Holding it together
My yoga mat is the venue for my self inquiries, physical challenges, and emotional cleanses. I visit it sometimes for fun, for growth, or for freedom. My mat sees the ugliest, most emotional, stressed out, freaked out version of myself.
Tears, laughter, and sweat bead off of me onto my mat.
I discover peace, clarity, and healing on my mat. I look self-doubt, anger, and fear in the eyes.
My yoga practice saves me from the trap of the excruciating stories and judgements my mind masterfully concocts. It frees me from delusion and lies that sprout out of various, nonsensical fears.
My practice transforms my body into a strong home for my soul. It facilitates healing from multiple knee surgeries and cultivates stability around my current injury.
When I miss practice for whatever excuse, there are immediate reminders that I need to get my priorities straight: take care of myself - which for means yoga to me. My patience thins, my energy feels heavier, and my husband prudently says, "Babe, have you practiced lately?" He knows. My relationships take the brunt of my poor choice to lose my practice. My awareness and attention are scattered (more than normal). My body protests: hips become tight, my torn meniscus decides to slip out and painfully lock up my knee.
Yoga keeps me balanced and connected. It has gotten me through the challenges of a long distance relationship and deployment and the heart ache of loved ones transitioning out of this life to the next. It helps my knee stay intact. It provides a mirror for me to see my own bullshit. It is the arena of the battle between what is reality and made up in my head.
Yoga is the glue that holds me together in so many ways.