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trauma

Yoga for Anxiety- Breath Work

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Yoga for Anxiety- Breath Work

Hi All!

It has been awhile since we posted- we have been working hard behind the scenes to make our website a little more functional.

Also- Big news- we are now on YOUTUBE! All of our videos will focus on how to move your body to help your mind (we would LOVE if you could view and hit SUBSCRIBE!)

Todays video is a simple video that focuses on a little grounding + breathwork. It also prompts the question- how are you breathing day to day? Are your breaths fast and shallow or long and deep?

Sometimes just shifting how we breathe can have a huge effect on how we feel anxiety in the body.

Do you have any tips or tricks for navigating your anxiety? We’d love to hear from you!

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I'm Cayla. This is My Story. Chapter 2

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I'm Cayla. This is My Story. Chapter 2

 

When I was little, my Mom told me I was what the doctors called "flop-jointed"- which essentially means that I moved like I had no bones. I could easily put my leg behind my head, do the splits, distort my body in whatever way I wanted and I didn’t feel a thing.

I used to move like I had no bones.

Now, Twenty-two years later all I am is bone.

Life can feel so sadistic.

 

Chapter 2

 

I am lying in a heated room in the middle of Montreal, drenched in sweat.

I’ve been here for 22 days. Not 'here' in this room- but here in this training where I am learning how to teach hot yoga.

I know we left off around the time I was sitting in the car, staring at the windshield.
The story may eventually loop back here- it may not.

But for now all you need to know is that the intense pain that was plaguing me in the car is still present . On top of that, I'm starting to become aware of more pain in my body, and how I have learned to live with it; sit inside it. Sometimes the pain is systemic- sometimes it shifts into certain parts of my body. Today it has shifted from my stomach and into my wrists.

This pain is deep and stiff and lingering so bad I can barely wrap my fingers around the yoga block that is strewn on the floor next to my mat.

When I was young and learning how to Rollerblade, I never learned how to brake properly. Instead, I’d hold my hands out in front of me and my wrists would snap back whenever they caught the wall in order for me to fully stop.

Up until now, this is the narrative I have been telling myself as to why I live with pain in my wrists.

Isn’t it funny, the stories we tell ourselves, in order to avoid facing the truth?

The air is foggy and thick and the longer I am lying here the more my mind drifts off and for one full minute I am mentally pulled out of the yoga room and flashback into my old bedroom where I am lying directly on my wrists.

It’s 530am and I can hear her in the kitchen. She is rustling around looking for a spoon- presumably to stir her coffee, which she takes with her every morning she works in the OR.
I am definitely not sleeping.
I’m not even half asleep.
My body is flexed the way one might hold themselves as they prepare to walk down a back alley in the middle of an unknown city.
My jaw is clenched. My right cheek is pushed into the pillow and my eyes are fixed on a streetlamp that is still lit in the dark light of the morning, just beyond our house, just beyond my window, just beyond the blinds.

All of a sudden the clink clink clink of the spoon in the coffee stops, the rustling stops, and I hear that swishing noise paper makes when it lifts off a surface and I know now she is reading the note I have written her, the bomb I am dropping on her, the family tree I am uprooting in this exact moment.

My eyes are fixed on the street lamp and, although the entire weight of my body is on my hands right now I can feel my fingers instinctively curl around the sheets beneath me.

She’s coming.

My friend that is a dancer told me you can always tell how someone is feeling by the weight in their footsteps, and the weight that is drawing nearer to my bedroom door is heavy, thumping, filled with rage.

What little feeling I have left in my arms drains out of my body.

The colour drains out of my skin.

I hear the door fly open.

I pretend to be asleep. Which is funny in hindsight, because the adrenaline rushing through my veins is so strong I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes even if I wanted to.

So maybe a better way of putting it is:

I am immobile and praying she won’t ask questions.

“What the f*ck is this?”.

Her voice is stern, loud, hot water about to boil over.

