This essay is a product of the Collegeville Institute’s Emerging Writers Mentorship Program, a 9-month program for writers who address matters of faith in their work. Each participant has the opportunity to publish their work at Bearings Online. Click here to read essays from the Emerging Writers Program.
“I’ve had an anxious day,” I say as my husband and I prepare dinner.
“How long has it been since you’ve done yoga?” he asks.
“Three days,” I say, both annoyed and comforted by being known.
Downward Dog pose by AndiP for pixabay
It’s consistent: an anxious day occurs after three days without stepping on my mat. My husband was the first to notice the connection between yoga and my anxiety levels. I began an almost daily yoga practice in May of 2020. It has shifted over these years, and I now practice yoga “on and off the mat,” but that three-day rule still applies. My breath has changed because of yoga; so has my posture and strength.
I know that yoga is good for me. It’s one of the most important tools in my anxiety management. And yet, there are days I don’t want to do it. There are days it doesn’t “work.” And then there are those days when I arrive on the mat a ball of tension, and simply by moving my body in certain ways—folding and lengthening, twisting and opening—something shifts and I’m able to melt in the final resting pose. Sometimes you have to fight your way to what’s good for you.
≈≈≈
Arrive at Your Mat
Welcome to your mat. Let’s all take three deep breaths together. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Soften the tension that has come with you to the mat today.
It isn’t softening. In fact, it’s tightening. Right there. In my chest. Making these inhales and exhales harder. I am not softening. Everything—every muscle in my body, every thought in my head, every feeling in my heart—is rigid. I am crashing against myself and breaking.
Standing Series
Press the floor away from you as we push back through bent knees into downward dog. Hips up to the sky, heels working toward the earth. Engage the abdominal muscles. Drop the shoulders.
My head swims. Upside down, looking at my belly. The earth that should ground, my hands and feet pressing into it, only undulates. I spin and swoop.
Lift the right leg and step it forward for Warrior II. Lower the left heel toward the right. Hips face toward the long edge of your mat. Really root down through the pinky toe side of your back foot. Externally rotate your front thigh, and keep the knee and ankle stacked. Cartwheel your arms out to a tee. Gaze over the middle finger of your right hand. Don’t forget about your left arm; keep it engaged. Feel the strength of your legs as they hold you here.
Triangle pose by AndiP
Strength? No. I am wobbling. Everything is rotating, internally and externally. Spirals upon spirals. The only thing that feels right is that I am, indeed, a warrior, fighting myself, my own brain, threats real and imagined. Constantly battling. Constantly trying to stay upright in the midst of a brain intent on inventing chaos. But maybe these legs are strong. I am still upright. Upright but wobbly. Suspended between fear and fierce.
Twists
Come to the floor. Stretch your left leg out in front of you; keep it active. Take the right foot to the outside of the left thigh. Press into the earth with the big-toe mound of your right foot. Lengthen your spine. Take the right hand behind you on the floor. Inhale, and as you exhale twist to the right. Your left arm can wrap around your right knee or you can take your left elbow to the outside of the knee. Inhale to lengthen; exhale to deepen your twist. Gaze gently over the right shoulder.
My stomach is in knots. Churning. The anxiety swirls within it. Nothing about this is gentle. I am holding on for dear life. The knots are hard to undo. The more I try to tease them apart, the tougher they get. I try to breathe space into the fear, to soften it, to let it loosen, but my body doesn’t trust the release. It must remain braced. My mind doesn’t trust the relief of rest. It must race through all possible scenarios or fixate on one terrifying one. I am bound to this fear. It will not release.
Release and come back to center
Reclining Poses
Lay on your back, knees bent, soles of the feet on the floor hip-distance apart. Then hug your knees into your chest. Draw circles with your knees, gently massaging your lower back.
Child’s Pose by AndiP
Yes, yes, this feels right. A hug. A tight ball. Safe. Snug. When was the last time I wasn’t afraid? When was the last time I touched this body with tenderness, gentleness, and love? When was the last time I let it rest? I resist the release, the rest, the softening, and yet, I crave it. This tight ball reminds me of the unfurling my body needs.
Take the circles in the opposite direction.
Reversing course. Wind and unwind. My anxiety is constant motion. One day it moves a certain way; the next day it changes. And I change with it. The shifting ground under me is a metaphor, not reality. But I shift too, with it, balancing and rebalancing. Constant.
Savasana
Release the legs and stretch them out on the floor. Arms can rest by your sides or hands can be on your belly. Imagine yourself sinking into the mat as you rest here in corpse pose. Observe the breath. Let the practice settle in you.
The silence of rest rings in my ears. The mat holds me, and under it the earth. Miles upon miles of earth. Someday I will be buried under the earth. This is, perhaps, the crux of all my anxieties: I myself will be buried; so will those I love. Corpses. In his Rule, St. Benedict tells his monks to “keep death daily before your eyes.” It’s a dictum I tend to avoid. Except when I lay here in savasana, which is nearly every day. I still fight it, but I’m learning to rest into it, to let my mind play with the idea of sinking into the earth, eternal rest, and the transience of life.
Slowly come back to your breath, your body, the room. Wiggle your fingers and toes. Stretch. Then gently roll over to one side and come up to sit. Place your hands on your heart.
I have returned to myself. Reborn. The waves of fear crashed over me. I was overwhelmed. And yet, I am still. Here.
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Beautiful essay! I’m a longtime yoga practitioner and resonate with every word! I love the line “Suspended between fear and fierce.”
Throughout the piece you take us through the ways in which our bodies manifest both our humanity and the grace of remembering our divinity. Thank you for sharing your words.
Om Shanti.