When I was the novice, sleep deprived mother of twin babies a friend would constantly reassure me that things would change and I would not always be the diaper changing zombie that I was. Only a few years later, as we shared constant parenting trials and tribulations, she confessed to me that what she had not told me was that while things would change, there was always going to be something…some phase the kids were going through, some challenge. Now we‘re potty training…adjusting to Kindergarten social dynamics…getting driver’s permits…now we just found the illicit substance in our kid’s room. You survive one phase to move to another. Somewhere between losing the first tooth and pre-pubescent mood tremors (theirs, not mine) I discovered yoga. I should say that I knew about yoga from friends and neighbors but it took me an inordinate amount of time to embrace that I might find some benefit in the practice. Guess what? Turns out having someone remind you to breathe is a good thing. Spending an hour in a quiet place rediscovering how your body serves you (or doesn’t) is also good. Savasana rocks! And after a few months of adjustment it really sank in why all these neighborhood moms were religious about getting to yoga class. The yoga was…keeping them sane. OK, liberal quantities of Chardonnay help as well but they went to classes and then took the yoga with them when they left. They felt like more centered, capable, competent moms. They started reminding themselves to breathe. They didn’t sweat the small stuff as much. Their bodies and their minds benefitted.
I will never be an advanced practitioner; I watch in wonder at those who can twist themselves into pretzels that balance upside down on their fingertips. But I am forever grateful that I have a found that small little rectangle of personal real estate known as my yoga mat…and that the mat is not in a fixed place. Just like our Javamamasana, I can take the yoga to go.