This week is one of those weeks I teach morning classes, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. I attend the other classes to do my practice Tuesday and Thursday.
From the moment I first stepped into the studio three years ago, I go everyday. Even twice or thrice in a day when I’m off. It didn’t matter when I fell ill for a year. It didn’t matter that I could barely drive. It didn’t matter I had surgery. A single day without my practice leaves me feeling incomplete. A better word is “wrecked”. I’d be fidgety and jittery; unable to finish any task at hand. I’d be in extremes; mellow one moment and high strung the next second, and back again. The inconsistency my mind reels, alongside with the fluctuations of my emotions send me on the edge. And instead of gripping my toes and feet on that edge, I plummet down the cliff.
With my practice done everyday, I gripped the very rubber on my mat and stay rooted. I am able to keep that feeling for the rest of the day until the next practice. Maybe slightly on edge briefly; but I can hold my ground for most of the time.
Consequently, missing any practice creates this panic alarm inside me, knowing I will end up in a mess. This in turn creates another epidemic… guilt.
I’d feel guilty for not going. I’d be cursing at myself for being lazy or weak. I’d be torturing myself with incredible blame.
Since I have been teaching and practicing at the same time, and having another full time job, lethargy has been creeping in my body. I haven’t had a decent sleep for the longest time. There are other issues that plague my body, my mind… my heart… but the driving force to keep going… I can sooo feel my body crashing.
One night last week, I came home after teaching two classes in the evening. Had supper and boiled some eggs (I always keep stock of boiled eggs in the fridge). I passed out watching Netflix. My son came home close to midnight after checking out the new Boston Pizza in town with some friends. He woke me up and asked me,
“Ma, didn’t you hear the eggs popping?”
I paused, jogging my dazed memory.
“Oh shit!” Rushed to the kitchen that is now covered with eggshells. My boiled eggs got fried.
The other night, I decided to have my supper in my bedroom. I got as far as bringing the tray on my bed. And that’s the last thing I remembered. I passed out. Woke up in the wee hours of the morning. Food untouched.
My vehicle was scheduled for an oil change a few weeks ago. I decided to wait and walk around the store while it was being serviced. Got tired right away after two aisles and decided to sit and wait instead in the waiting area where very comfy sofa chairs beckoned me. My phone rang, the service agent calling me to let me know my vehicle is ready. I passed out. The whole time. In the waiting area. My friend, another yoga instructor teased me when I told her the story, “You’ve become a man!”
I pass out in between texting.
I passed out watching Skyfall.
Skyfall! How could anyone pass out watching that movie?! I ended up watching it for three nights just to complete the whole film.
Such is my life these days. I have this amazing energy when I teach and when I practice. But anywhere else, I easily pass out. I know I am giving it all to my teaching, to my practice. I want to. I love it immensely. I am my happiest when I yoga here and I yoga there…
Until I paused… and listened… listened to my body.
I decided to skip the Tuesday and Thursday classes this week.
I paused again… and listened… listened to my conscience.
It has been quiet. I have been waiting for the guilt to scream at me… those other Sylphs on my left and right shoulders arguing, where I get stuck to listen in the middle.
I didn’t hear them.
I even called out to them, facing the mirror, wondering where they are.
I am guilt-free.