Big, Heavy, Yogic Tears (The Best Kind of Tears)

My mom has been dealing with some major health issues that recently took a big downturn.

​On Monday morning, I awoke at 6am to a few inches of snow covering the ground and yet another upsetting text about my mother's medical issues. Charlie Mae was home from daycare and Ben was home from work (it was a holiday), but I'd made plans to go to an 8am class so that I could move my body and release some of the stress that had been building up over the past few days of bad news.

I spent all morning trying to get out the door--dealing with a whiny toddler who didn't want me to put her down, cleaning the snow off of my car while she cried from the window, and eventually getting her into her snow gear to come out and "help" so she would stop breaking down while I worked. Ben was moving slower than I would have liked and in the last few minutes of trying to get out the door, I realized that I was probably going to be a few minutes late to class, which I hate.  

I drove carefully on the snowy, still unplowed streets to the studio and as predicted, arrived a few minutes late. I rushed up the steps and into the building (this wasn't my first time being late to a class since becoming a mother), and could already hear the instructor's voice calling out the first few movements. I threw my stuff down, ran to the restroom (I am pregnant, after all!) and headed toward the studio door to sneak in--only to find that the door was locked and the class was full.

The past 2 hours of trying to get out the door to do something for myself were all for naught. 

Teary-eyed, I walked back to my car. I got in, sat behind the wheel, and started sobbing. I drove home, sobbing the entire way. I called Ben (sobbing) and told him that I'd been too late and missed the class. Of course he felt really bad, but I think he was also surprised by my emotional reaction to the situation. 

As I continued to cry uncontrollably, I quickly realized that my immense sadness was not about arriving 3 minutes late to the class I wanted to take. It was about my mom. It was about feeling overwhelmed and hopeless in the face of our current medical system and at attempting to navigate my mother's illness from afar. It was about experiencing so much loss in the past year and feeling like there's still so much more loss headed our way in the near future (despite the new life headed our way, too). 

When I got home--eyes red and face splotchy--I pulled into the driveway, said quick 'hellos' to Ben and Charlie Mae (they were out shoveling the snow), and went down to the basement to do a home practice. I needed to move my body and process my emotions and this was the only way I knew how to do that. I didn't want to practice in the cold basement next to the dead cricket carcasses and dustballs of God-knows-what (we really need to Konmari our basement!), but I needed to be completely alone. 

I started practicing and found myself sobbing again. Each downward facing dog made me cry harder. I felt sorry for myself. I felt sorry for my mom. I felt sorry for my brothers, for my extended family, for my aunt and cousins who just lost their husband and father, for all of the people dealing with chronic illness and mental illness and loss. 

I've never been a crier in yoga but this was different. I thought the tears would never stop. 

But I kept moving and breathing and over the course of the gritty hour-long practice (in which I picked more than one dead roly-poly off of my mat), I eventually found that I felt better and didn't have any more tears to cry. At one point Ben brought Charlie Mae down to see me and although I was *slightly annoyed* that they couldn't leave me alone for one freaking hour while I was having a meltdown, I was also able to laugh at her trying to do warrior 2 with me and then ride me like a pony as I transitioned from child's into down dog. 

After my practice, I re-emerged from the basement to face the rest of the day. Miraculously, I'd let go of my disappointment at missing that morning's class and my frustration with Ben and Charlie Mae for making me late enough to miss it, and I was able to just be in the heaviness of what's happening with my family and accept that things are hard right now (without anymore breakdowns). 

And as messy as it was, all of this simply reminded me why I love yoga so much and why I started teaching almost 9 years ago; from the very first class that I attended, it gave me a sense of relief and peace that I'd never accessed before.

Now, 11 years later, it gives me that same sense of peace--even though my life has gotten much more complicated and my problems have gotten much bigger, heavier, and more life-altering. 

As I think back to yesterday, I realize now that it was actually a really good thing that I missed that class. I needed that gigantic cry, that release, that time in the basement dealing with my heavy emotions on my own with just my big, yogic tears for company. 

So...if it wasn't already abundantly clear, I want to say once more that I am so thankful for the tool that is yoga. I really don't know where I'd be today without it. [Still crying in my car, perhaps?]

PS. I know that my blog has been pretty intense lately. The reason is simple: the past year has been one loss/challenge after another. It just has. I thought it would end in 2019, but silly me (!!!)--this is simply how life works. Sometimes when it rains, it pours...and pours...and pours. But we'll get through it and there have still been lots of rainbows amidst all of the storms. Thanks for sticking with me.