Why I Cry During Yoga (Every Time)

“Are you a yogi?” my instructor asked upon introduction. I laughed inside myself, as it’s a type of question that I’ve been asked before. I have never considered myself a yogi, but rather answered with, “It’s [yoga] always been around.” However reluctant I have been to call myself a yogi, I have joined a studio in town and have reflected on my reluctance to embrace the practice of yoga fully.

Ever since I was introduced to yoga, I liked it immediately. The action of synchronizing my breath to the flow of movements meant for my physical and psychological well-being appealed to me. However, I have a tendency within myself to resist many things that are embraced by the larger populous (think things like: Harry Potter, all professional sports, and cruises). Since yoga has seemingly increased in popularity in the US, I actively resisted embracing a regular practice or joining a studio. I practice sporadically at home, encourage my clients suffering from trauma to embrace yoga as a part of their recovery, and have plenty of friends who both teach and practice yoga.

As I meditated on the history of yoga, I realized part of my resistance to westernized yoga. The meaning of the word yoga means “union.” This makes sense to me given the following explanation by Patanjali:  “yoga is the neutralization of ego-directed feelings, because once these become stilled, the yogi realizes that he is, and that he has always been, one with the Infinite – that his awareness of this reality was limited only by his infatuation with limitation.”

As I participate in this ancient practice, my intuition was guiding me to this wonderful concept of union. During my practice, I become aware of the limitations in my mind, my body, and in my emotions. I also simultaneously realized that I am part of All That Is. During my first candlelight practice, I found tears streaming down my face. How my body and soul longed for a union I couldn’t put into words, yet has always been at my disposal.

Another word that comes to mind often during my practice is prayer. I see my practice as a form of prayer: for myself, for my body, for my day, for my clients, for my life. As I learn to open myself, physically and psychologically, to the union that creates wholeness, I can be free. I listen to the nagging signals in my body that are praying for union. I now embrace the practice of yoga, and I embrace all the tears I cry during savasana.

If you are a reluctant yogi like I am, give it a try. You might just cry during every class, and enjoy every minute of it.

Snowstorms & Embodiment

Have you ever been travelling during a snowstorm? The phenomena is something that can test your mental and physical limits. This weekend I was the copilot with a dear friend while we traveled to Michigan, where we encountered snowstorms on the way there and back. As I reflect on how we supported each other through the journey, I was brought to my body.

How do we know when stress has occurred? Very often, we can identify this through our body signals: tight chest, shallow breathing, or a churning of the gut. I’ve been finishing an online training entitled: Toward an Embodied Self. This training is incorporating somatic techniques for therapists who specialize in processing all forms of trauma. In the training, we are instructed to pay very close attention to our clients non-verbal cues, most of which are found in body language.

When we are under acute or chronic stress, our bodies are the best way of alerting us if we pay attention. In my work with clients, many have cut themselves off from their body cues due to their trauma history. The task of reacquainting them with their body can be a slow and gradual process. What is the best way to start this process? By creating safety within the body.

How do we begin the process of creating safety in the body? When my friend was driving through the snowstorm, how did I support her? We begin to talk about and explore resources that can create a positive shift in the body. Examples could be: talking about a pleasant place my friend visited that was warm and sunny (visual), imagining stroking my dogs soft fur (tactile), listening to fun music (auditory), or biting into a crisp apple (olfactory and taste). I also read her funny buzzfeed articles (laughing heals).

When we allow ourselves to pay attention to how our bodies feel when we engage in pleasant resources, there is a shift. Where once there was tension, it has melted away. Where there was once unease, we find our breathing gets easier. We notice the contrast of our stressed bodies with our resourced bodies.

Even though Abby and I were stuck in a car for longer than we wanted, in circumstances that were less than ideal, we made it through. We both consciously and unconsciously resourced our bodies. In the processing of trauma, we are looking for the body to integrate the experience so we no longer carry the remnants of it in our fascia, muscles, and cells. We become more resilient to stress in the future. We become more embodied as a whole person.

If you are interested in knowing more about the process of embodiment, bringing safety back to the body, and more, my coaching services address all these needs. I’m more than happy to talk on the phone about how I can help. Please send me a message and we can chat!

Eclipses & Liminal Spaces

The past two weeks, I’ve been wandering within a liminal space. There are many reasons for the feeling, but the most remarkable is we have been in between eclipses. In astrology, the belief is that we open a portal into time and space when eclipses come around. Eclipses usually come in pairs, just like the head and tail of a dragon, about two weeks apart. I was born in between eclipses, so in many ways, this space is where I feel most at home. The waiting, the watching, the listening for something that is beyond my five senses.

I traveled to Boulder on the first eclipse of the year. I went to learn more about human anatomy with the fabulous staff at Anatomy Trains, to see what I have sensed as I have done energy work: everything is connected to everything else. As I spent time with the remnants of a human being, I was ushered into a portal yet again. Each day, myself and 43 other adults seeking more knowledge on the human form, would prepare ourselves to literally dissect these bodies that were donated for the sake of science and learning. Each evening, I would exit the portal of the lab to be alone with what I saw, and the amazing awe of it all.

After my return from such an unique experience, I remained within my cloudy portal. My body was heavy all week, yet my mind was racing. I’m considering a lot about my future right now, but I know that it’s not time to make any big decisions. When I feel clouded, I often will go for a walk outside to clear my mind. During my walks in Boulder, I felt into the quiet of the morning as the sun rose above the mountains. During my walk back home this morning, I was reminded why I take this time: to listen to the world. To let Mother Earth speak to me.

I suspect this is why the loss of Mary Oliver hit me so hard. I normally don’t get sad when famous people who I haven’t met die. However, Mary’s poetry always made me feel like we were good friends. A fellow Virgo, she wrote about birds, trees, dogs, and sometimes love. She wrote about everyday things, in a grounded practical voice. On Thursday night, upon hearing about her departure, I decided to listen to Mary read her own poetry. To listen in her own voice.

So as our full moon lunar eclipse takes place late this evening here in the midwest, light a candle and think about what you are waiting for. Have you been existing in a liminal place? Where is it taking you? Listen closely.