Today I woke up with a little tingle in my chest, with a little hallow space right in the middle, like a bulls eye to be targeted by some saintly emotion of self-love. That little hollow ache is the kind that asks you to pull the sheet over your head and say no thank you to being an active part of the bustling world outside.
Today I forced myself to yoga, in other words I got dressed, showed up, rolled out my mat on the floor and thought, "Oh God what am I doing here." I have no desire to move my body or to breath into this space of blah.
It had been several weeks since I'd done yoga. My body felt reluctant, non-flexible and weak. Surprise, surprise! Could it be mirroring exactly how I felt emotionally and mentally? After one too many Vinyasa flows I could feel my body trembling in pose, it was hard to hold, to stay with it. Back down to child's pose, exhale, and then the floodgates opened.
I spent the last 15 minutes of my yoga classes silently bawling, tears rolling down my face, but not a peep. I realized when I hate doing yoga the most is when I need it the most. It connects me to myself, even when I don't want to connect, or I'm scared to connect because there are feelings there other than happiness.
I stretched out all the kinks, got the blood flowing, let go of some old tears and left that yoga studio feeling renewed. There is only so much chocolate, wine and self-deprecating behavior to numb the not so fun days, and then there is you being your own best friend, saying, "Get you ass out of bed, get on the mat and let go, be and accept."
