Namaste

“Let your movement be directed by your breath,” a mantra murmured by Yoga instructors and one of the few directions I find impossible to follow. I am always inhaling when everyone else is exhaling, drinking in as much air as I can and then quickly expelling it audibly into the room as if I am constantly sighing. Even with my frustration with my uneven breath, I was dedicated to my Yoga “practice,” as they call it, prior to motherhood, making sure I attended at least one hour and half class weekly, not letting my cardio obsession rule my physical fitness program. I knew it was good for me, even though I sometimes felt like a fraud because I could not embrace the entire practice the way I thought I should. I was supposed to “quiet my mind” and just focus on the task at hand. I tried, I really did, but my mind swirled around each twist. I used my outward breath as a disguise for muttering my to-do list aloud. I thought about what kind of shake I would get after class, how much time I would use for school work and could I possibly squeeze in a manicure that day. On heavier days I would only be able to think about all the thingsI could not do. But, even with all that mind clutter, I was able to have many successful practices, feeling strong and accomplished as I left the studio, triumphantly swinging my Yoga mat bag over my arm, sipping on my protein shake.

I attempted to resume my practice while we were in Tampa, on my own, off the balcony of our rented furnished apartment. I only managed to squeak out one solo session, but it felt good and I was eager to get back into a schedule once we returned home and began our new life. I was excited yet nervous for the first class back. I was not sure how much strength I had lost, or how my flexibility had become almost rigid from my time away. Instead, I had trouble with other things, right from the moment we sat cross-legged and prepared for the practice. I just could not “quiet my mind,” nor fill it with mundane lists. I tried to push through but my muscles barking during a downward dog could not silence the new noise in my head. My mind flew away into darkness during pigeon pose and screamed during eagle. I left that first class early, unable to lose myself in the breath, and did not return to the yoga studio for months.

More recently, I have begun to incorporate Yoga back in to my life. I remember now what I love about it. It is a balance of strength and stretch. That, perhaps, is my murmured mantra. I needed to be reminded of that today and maybe everyday. Awareness, authenticity, generosity and gratitude have always been the things that I have strived for but are often the things that get lost in the messiness of my mind. “Let your inhale match your exhale,” the instructor coaxes in her spiritual librarian voice, reminding me that finding balance does not come easy, but it is worth the practice.