Scrooge and the Super Blood Wolf Moon

When I was 7, before moving to the ATL, we lived in what is now known as the Santa Clarita Valley (about 30 miles outside of LA). Back then it was just a bunch of tract homes, with steep valleys and plenty of open yellow mountains to be explored.

One day I was out adventuring with our kid crew, when we arrived at a massive wall. Each of the kids started throwing their backpacks over and climbing the deteriorating cement brick wall, as if it were no big deal. But it was high. And I was little. Not just in age (being almost a year younger than everyone was normal for me), but I was at least a foot shorter too. And even worse, by 7, I already believed that athletic feats were not my forté. School? You bet! Public speaking? My fave! Being funny and making friends? My speciality!

But climbing a massive brick wall? So. Much. Fear.

As each kid made their way over the wall, including my best friend Kimmy, I grunted, groaned, and scraped my hands and knees unsuccessfully trying to get up and over. I couldn’t do it. “Come on!” they shouted. “You can do it, Nat!” they screamed from over the wall. But I couldn’t make it more than a few feet up without falling back down. Each time I tried, I grew more frustrated, and more embarrassed.

I finally resigned.

The group went on, but my sweet, loyal, best friend Kim came back over the wall to be with me. “It’s okay, Nat,” she said as she tried to console me.

But it wasn’t okay. I was humiliated. I was defeated. And I was resolute that this would never happen again.

So a new wall went up. One in my mind that that told me:

“You are not athletic. You are not strong. You are not able to do what the other kids can do. You shouldn’t even try- you’ll just embarrass yourself again.”

It manifested in weird ways over the years, mainly in the form of a block against exercise. One that I’ve continually struggled with.

So last night, when I knew that the super blood wolf moon (whoah) could help me in eradicating those old, limiting beliefs, I said a little prayer and went to bed. And here’s what happened.

I had a dream (fitting for MLK day, I know). I dreamed that my husband and I separated, but were still living together. In this NIGHTMARE, he also began dating someone else. This fit and incredibly active woman (of course) was very sentimental too and started putting up momentos in MY home of their brief but apparently very fitness-focused time together. Pictures of them working out together, pictures of them sweaty but happy- pictures of THEM living an active life that should have been US living an active life.

Well... I woke up this morning like Scrooge on Christmas Day! It’s not too late! I like to workout too!

You think I’m gonna let some make-believe fitfluencer steal my husband in my own house because she’s active and I’m not?! OH HELL NO!

So as I rushed to put my workout clothes on and get to the first workout class I could find on MindBody, my husband called from the shower, “Whatcha doing?!” I shouted over the running water, “I’m heading to hot yoga honey. I love you so much!”

Then, when I arrived at the studio, this was the mural was painted on the wall. Of. Course.

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Through my health-related challenges and mold issues, I’ve been learning true gratitude for my health. But this. This was the swift kick 🦵 in the pants that I needed. Not just to get to the class. But to finally release and let go.

So here’s to harnessing all of the power of this first full moon of the year. And here’s to letting go of all of the old BS stories that either never did, or no longer, serve us.

Can you relate at all? What’s an old story you’re ready to release?