Last night, I put Orson to bed and then left the house for the evening for the first time since he was born. What did I chose to do with my evening? I went to yoga. He hadn’t settled that well, which was unusual going by the last few weeks, so I left the house feeling a little apprehensive. I drove to the studio and struggled to find somewhere to park, so only just arrived in time. It was packed and I had to squeeze my mat into a spot right at the front by the teacher. With everyone already settled on their mats I was clumsy, dropped my water bottle, struggled to unroll my mat. By this point, I was feeling stressed, anxious and wondering why the hell I had decided to venture out on a cold, wet, rainy January evening to take my first ‘proper’ yoga class in 9 months.
And then it started. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath, and then another.
We moved slowly. At times I forgot there was any one else in the room.
The teacher, guided us through the most wonderful class. She was measured, patient, grounding. I eased out my limbs, bits of me feeling so different since I’ve become a mother. Yet, so much feeling familiar.
The thing is, I haven’t stopped doing yoga. I just do it differently now. The month before I became pregnant I undertook a ‘Warrior Challenge’ in which I went to a yoga class every day for a month. I’d been a member of my studio for the past year going to a few classes a week. I was reading yoga books in my spare time. I’d undertaken a meditation course and was meditating every morning. I was perfecting arm balances, strengthening my transitions and embracing the eight limbs of yoga. I was attending retreats and workshops. Yoga had started to become my life.
And then, I fell pregnant. I went to pregnancy yoga classes a couple of times a week. I embraced the changes to my body, connected to my baby growing inside me, strengthened myself for childbirth. It opened me up to mindful hypnobirthing, natural birth, my strength as a woman. I did more reading, I attended yoga birthing workshops, and I was more in love with yoga than ever before.
Before Orson arrived, I had planned to keep my own personal practice going by attending a few classes a week at the weekends and in the evenings. But that’s just not how it worked out for me. I had a gorgeous baby that I was breastfeeding on demand, who would only sleep if I held him in my arms. He needed me. The intense early weeks and months of motherhood don’t allow space for much, let alone a yoga class. As the months have gone on, I’ve felt further and further removed from what I thought was the most important aspect of my yoga practice.
So, getting back on my mat at a yoga class last night, was amazing. But, it also made me realise that it’s not the most important part of my yoga practice anymore. I don’t at the moment have time for lots of classes. I can’t make retreats and workshops. My yoga books have mostly stayed on the shelf. I am however practicing yoga every day. I’m practicing in how I chose to live my life. I’m more mindful than ever before. The moments that I have to roll out my mat at home feel even more precious. I go to mum and baby yoga and I may spend 80% of the class looking at my little boy but it’s such a special shared experience. And you know what, that hour that I had in class last night, I relished. I was present the entire time. And I finally listen to my body. Really listen. It has changed so much that it needs respect. I need to get to know it all over again. I make it a priority to take a step back and deeply breathe. My yoga practice now is a gift, not a right.
So, in so many ways, yoga is life to me even more now. It’s every moment of every day.