Rage-Baking at Midnight

I recently found myself googling “substitutions for margarine in baking.” (Was I rage-baking at midnight? Maybe. Did I choose the right substitution? I did not. Did I still eat half a pan of fucked-up brownies before giving up in frustration? I did.) The point is, I was still fuming as I tried in vain to push my rage down and go to sleep. It was going to be an incredibly long night if I couldn’t figure out how to calm the fuck down. I tried some deep, relaxing breaths. In for four, hold for four, out for four. The more I focused on my breathing, the more I felt like smothering someone. Okay. Time to pivot. I turned on some calming music for sleep. You’ll be surprised to hear I didn’t feel any fucking calmer. I even tried a meditation for progressive relaxation. Couldn’t get through the first minute. This was all pointless. I got up and started pacing. I considered a second batch of brownies, this time with a different substitution – and that’s when it hit me. Why aren’t there substitutions for traditional mindfulness practices? More specifically, cunty substitutions for mindfulness. I sat down and started to write: 

Deep Breathing – maybe one of the most recommended regulating practices, popular because you can do it anytime, anywhere. 

Cunty Substitution – say “Fuck you, motherfucker!”  Also can be done anytime, anywhere.

Yoga – an intentional way to move energy through your body. 

Cunty Substitution – Rage dancing. Different music, different movement, same result.

Gratitude list – a great way out of a negative headspace is to focus on the positive.

Cunty Substitution – Spellwork. Direct your negativity with purpose. (Not all cunts are witches, but all witches are definitely cunty. IYKYK.)

Brew a cup of tea – Peppermint, chamomile, or even earl grey. The ritual is as soothing as the tea itself.

Cunty Substitution – Chocolate. A lot of it. (Although if you are baking, I recommend you have the correct ingredients.)

Guided Meditation- a traditional guided meditation can be calming.

Cunty Substitution – Mindfulness for Cunts meditation. Try one, you’ll see the difference!

This was as far as I got before the timer went off for my brownies. (Yes, I made the second batch, don’t fucking judge me!)

What ended up quieting my rage that night was a combination of stuffing my face with chocolate, screaming “Fuck you, motherfucker!” and writing our Mindfulness for Cunts meditation on fueling your anger. I highly recommend it – minus the first half pan of brownies, obviously.

What about you? What are your favorite cunty substitutions?

Sweatlodge

You may wonder why a pasty red head with extreme heat sensitivity and a decent case of claustrophobia would even consider participating in a traditional Costa Rican sweat lodge ceremony, but I was at a point in my life where I was trying to say yes to new experiences. A life-long over-achiever, I was reimagining the pace of my life. I was ready to embrace the zen.

Also, I was assured by my friend that this would be an “easy one—for beginners.”

I started picking up on the seriousness of the occasion after about three hours of preparation in the blazing sun. We weren’t anywhere close to starting. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying the process – gathering all the materials, digging the hole where the hot stones would go, building the fire that would heat the stones. Meanwhile I was sweaty, dirty, and irritable, and starting to question whether I belonged in this space.

To alleviate my concerns, I approached one of the native healers in charge and asked, “If it gets too intense for me, how do I respectfully leave the ceremony?”

She responded with a calm voice and peaceful smile, “If your body is telling you to give up, we ask that you push past the physical discomfort.”

Yes, yes, of course. Challenge yourself. I smiled in return. “Right, but I’m saying what if you reach your limit and really can’t continue?”

She was still smiling but her tone was firmer. “Your body will tell you to leave, but that’s all ego. We encourage you to push past ego and connect with spirit.”

She clearly was not understanding my question.

I tried to be a bit more direct. “So, I have low blood pressure and I don’t do well in heat. What if I’m about to pass out?”

No sign of a smile now and her voice was stern. “Of course you can leave if you have to, but if you do, you end the ceremony for everyone.”

Wait, what the fuck? How did this go from “namaste my soul sister” to “don’t fuck this up for the rest of us”? I was momentarily stunned, but I quickly recovered my composure.

OK, bitch, I thought, game on! Time to stop seeing this as a collective soul cleansing and see it for what it really was – a competitive endurance event. And I wasn’t going to lose!

By the time we dropped to the earth and crawled into the lodge, I was in full ego-mode. “Don’t tap out, don’t fuck this up, you got this bitch!” was my inner mantra. Instead of letting go of my ego, I clung to it. It’s the only thing that kept me from tapping out during the 2 plus hours of torture I endured with the 13 other slimy, stinky bodies inside that sweat lodge. And when we all crawled out covered in our own filth, tears and snot, all I could think was, “Fuck yes, bitch! You did it!”

I glanced over at the spiritual healer and gave her a smug smile. She bowed her head in defeat. The Zen people around me may have been experiencing the bliss of death and rebirth, but nothing could come close to the euphoria I felt from WINNING!

And that was the day I discovered I was more cunty than zen.