I can’t see her in my peripheral but I know she is fisting the paper with one hand, holding her coffee spoon in the other, a dark shadow in scrubs standing in the light of the hallway, in the small glowing slivers of streetlamp.

I don’t respond, which pushes her over the edge.

She screams my name and when I remain unresponsive she grabs the corner of my duvet and yanks it completely off my bed exposing my body- rigid, frozen, distorted.

“ANSWER ME”.

She orders me to follow her into the kitchen, she turns to exit the room, she is a dark outline in the doorway just like he was- and for one moment she is Him, and He is here and I am small and clenching the sheets and curled into a ball pretending to sleep while his 6 foot frame engulfs me.

Everyone knows he is here, but no one knows what he's doing except for me.

I am both the witness and the victim.

His arms are long, clenched, immobile, and they are stretched over the top of my head like a bear trap. I feel his breath slink across the back of my neck and into my ear. I crank my head to the right, I cross my arms into an X, I roll onto my wrists to try and keep him out. I search the room for something to land my eyes on so I don't have to look at him.

There is a stationary bike in the corner. It's white and blue. I focus on that.


There are cut-outs in the white wall, they are filled with Grandmas jewelry. It's ornate, elaborate costume jewelry and I imagine myself wearing it. I focus on that.


I climb out of my body, and all of a sudden the next few moments aren't moments, they're polaroid's.


Bike. Jewelry. Him. Window. Door. Darkness.


I focus on that.


He has evil rushing like water underneath his skin. When he touches me my skin crawls and hours later when it's still crawling I question whether his evil has become a part of me.


I easily detach from my body now.


Some nights I just stand in the shower until the hot water runs cold. I stare at the droplets of water running down the white tile. I lose track of time, of feeling, of space. I learn to avoid mirrors because I see the grooves of his face in my jawline and it reminds me I will never fully be free, because blood is thicker than water.


In a small moment of email confrontation he denies everything, his girlfriend speaks up, says he was only acting in love.


"Do you have children?" I type, my blood boiling.


"Allow me to demonstrate on your children, exactly how he was being loving" I reply. There is sarcasm rushing off my tongue, vengeance running through my veins.


I press send. I dry heave into a garbage can.

 

I feel small, I am still. The air is foggy and thick. I have grown used to seeing the shadow of Him exiting the door.
My Moms voice, panicked, angry, prying, calls to me from the kitchen.
I grab my duvet off the floor. I wrap it around me, walk out the door and down the flight of stairs.


I'll probably need therapy for this, I quip

 

I am lying on my yoga mat. The air is foggy and thick.

I take my left hand and use it to bend my right wrist back and forth, back and forth. It's thin; frail. Exactly as I would expect it to be after sleeping on it for 15 years. The pain is pointed, raw, inscribed. I keep bending.

It's slow and methodical at first but then it builds into hysterical flapping because maybe if I bend it enough the stories will release from the fascia, pour out of my bones, I'll be free.

My teacher Dina- her footsteps are soft and kind and she comes over to me as I'm lying in Savasana the way a Mother moves to protect her cub. She places her hand on my knee, I deflate, I begin to cry. Tears spill out of me the way my sweat is pouring off my skin- quickly and without permission. 

This is the first time I have allowed myself to cry. In my entire life.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she mouths.

 



 

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I'm Cayla. This is My Story. Chapter 1

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I'm Cayla. This is My Story. Chapter 1

My Mom describes this time- the time when my body started to shut down- the time when I was slowly dying- as sand running through her fingers. She still tears up talking about it. "I thought I was going to lose you", she says.

"Why do you want to talk about this Cayla? Lets talk about something else".

Which raises the question: Why do I want to talk about this?


A handful of years ago I found myself seeking help from a renowned Psychiatrist in the city. I was severely depressed; the lowest of my low. After learning my life history he then asked me if I thought I was a sad person- that if perhaps, I was born sad.

