I cried in my yoga class last night. It was during savasana, and I had an eye pillow covering my eyes, for which I was thankful. Not an all-out bawling, but a steady stream of tears. It had been an emotional practice.
I’ve been processing some pretty heavy stuff recently, and it showed up in my asana practice. Throughout the 90 minute class, I felt a rising wave of emotions, overwhelming to the point that I had to step out of class to take a deep breath. Balances that usually came easily to me, such as high lunge and parvritta parsvakonasana (revolved side angle), had me stumbling. I didn’t even attempt the peak pose, hanumanasana (the splits), and chose to rest in balasana (child’s pose) instead. I felt very vulnerable, like everyone could see exactly what I was feeling inside.
What the hell, man?
Yoga’s not just a good isometric workout. I’ve heard it called “moving meditation”, and what I experience during asana is definitely in line with that. Focusing on the breath and moving my body into each pose allows me to be in the moment, experiencing the present. My sustained practice has built a foundation of self acceptance and letting go. It felt as if my mind, body, and heart were processing my shit simultaneously. Hooray!
As terrifying as it was, I let it happen. And man, did it feel great afterwards. I felt a little more at peace, like pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together on their own, without my over-analytical mind forcing a logical solution.
I’m a big fan of letting things marinate, connecting with your True Self and trusting that it will take you where you want to go. Even when I feel fear and vulnerability, I try to soften towards it instead of pull away or harden against it. Not easy. Not pleasant. But it works wonders. And yeah, sometimes that means you cry in your yoga class. Or on the bus ride home. Or when a stranger smiles as you pass them in the street. But the catharsis that results from openness, curiosity, and loving kindness towards yourself is AWE-some. So grab a tissue, give yourself a high-five, and let the healing begin.