Yoga (and okay, motherhood,) are gifts that keep on giving. Although yoga comes with less whining. Usually.
I used to think it was ironic that my serious commitment to regular yoga practice came AFTER I gave birth to my first child. At that point I was drowning in exhaustion, anchored to an erratic feeding schedule, and an hour from my practice community. How could I possible do yoga NOW? One particularly complex baby hand-off found me wrestling out of a sports bra in the parking lot of an Atlanta yoga studio, anxious to feed the baby, desperate to get back to my mat.
The undeniable reality is that if I want to practice, I am going to have to do it myself. The increased degree of difficulty forced me to confront my commitment to practice and recognize that I was going to have to dig that well ALONE. No encouraging teacher, sangha(community) of like-minded seekers, or motivation of a 10-class pass were going to be enough. And my attachment to a “full” practice was immediately challenged by an infant whose sleep was (and still is,) erratic at best. Although I did it, for years I fought against what seemed like lonely exile. Eventually it revealed itself to be the greatest gift. Well, after the kid, I suppose…
Yoga practice can be lots of things: Respite from the daily grind, focused search for insight, a sweaty catharsis, a retirement plan to keep the body mobile and healthy, habit, sadhana(spiritual discipline,) or even escape. Having the wide view that encompasses practice for all those reasons and more makes it sustainable. I do it because I want to. At the root every other reason is only that. And that is enough.
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the vine: YOGA 