Diary of a Postpartum Yogi #1: Getting on the Mat

I roll out my mat in the center of my living room.

I used to practice asana three to five times a week. I used to relish in the familiarity of the shapes, the fluidity of my breath synced with movement, the familiar faces in my regular classes. But loss has carved out much of my zest for practice (and life).

Ironically, I own a yoga studio, so it’s kind of my job to attend class sometimes. Still, I feel the resistance. It is not the wise resistance of an inner boundary, but the frenetic resistance that bubbles up when I know something is good for me. I remember that when I meet this resistance, it is an indicator that I am making a meaningful change. 

I open my computer and sign into the class. Zoom boxes appear on my screen with the faces of students chatting about gardening, grandchildren, and politics. I am too nervous to turn on my camera, so I gather my blankets, bolster, and blocks and listen quietly.

I go to get water and I hear my baby crying. The worried thoughts enter. Maybe it’s too early for you to set aside this time. He’s only 3 months old. What if he needs you? What if you’ve changed too much and your body is too weak and your mind too frazzled and your heart too broken? I return to my room and I see my teal mat lying there like an invitation. “Come sit,” she says. So I sit. 

It is my first yoga class of the New Year and Sara Rose teaches on the monkey god Hanuman. Hanuman is known for his great and mighty acts, but Sara reminds us that his true strength comes from his vulnerability. To complement the courage and empathy of Hanuman, we flow through a sequence of core strengtheners and heart openers. 

I glide into plank and gently engage my ab muscles. My belly is soft from two pregnancies, and I inwardly thank it for carrying my children. 

I stand in mountain pose, clasp my hands behind me with the help of a strap, and open my chest. The ache of this life lives in my shoulders. I thank them for carrying the burden. I feel their strength, and I invite softness with my breath. 

Somewhere amidst the movement, the worried voice has softened and a wise, loving voice emerges. You are here. You are practicing yoga whether you step on this mat or not. You are worthy of this practice.

At the end of class, Sara reflects, “Yoga can be a place where we bring all of ourselves, including the difficult parts. The darkness is the shadow made from our light.”

The darkness is the shadow made from our light.

My mind rests in this truth. All that I have lost and all that I grieve tells me what I love—that I have loved.

I am not “better” for practicing asana today, and yet I would not have this insight without the container of this class. I thank myself for rolling out my mat. I carry a sweetness within me that allows me to hold my baby, my partner, all that I love, knowing full well that the shadow of loss—past and future—will always be there. But for a moment I remember that the shadow comes from deep love, and this makes it bearable. 

– Lindsay