After a long, hard slog balancing work, life, heartbreak, love, more heartache with a 6 month yoga course, I left my fellow students basking in the sunny July weather, clutching the folder, within my yoga teaching certificate lay. In truth, I felt neither elated joy nor relief. In fact, I was refilled with something I had felt only upon finishing my degree in Fine Arts. A mixture of anxiety and pressure bubbled forth and whispered callously in my ear “What next?”. This same “What next?” had previously led me to try and create art only to be faced with a creative block that has pretty much not since shifted, and for a long time, filled me with I guess a bitter self loathing… what was wrong with me! Why couldn’t I create anymore? etc. etc. And now, teaching cert in hand, tension creeped up my spine as the tiny voice whispered “What next?”.
It’s not that I don’t, or didn’t have a plan… It’s just the way my anxiety riddled brain likes to work, to set myself up for a fall. And surely, within two weeks of receiving my cert, my brain went into absolute fucking nonsense meltdown overdrive (I’m a swearer, I apologise if this is offensive to some, but you can kindly leave and find other less sweary yogis I am sure of it). My personal practice went to shit, I kept finding excuses to not set up the classes I had in mind, my mood was low, and generally things spiralled in the way that they do to the point where my heart started to palpitate and all I wanted to do was curl up in a little ball of “everything leave me alone”. I felt that I could see the path, but I couldn’t find my way to it, and wasn’t sure it was what I wanted anymore. Was this me? Or was I the girl who had reverted to her old party hard ways in the past months since the demise of a relationship with someone much loved me? I felt like all of a sudden there were two of me… And I had no clue who or which was the real me.
But then, without warning as I stumbled and struggled with my selves, the path came to me. It’s worth mentioning that in May, after a sleepless night, I attended an early morning yoga class, which resulted in me acquiring an early early morning reception shift at Yogahome, the studio I attend. I was over joyed, sure it meant longer working days, but it was a foot in the door, a road to potentially teaching covers, I hoped. That was the first time I felt like was on the right track, that I was being pulled towards doing something. Call it fate, coincidence, or whatever you will. I work hard for the opportunity to teach – my mornings now start at 5am, my job at the studio starts at 6.30, my regular job starts 9am-6pm (officially, though sometimes it’s more like 9.30am to 6.30pm). And then one day, without warning, the opportunity arose.
By without warning, I mean 5mins before a class was due to start, I was asked to cover it. In some ways, this was the best thing for my brain, I literally did not even have time to get nervous. I just walked into the room, and taught. It was far from perfect, but it was far from terrible. In fact, it was fun. I relaxed into it. I projected my voice. Students responded beautifully to my adjustments, both verbal and physical. I asked for feedback and two of the students really kindly ventured forth to tell me that they loved the pace, and the way we held the asanas for slightly longer then they were used to. By the time the hour was over, I felt calm. The path had come to me, to say “This way buddy. Come on. You did it. You can keep doing it. Don’t give up.” Both of my selves listened. They stepped into one another to take a united leap forward. Union through Yoga. Yoga is union.