As I write this, I am 11 practices away from completing 200 in-studio yoga classes. I did not start this journey with a goal of completing 200, or any specific number of practices. I only had one goal. To not die. Sounds dramatic, I know. But that was my “why”. I had been surviving with very little activity for the one year & eight months leading up to walking into my local yoga studio on December 31, 2022. And no, despite the date, this was not a New Years resolution of any kind. That just happened to be the date I did it. I was unhealthy and my body physically ached in almost all places. Given the circumstances, I had complete grace & understanding afforded to me by everyone that knew me & so many who only knew of me. There was no shame thrown my way & never was I made to feel that I wasn’t enough. In fact, just the opposite. I was loved deeply, held up by all of the incredible people in my life, & praised for my strength & fortitude. I was shown forgiveness, understanding, encouragement, love, & grace. In an insurmountable way that is indescribable with words. But, I was unhealthy & merely surviving each day. And I knew it. I went to work & came home. Those were my two safe spaces. My best friends were wine, & our two dogs.
In November that year, I was in Mexico with kiddo number three. Working so hard each day, for her & for me, to smile, have fun & to hide the depth of sadness, longing & brokenness that I felt inside. One morning about six days into the trip, she left our room to go down for breakfast & I stayed behind to finish getting ready & then meet her. The moment that door closed, I fell onto the bed & what started as soft weeping quickly turned into a more violent ugly cry. All of the suppressed emotions found their way out for a painfully sweet release. I sobbed that morning for so many things. For my son, for the life that we all lost (his & ours), for the uncertainty of all future days, for the inability to just be present and happy with my three daughters who each carry their own immense pain, & for the fear of them losing their mother in addition to what they had already endured. Thoughts of their future day-to-day accomplishments, happy moments, struggles, basic day-to-day living, thoughts of random dinners, holidays, their potential wedding days, my future grand-kids, their life activities, and, not being a part of all things life with them all ran amuck in my head. Eventually, the crying stopped, the thoughts went back into their boxes, my body picked itself up & got dressed, and we carried on with a beautiful day in a beautiful place. Throughout that day & the next several days those thoughts (fears really) gently peaked out of their boxes on occasion, reminding me they were still there & that they were very real.
I had tried on many occasions to do different types of activities. I tried going back to the gym, walking, running, and riding my bike. I spent a fortune on a stationary bike that has become more a piece of decor in my bedroom than a piece of exercise equipment. I had even tried yoga a little over a year before this. I assigned big goals to each of these attempts. But every attempt ended up with me in tears & ultimately failing. As I would replay the visions that ran through my head that morning, & all of the failed attempts at finding my new normal, I just knew that I needed to do something & anything at all would be good. I wanted to make sure that I did what I could to increase my chances of living a long life & preventing my daughters from losing their mother any sooner than necessary. I realized that setting some unrealistic goal was only setting myself up for destined failure. And, it wasn’t even necessary. All I needed to do was incorporate a reasonable amount of activity into my life. I mean seriously, when you are doing nothing it doesn’t take much to achieve improvement! I also realized that I needed to treat myself the same way everyone that loved me treated me...with kindness, understanding, & grace. I decided on that trip that sometime between arriving home & the start of the new year, I would incorporate one hour of activity into each day. It could be anything. Walking, riding my bike, going to the gym, yoga, jumping jacks, a combination of several of those things, or something new. I just needed to do anything adding up to one hour each day. I just needed to show up. For my health. For my daughters. For my life. I think what I am most proud of myself for when making that decision is that I did not assign myself the pressure of starting right at that moment. This was year two of the holidays. I knew the Thanksgiving, Christmas & New Years trifecta was brutal. I gave myself grace to survive that time frame & start this new habit whenever it felt right for me. I just needed to start sometime in the next two months. That “sometime” was on the morning of December 31, and the “something” was yoga. A slow flow class.
When I sat down on my mat in the studio that day, I had no expectations other than to try a few classes and see if this could work for me. I also had no idea what I was doing and oddly had won the battle against the cruel voices in my head that loved showing visions of myself falling over, not being able to keep up, not being able to do the poses, not fitting in, and looking like a complete fool. I sat on my mat ready for all of it. I was just proud that I was there. I couldn't touch my toes, I couldn’t move either of my arms in a full circle, I had zero idea what a “vinyasa” was, and you can only imagine my down dog! I made my way through that practice, tears and all. I went back the next day, New Years Day. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. Very quickly, yoga, my mat, and that studio became a new safe space for me. While I started my yoga journey for the physical benefits, it was the emotional and mental benefits that I noticed first and almost immediately. For the first several months I joined practice, I cried every single time. I cried for me, for my son, for my daughters, for my parents, and with each class, I cried simply because I was there. Because I was doing it. When I was on that mat, I wasn't thinking about tomorrow, I wasn't thinking about yesterday, I was just there at that moment and that was all that mattered. It became the place that I could not wait to get back to every single day and I did everything possible to make sure I could get to a class. On the days I could not be in the studio, I longed for it. I vividly remember the day that I realized the significance of this part of my new normal and the impact showing up was having on me. My yoga instructor leading our class that day took us through the warm-up flow a few times and then, as she always does, set us free to flow on our own for a few minutes. The flowing “on your own” was always my most feared part of class because for some reason I could never remember the flow and not being guided always took me completely out of the safety I felt with being guided. I had always done the best I could but I had definitely not become friends with flowing on my own yet! On this particular day as she softly called out that we were free to flow on our own, I continued the flow & a few movements in realized that I was doing it! I was following the flow, lost in my practice, and feeling so strong. As I flowed so did the tears, with each posture my body moved me into. I was completely overwhelmed with a different kind of emotion. I was doing it. My body was moving and flowing and I realized how strong I was becoming. Physically and mentally. I felt immeasurable gratitude and humility toward my body, my mind, and my being. This girl who a couple of months prior walked into a yoga studio broken inside and out was flowing on her own and completely comfortable in her own skin. And this girl was ME. It is one of many beautiful and profound moments I have had on my mat, but will always remain the one that connected everything for me. It is a moment I reflect back to when the cruel voices in my head attempt to lure me into discouragement and self-defeat.
Now here I am approaching my 200th in-studio practice this year and for whatever reason I am excited and proud!! I have no explanation as to why 200 has me feeling this way other than at the start of the year this girl could not simply touch her toes and was merely surviving each day. Today, this girl is mentally and physically stronger. This girl can not only touch her toes, but she can yoga squat, she can warrior A, B and C, she can flow on her own, and she keeps showing up on her mat with gratitude and love. This girl is me, today. A blend of parts. Parts of me that are awakening from the shavasana they fell into on the day my world shattered, parts of me that were born that day, and parts of me that are in growth and repair. This girl is ME.
