The other day I did yoga.
It was the first time I have tried it in over a year. I am filled with so much angst when it comes to doing things. When I feel my body warm up I worry I’m about to lose consciousness. When my skin is bare I fear that allergic itch that has no outward symptoms and makes me feel like I’m going crazy like Winona Ryder in Stranger Things. When I start to move I remember how I cannot go to class and I feel so much sadness at everything I have lost. When I try to move into vinyasa I am grateful no one can see me. Then I rest into a warrior and I am home again.
I cannot do heavy moves. I cannot push myself. I cannot do anything that inverts my heart above head for over 3 seconds, which makes it awfully hard.
But I can walk to the shop. So I can stand on the mat. I can breathe. I can raise my hands to the sky, collect the sun and bring these intentions to my heart centre.
I am not at class so I can move as much or as little as I want. I can do it in my pajamas. I DO IT IN MY HARRY POTTER PANTS.
My heart rate didn’t increase. My body didn’t warm up. I don’t even know how I managed to touch my toes. Afterwards I had a shower. These are all big things.
I cannot get wet without being heavily medicated but this time I just got in.
I cannot sweat without taking sedatives but I didn’t care.
I cannot elevate my heart rate without an emergency contact nearby, but I was home alone.
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