It is early, at least for this morning resistant night owl. I enter the room of women. The candles which my friend has lit adding calm to the already relaxed vibe. I reposition the mat. I stretch towards ‘downward dog’ while peeking to make sure I am doing this thing called yoga correctly.

It’s hard for this writer to shut down her mind on a good day let alone through the midst of a divorce. Amazingly, this meditative stretching unclutters the internal noise.

First, let me say yoga is not the mild sport of stretching which I envisioned it to be. There is a reason for Adam Levine’s hunky arms. Okay, all of hunky Adam.

I continue as my yoga teacher instructs. I struggle. My arms buckle under the weight of my body. There is conscious awareness of my lack of strength.

Why do we over-exercise our minds and under-exercise our bodies?

Throughout some of the best of times of my life, I worked out four days a week and wore a bikini. I know, don’t judge. I could actually pull it off a few years ago or perhaps, anything goes at the Jersey Shore. Regardless, I took care of my physical being while my emotional being was good.

I feel an elevated awareness of my entire physical presence. I twist into each pose and am forced to utilize all of my parts even though body fights against it. 

There has been a contradiction to my approach to divorce healing. Of course, I realize this and have all along. Obviously, it’s difficult to achieve optimum emotional health while your body is physically dragging you down. Nonetheless, ask anyone who has suffered the trauma (yes, trauma) of divorce and they will attest the wine workout to be the most strenuous exercise whence tears replace sweat.

I think back to the beginning of my divorce, my internist actually suggested yoga. 

“Yoga?” I protested with a laugh. “Actually instigating more quiet time for all these stressful thoughts???? That doesn’t seem like a very good idea!”

I collapse. I am relieved my body can align itself with the gloriously flat floor. I close my eyes and listen to the calming meditative words of my instructor. I am caught off guard. The others in the room that I intently observed for fear of doing ‘it’ wrong and of course, for embarrassing myself, have disappeared.

I am transported to another place and time. I am six years old the cool grass beneath me gazing upward. The world seems limitless. It seems exciting. It seems hopeful.

At the same time, there is a peacefulness. A quiet this writer’s mind has been searching for.

Turns out this yoga thing, works the way it’s ‘POSE’d’ to.

(Photos courtesy of Pexels)
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