I said No.

I told him I had a happy heart; that after everything I had gone through, I still believed that I was joyful in my soul.

He told me he had seen hundreds of people come through his office who had experienced similar things to what I had experienced, yet very few answered the way I did.

"You're special" he told me.
"I mean that. Don't forget it".

His words buoyed me. They still do. Even as I type this I feel the resonance of his words.
I know I am now coming into a space where I need to begin to speak to what I have gone through.

So why do I want to talk about this?

Because it helps me step into my own power. It reminds me I am resilient.
I also want to talk about it because I want to be a lamplighter.
I want people to know they never walk alone.
We are all in this together.

My story will be told in however many Chapters it takes.


This is Chapter One.


I am lying on an examination table. I'm wearing size 00 jeans. Do you remember the store Sirens? That's where my jeans are from, because Sirens is the only place I can find that actually carries size 00 jeans.
I glance around a room I can describe only as being bland and distasteful, like the inside of a worn-out purse; everything around me seems muted and stained.
The light above the examination table is flickering across the top of my abdomen which is concave and exposed. I run my fingers across the red creases I have developed on my skin from where my hip bones have begun to forcefully jut through.
It hurts.

But, like much of the other hurt I have experienced,

I have simply gotten used to it.

I have lost count as to how many specialists I have seen up until this point. 15 maybe? 20? It doesn't matter. Everything is blurring together.
The only thing you need to know about this examination room and this examination table is that I slip out of my dissociation for one split second and cognizantly realize how frail I am while the doctor starts to yell at me. He raises his voice in a way I have not heard a medical professional do before. He throws his hands in the air.
"You look like you belong in a concentration camp". His statement is curt and lined with contempt, as if I am withholding important information from him.

"I can't help you".


A sharp feeling of angst tidal waves inside me, subsides, then disappears entirely. I gather my things, put my shoes on, walk out to the car in silence. My Mom follows.

We sit in the car staring at the windshield.

We have been here before.

However, for the first time since I began to fall ill, I watch my Mom completely unravel. She panics, then she too- starts yelling.
Everyone is fucking yelling.
It's the type of frantic anger that is rooted in the fear of watching your daughter become a shadow of who she used to be.


In the beginning it seemed to be stress induced. I was in my last year of high school and I was juggling a lot. I was on student council. I was acting in two plays. I was an honour roll student. On top of that, I was also applying to universities.


Well- this is what was happening on the surface.

I had experienced stomach aches my whole life but this year in particular they had begun to intensify in a way that was almost unbearable. The pain was sharp and sudden. It would come in waves and then linger. During these periods it hurt to move. It hurt to eat. The pain became as frequent as breathing. 
The evening I graduated everything culminated. I left mid-dinner, ran straight for the back of my Mom's car and curled into a ball clutching the sides of my body. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

After that night the weight began to fall off. Rapidly.

I began University that Fall, 30 pounds less than what I was when I graduated highschool.


Now, we sit in the car staring at the windshield.
It is 2 years later.

No one has answers.

My hair is blonder, thinner, and it's falling out.
I've dropped courses, lost my period, lost friends.

My diet has changed significantly in order to try and figure out what food is causing the sickness,
but nothing seems to help. Everything I eat hurts me. I begin to associate intense pain with food in general so I just stop eating.
I drink Ensure in an attempt to keep my caloric intake high so I have enough strength to make it from one side of campus to the other.
Sometimes I take my hands and walk them across the wall while I move between lectures, because I can feel my legs on the brink of collapse. The last time I do this a woman rushes up to me.

"Are you ok?", she gasps. I'm too weak to respond.

I am a medical perplexity.
I remove my clothes for countless doctors so they can examine my bones, my frame, my skin. I repeat my story so many times it has become scripted. Emotionless.
They scan for Cancer, test for AIDS, tell me I am lying, tell me I am dying.

I sit in the car. I stare at the windshield.

