It’s the moment I finish journaling and remember I committed to doing yoga today. It’s the ritual of rolling out my mat, and putting on my sports bra and yoga shorts. It’s sitting on the mat cross-legged and settling into stillness. It’s that first exhale, reaching forward with arms outstretched, unsure of where this time will lead me. Silently agreeing to trust the process, embrace the flow, and hold compassion in my heart.
Each day my body tells me something different. A tension in the back. A tightness in the mind. A halted breath. I bring it all.
I am learning to pay closer attention. To be mindful of the nuances in every bend. To feel when to push and when to be gentle. To accept it all for what it is.
My yoga practice is a process of self-forgiveness. It is having the kindness to view myself with softer eyes. It is bringing my awareness to the present moment and releasing judgment. It is beginning again.
This morning was a struggle. I was tired and didn’t move with the ease of yesterday. I wanted to stop. I wanted to spend thirty minutes in savasana. Instead, I showed up. Kept going. Beyond my sore hips. Beyond the fierce resistance. Beyond my thoughts chattering in their outside voices. And found my way into crow pose, the challenge I set for myself at the beginning of the week. I found my balance.