Yoga has been an integral part of my life. A constant feature in every single one of my days. For years, and years, and years.
Recently, this has changed. It started with a few days of not rolling out my mat. Then it became a week. Two weeks. Then I realised that – if I wanted to be honest with myself – I was only really doing my practice at most once a week.
I got worried. Yoga has helped me manage moments of crisis, has sustained me in times of emotional turmoil, during uprooting moves to the other side of the world. Before childbirth. After childbirth. Why had I lost this connection?
I kept worrying. What was wrong with me? The practice had always worked so beautifully.
Then I realised that nothing was wrong. On the contrary, these were all signs that everything worked out just fine. Why?
Yoga had become such a fundamental part of my life that I wasn’t even noticing when I was practising. Slow, mindful breaths while waiting at the supermarket checkout. Consciously relaxing the face while waiting at the traffic light. Recognising signs of impatience or anger – and breathing through it. Acknowledging anxiety – and breathing through it (instead of reaching for the chocolate bar, or the glass of wine!).
When all this dawned on me I was stupefied by how blind I had been. Yoga was working for me now – and I didn’t necessarily need to roll out the mat to find that connection. I was able to find it in everyday life. Not all the time, but sometimes.
After months of agonising over my “lack of interest” in asana practice, I finally understood that the yoga was working now. It was working because these were moments where I didn’t need the sticky mat as a vehicle to connect with the practice.
It was such a marvellous, beautiful discovery. Nothing was wrong with me, or with my life. On the contrary.
Did anyone have a similar experience? How did you deal with the situation?