Now, I hear everything but absorb nothing. It's a defense mechanism. I'm numb.
Every so often my mind actually grasps what is happening and I experience extreme panic. Yesterday, I stepped onto a scale.
It reads 78. I grab onto the towel rack as the room suddenly starts to swirl around me. My heart thumps so hard inside my chest it feels like my ribcage might shatter. Am I having a heart attack? Is it fear? I can't tell. I grab a towel, wrap it around my body, crawl into the kitchen and begin to frantically eat a bag of chips.
I eat the whole bag of chips.
Waterlogged, bloated, terrified, I crawl back onto the scale.
78.
Something flips in my mind. I round the number up to 80.
It's fine, I tell myself.
You're fine.

But the truth is
I am disappearing.


I know how sick I am but it's not registering in the ways it should be.
I am living in the shallowest part of an ocean, forcefully trying to protect myself from what is happening at a deeper level.

We sit in the car staring at the windshield.

The best specialist in Toronto can't even help me.
I am trapped inside my body.

My Mom turns the car onto the highway.
We talk about the weather.

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Fuck Panic Attacks

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Fuck Panic Attacks

 

A lot of my posts are filled with positivity, light and love because that is how I choose to live my life. I'll never apologize for that.

However, amidst positivity, light and love I also believe in experiencing the full range of human emotion. I believe in being angry, in throwing crap when you want to, in putting boxing gloves on and going hard as a motherfucker, in crying, in raging, in saying shit and fuck, and in having complete and utter breakdowns. I want my life to be beautiful, open, and honest and allowing myself to feel my feelings and let it out is part of it.

I've also been reflecting on how important it is to continuously find your voice and use it; to be honest with yourself and the people around you. To surround yourself with people that bring out your best qualities. To lean in to those supports and stand in what you believe. To find those parts of yourself that need nourishment, and to love them hard.

So I'm using my voice today to shine a light on something that I'm sure a lot of people struggle with, but never talk about: 

Three hours ago I had an enormous panic attack

I have panic attacks resulting from something called Complex PTSD. If you don't know what it is, Google it

If you do know what it is, Thank you for educating yourself

If you have it- you're a complete badass, lets talk.


I've worked hard enough on myself to the point that I don't meet all the symptoms for CPTSD anymore- but I do (often) still have panic attacks. Quick background on the panic attacks I have- they are completely debilitating. I have them because I experienced violating, horrific, coercive things at the hands of multiple people I trusted, in private and public places I thought were safe across a span of 20 years.

You wanna know what happens when that happens?

Emotional and Physical Fuckery.


When trauma happens across a span that wide, as means of survival the person will sometimes naturally learn to disassociate- this is what happened with me. This isn't necessarily a bad thing- Disassociation can be immensely adaptive for a period of time because it allows that person to endure the unthinkable and unimaginable (which I did).
But-it can also pave the way for panic attacks (and a lot of other wondrous things) later on in life.
The nature of trauma and its effect on the body is so intricately layered that I won't begin to get into it right now, but- for a quick example:

Under extreme stress/trauma the hippocampus in the brain can fail to process what is happening as an integrative whole.
As a result, the sensory elements of this experience are left unintegrated and are therefore prone to return during flashbacks when some sensory elements of the trauma are activated.

So- for example- just say someone sexually assaulted you over and over again for twenty years in a damp parking garage that smelled like gasoline.
Ten years later if you walk through a parking garage or smell gasoline that could send your body into a panic attack even when you're safe and nothing is happening because those sensory elements are re-activated

Are you still with me?

Anyways. If you have panic attacks, you know what I'm talking about.
If you don't- Be thankful because no amount of swear words stacked together will even begin to cover how much they suck.

So in the aftermath of this panic attack, I want to say that I am pissed off.
I'm pissed off because today- right now- it feels like I am so different than everyone else.

Scratch that- I actually feel different than everyone else all the time. True story.

