broken until

For a while a little over a year ago, I was broken inside. Mangled. I couldn't envision being whole again; I didn't even know what it meant to be whole again. It was the beginning to the legal end of my marriage, and I was unhappy, overweight, and certainly overwrought. I was grasping for something to ground me.

And then I found yoga.

My life changed. All the moving fragments I floated through in the course of a day seemed to diverge into stillness when I practiced. For 90 minutes 3-4x/week, I became someone else - a someone else I liked. And slowly, through continued practice I've changed. My life has changed.

My  body has changed, too. I can't thank yoga alone for losing forty pounds, but it certainly helped. And it has helped me maintain the weight loss because once I started practicing, I naturally began paying close attention to what I was using to fuel my body. I started eating more grains and less refined carbohydrates. I began to love root vegetables and spinach and squash - all foods I could tolerate before but never ones I could declare loving. I drank more tea and less coffee. I pretty much gave up bagels and muffins for breakfast and instead boiled eggs. And I ate only when I was hungry. This, in particular, was new for me. I've always been an emotional eater, but my first instinct when stressed was no longer to eat - it was to breathe.

After several years of high cholesterol, I recently had a physical, and for the first time in years, I am a healthy weight. I have normal cholesterol levels. And it feels damn good. And honestly, I feel pretty damn good in my body. Certainly, a part of me would like to have the trim, smooth tummy I had before I had my daughter. No matter how many muscles I build in my core, there will always be the mommy marks and slight rounding. And having just celebrated another birthday this weekend, I have to admit I have my moments of fantasizing about having my 24 year old physique back. But most of the time, I recognize the ridiculousness of that time-sink. I am a mother after all, and there is beauty and immense strength in that, too. And the fact that I can now contort my body in positions I could never do - at 14 or 24 - more than makes up for it!

Discovering yoga has helped me become a more patient person. Having goals and reaching them are two very different things. I never took the time to mull over the difference before. I would set a goal and immediately consider myself a failure if I didn't reach it right away. Moving through my asana, I have no choice but to set goals and gradually work towards achieving them. My body simply won't bend a certain way on will alone. Last night in class, I balanced in crane and popped into a headstand, and I stayed in both longer than I ever have. My handstand, though, wasn't working. I couldn't kick up securely, and eventually I had to stop trying. A year ago, I would have been disgusted with my body's limitations, but instead I rejoiced in its capabilities.

Yoga has given me another outlet for my relentless thoughts. I can't stop thinking. I need to know the why, the who, the what...always. It can be draining. Saddening. Maddening. I imagine for those with whom I share my thoughts, it is rather exhausting at times to listen without always having the answers I seek (lucky for me they stick around anyway). My blog used to be my only outlet, and then I lost my words. Yoga took over; it cleansed me, cleared the cobwebs. And with the familiarity of a long-time lover, I know my body - and my mind - better than I know anything.

I'm sure yoga isn't for everyone, but it saved me. The studio is the one place I feel the sense of belonging that has been missing for so many years. Stretching my body - testing my strength-  is a physical metaphor for all the other moments when I'm in the struggle with reality...except reality isn't quite as much of a struggle anymore.

Namaste.