t what I planned, but this is my life. I am going to live it.

~Check back here as I share my experiences, struggles, jubilation, insights and, very likely, rants (I never claimed to be perfect).~

collage sasha                                                                 London Baby!