I feel like I'm living in a bubble, and even though I can see people and interact with them I can never truly connect with them or let them in. It's a very painful, heartbreaking feeling that is hard to put into words. And let me say that this is a feeling I have- its not necessarily my reality. It just feels this way sometimes. But this is a thought my brain goes back to often. Knowing the stats on trauma survivors, I know that I am not alone in feeling this way.

However, at the same time I am determined to not live my life in this bubble. How can I view things differently? How can I push back. How can I keep fighting? I get knocked down every day and I always choose to get back up and I'll never stop doing it because I'm stubborn. 

So in lieu of this I want to say to you: Instead of continuing to wish that you weren't different- trauma or not (because we all have our shit)-what if you embraced it?

You are who you are and the difficult experiences you have gone through have given you a lot of pain.

But I truly think that surviving that pain and learning how to rise above it is what turns people into extraordinary humans.

The things I have gone through have been excruciating- but living through them and learning how to speak to them and navigate them has been life changing and empowering on a cellular level.
For example, I don't live my life on the surface anymore. My painful experiences have given me an immense amount of depth.
My scope of empathy and understanding is so much larger than the average persons.
Because I have seen and felt immense pain I also now have the space to experience an otherworldly type of Joy (which I actually have). What I have endured has given me an inner fight that can't be taught or learned- which I am so, so thankful for.

The list goes on. And on the hard days I have to write this list out to remind myself.

This is how I choose to embrace my different.

I want to encourage you to do the same.

Let me tell you that I whole-heartedly believe that your Pain is your Power. What we survive, shapes us.

Step into that. 

Step into it and keep moving forward.

 

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How to Combat Negative Thoughts: U-Turns

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How to Combat Negative Thoughts: U-Turns

How many of you have had days where you are overwhelmed by your own negative thoughts?

Sometimes I have my moments. Sometimes the moments last hours. Sometimes the hours turn into one day, or two, or many. When I was younger I used to think that these days would just 'diminish' as I moved into adulthood. What I'm realizing now is- maybe these days and thoughts don't diminish (necessarily); we just get better at navigating our way through them; at working it all out.

As I'm typing this I am reminded of something very honest my friends mother shared with me. After her daughter- my friend- passed away, she described how, when she was shopping, she would naturally go to the girls section to buy clothes for her. Or, she would reach out for her favourite kind of cookie, or find herself going towards the phone so she could call her. She told me how she now lives her life U-Turning. She is still out of habit moving in that direction and going to do those things but now has to U-Turn back.

I find this story so heartbreaking on so many levels (partly because I adored my friend and I love her Mom so much) but I also find it quite profound when applied to something like negative thought patterns.

I grew up as my own worst enemy. I had no idea what self-care looked like, never mind self-love. I had never given thought to activities or things that made me truly happy. And most important, I had absolutely no idea how to speak kindly to myself. In trauma therapy I came to learn that the large, overpowering voice in my head that was mean, terrible and rude was not my own. It was a combination of voices that I grew up around all rolled into one- and I heard that voice (those voices) so often I believed it was my own. (Has this happened with you?)

When I tell people now about completing trauma therapy and the biggest changes I have made in my life, I often talk about how my days are FILLED with U-Turns. Filled with them. My mind still defaults to "I'm not good enough", "I'm useless", "I'm not strong enough", etc. but the difference is now when those thoughts occur, I catch myself after and I U-Turn it in a different direction.

Something I've been doing recently is writing down the opposite of what the negative thought is, putting it on a piece of paper and then carrying the paper around with me all day. For example- if the negative thought for the morning is "I am useless", then I write down "I am worthy, capable, and powerful". Then I read it over and over and over and over and over and over. Sometimes I get pissed off and throw my pen at the wall. Sometimes the negative thought wins in that moment. But I'm trying. And the more I do it, the louder my internal, true voice gets. WHICH I LOVE!

