A couple of months ago I decided to start doing yoga every day. I needed some way to address the anxieties surrounding a car accident last year, a persistent asthma episode, and a bunch of other issues having to do with family members -- not my stories.
I've kept it up, even if it's just ten minutes before I collapse into bed at the end of a long day. (Are there any other kind?)
I started off with the goal of doing a couple of sun salutations every day, and mostly I've kept that up, and I've also found myself drawn to forward bends and pigeon pose.
Neither of these is a difficult post -- no fabulous one-armed balances requiring great strength. But they're difficult for me because I'm not very flexible. I have to accept myself in the poses as I can do them -- just be, just let go. Let go of the ideal form of the pose, let go of tension, let go of anxiety in the various places it takes hold in my body.
Some things have improved, others haven't. My shoulder is a little better after a cortisone shot, and I'm remembering to breathe more while driving, instead of turning myself into a string of little knots. I haven't recovered fully from the last asthma episode, though I'm certainly a lot better. The unbloggables haven't changed much.
But my level of anxiety is down. Perhaps I've just gotten used to a whole new level of stress, with that curious adaptability that we humans have. Perhaps the yoga is doing something good.
There are days I'm tempted to skip it. But I keep at it, because if I miss one day, it is likely to turn into a string of days. Who knows what another few weeks or months might bring?