Breathe Me

This month, I've begun practicing Ashtanga yoga the way it is intended to be practiced: six days per week. As the month got started, I wasn't sure I was capable of maintaining that kind of discipline, either in general or about this practice. In the past, my efforts to implement this kind of discipline have quickly burned out. When this has happened, I've always found explanations (or excuses) for why this may be the case, e.g. I'm too busy, I'm not a morning person, going to classes is too expensive, I have kids, I don't have space to practice, I'd rather be in bed with my man, etc.

What I've never considered before is what I'm giving up by giving in to any one of those excuses. It's difficult, I think, to understand what you're giving up if you've never really experienced it, but this month, I'm beginning to learn what is gained through this kind of discipline: dedication to the self.

In terms of my yoga practice, this can be broken down into the requisite parts of what I gain from the practice, which includes but is not limited to greater strength, focus, clarity, flexibility, and release. These are important benefits to be sure, but they aren't nearly as powerful as the simple act of showing up for oneself even when you don't want to, of being in a space with yourself even when it's uncomfortable, of working through the self-talk that comes out when you are challenged, of being with the emotions that arise in a way that facilitates staying on the mat above all else, and, no matter what the experience is like today, coming back tomorrow unless it happens to be the one day per week of rest.

It's a phenomenal, fundamental change. The other day during a particularly hard practice, I realized I'd never loved myself like this -- and I'm talking about the kind of love that includes a commitment to hang in there even when things are really, really tough and I might not want to be there. In those moments, in the past, I've so often walked away from myself, seeking refuge in sleep, sex, food, drink, tv, and obsessive thoughts.

This vicious cycle is one with which we humans are oh so familiar, and we so often fail to recognize, as these lyrics from the lovely song to mark this day articulate, that we have only ourselves to blame for it:

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And the worst part is there's no one else to blame

Rather than looking at ourselves, because that's so painful and hard, we tend to look outside for someone else to fix us, save us, make us feel better:

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Which only leads to a greater separation from the self:

Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe

The radical difference that I'm exploring this month is what happens when we show up for ourselves, be our own best friend, hold ourselves, unfold ourselves, warm ourselves, and breathe ourselves, rather than asking someone else to do it for us, or doing it for someone else:

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

What happens when we do this, I am finding, is that we no longer feel small and needy. We instead feel powerful and strong and capable of taking on whatever comes into our path...