I was reading the book 'You are a Badass' (JEN SINCERO I LOVE YOU) and she also talks about how we mentally beat the shit out of ourselves every day. So we should write down a ton of positive affirmations and read them out loud even if we feel like they aren't true. Because you know what? The other negative stuff we are telling ourselves isn't true either. So if we are gonna tell ourselves something it may as well be Positive.

Anyways- point being. I want to encourage you today to pay attention to your internal dialogue. Can you catch yourself? Can you send your thoughts in a different direction? Can you show yourself some love and kindness? How can you U-Turn today?

Let me know how it works out for you. Lots of Love xo

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Feelings, Feelings, Feelings, Tacos, Feelings

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Feelings, Feelings, Feelings, Tacos, Feelings

This F word does not top my list of favourites. Namely because, after all this time, feelings still feel foreign to me (this is a lot of unintentional alliteration and I'm totally digging it, LOL)

Here's the thing. I grew up in trauma. As a result, for survival, I would naturally disassociate. I remember explaining to my Mom that I often felt like Dexter (sans the killing people part of course)- knowing in certain situations that I should feel something or act a certain way but just feeling empty on the inside.

I've worked my ass off in trauma therapy to begin to emotionally regulate myself. Now, here and there I do feel things. Sometimes super strongly. Sometimes not at all. But as time moves forward there are still MANY days where I'm like Damn ya'll, how do people move through life FEELING THEIR FEELINGS? It SUCKS AND ITS REALLY HARD SOMETIMES. Can I get an Amen.

I think that the most brave, honest thing we can do is to stand in what we are feeling, to own it, to nurture it, to not judge it, to sit with it, to not beat it with a stick, to not run away from it. In lieu of the first FEEL TO HEAL post I've compiled a list of things that have helped me with navigating the Feels and may also help you too.

1)  Find Yo Safe Space - Life can be hectic. And hard. And can feel like it's moving at 1000 miles an hour. I used to work 14 hour days in restaurant management, 5-6 days a week and often times the thing that saved me was knowing I could come home and sit on my yoga mat in this corner nook that I made in my apartment. I made that nook so freaking cozy, and warm and inviting and then I didn't let anyone else come into my nook because it was my space to let all my shit out. Create a safe space that you can come back to and see what happens. (And maybe your safe space isn't at your house- maybe its at a SoulCycle in the studio. Maybe its in your woodshop. Wherever it is- whatever you want to be- just make it and claim it as YOUR PLACE).

2) Create space, then Sit with it. Release it- I completed my yoga training with this bright, beautiful soul named Amelia from Winnipeg. She gave birth to a baby boy and then lost him shortly after. She has been super honest and open about how this process has changed her and her life- and I remember reading about how (and I'm paraphrasing because this was awhile ago) she decided to set aside 30 minutes every day to just sit with it all. I remember her saying that even on days when she felt ok, she would still take the 30 minutes. I also really like this example because I find the compartmentalization helpful. For ex, When the feels came up and I was running a service on a 14 hour day, I would set it aside in my mind and know that I could come back to it later during that 30 minute time frame when I was home. Things are different now that I'm out of the restaurant industry but there are still days when I come home, lay on my back, stare up at the ceiling and just feel it all (without any vices) even though it hurts like hell. I know this sounds fluffy but its not. I've battled my demons in this space. Its hard. But you got this. You are strong enough to sit through anything.

3) Stop Beating the Shit out of Yourself- I know, I'm swearing a lot in this post. But I'm serious. Stop beating the shit out of yourself. This is the HARDEST thing to change but will have the greatest impact on your life. This is a super slow process and it takes a lot of mental work but it is definitely possible. Let me tell you this. You are entitled to your feelings. All of them. Your journey is different than everyone else around you. What you say matters, what has happened to you matters, how you feel about it matters. Whatever asshole voice in your head is ridiculing you about the way you are moving through something or dealing with something- that voice does not belong to you. And you can trump that voice by re-learning a new one. I promise. I've done it. But it's about re-training your mind. Writing encouragement letters to yourself works. Writing cheesy positive stuff on post it notes works. Keeping a journal and writing hilarious stuff in it works. Anything. Just start small. Find ways to encourage yourself. Even if it feels unnatural, you gotta fake it till you make it. 

4) Surround Yourself with Good People- My life HUGELY shifted when I began to look at my close relationships and see what was serving me and what wasn't. I had to get honest with myself. Support systems are EVERYTHING. And I know that I can't move through all this stuff on my own. I need encouragement and guidance from strong, empowering, kind women. I need that. We aren't hard-wired to do this on our own anyways. No one is. I know now that on days I'm struggling with the Feels, I have a crazy awesome support system of people I can call to say Hey. I'm having a hard time. Can you listen for a few minutes? Can you offer me some Love? Everyone deserves to feel supported and loved and accepted and I encourage you to seek this out if it is missing in your life.

That's it, that's all for now. I never know how to end these. Feel your feels and eat some tacos BYE! xo

 

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Eating for Energy: Maca Energy Smoothie Bowl

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Eating for Energy: Maca Energy Smoothie Bowl

For todays post, I've paired up with Alyssa, founder of The Running Kitchen! Alyssa and I both agree that our lives began to shift when we began to pay attention to what we were eating, and how we were choosing to fuel our bodies.

Below she shares a little bit of her story, and what she likes to eat when she needs a pick-me-up:

I’ve dealt with weight issues my entire life. I’d feel upset after eating too much, and then I’d feel even worse when I stepped on the scale or looked at myself in the mirror. So after years of struggling, and practically starving myself to maintain what I thought was a healthy weight, I finally decided to make healthy eating and staying active a priority.

Even though I eat (mostly) healthy and regularly workout, there are times when my mood still feels completely off. Between balancing my career in advertising as a copywriter, starting The Running Kitchen and finding time to meal prep and workout – I’m often exhausted and completely stressed. That doesn’t even factor in spending time with friends or family. I wanted to find a natural way to easily help boost my mood, and give me a bit more energy. That’s why I decided to give Maca a try.


Maca is considered a herbal adaptogen. That means it can change the balance of your hormones, adapt to stress and help balance anxiety. I find that it has a nutty flavour, making it perfect to add to smoothies and other treats. Since it’s rich in magnesium, copper, iron, potassium, and B12, it’s also a natural energy booster.  


Maca has actually been around for thousands of years. It’s pretty interesting that warriors consumed maca in ancient times to boost stamina before going into battle. So you can imagine how beneficial it could be if you’re training for a race and need to increase your endurance, or just looking for some extra energy to prevent an afternoon slump.


I’ve created this nutritious and energy-boosting Raspberry Maca Energy Smoothie Bowl full of fruits, veggies, healthy fats, and of course maca. It’s perfect to help re-fuel post workout, first thing in the morning, or just as a snack. I hope you enjoy it!


*It’s recommended to take smaller amounts of maca when you first start using it, so around ½ tsp. is a great way to start.

Raspberry Maca Energy Smoothie Bowl
INGREDIENTS
- 1/2 Cup milk (I use homemade cashew coconut milk) 
- ½ Cup frozen cauliflower
- Handful frozen avocado
- 1/2 Frozen banana
- 1/2 Cup frozen raspberries
-  1Scoop vanilla protein (I use Genuine Health vegan fermented protein) 
- ½- 1 Tsp. Maca
- 1 Spoonful almond butter
Suggested toppings
- Granola
- Chia seeds
- Coconut flakes
- Fresh raspberries
- Hemp seeds

INSTRUCTIONS
Add all ingredients into a high-speed blender and blend for 2 minutes or until fully smooth and creamy. Add your favourite toppings and enjoy! 

smoothie bowl.JPG

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