Motherhood & Yoga
Yoga crept up on me in my early thirties. I had always been active as a child, I studied dance at University, I ran half and full marathons in my twenties. I had told myself for years that yoga was too slow and that if I only had an hour in the day to exercise I wanted to sweat… not ‘just stretch.’
It was becoming a mumma that changed that perspective, along with most other perceived ideas I had about life.
As for many my journey to parenthood had not been a linear one, pathed with happiness and sorrow in equal measures. I have been blessed with three girls, two here on earth and one looking down over us – keeping a close eye on her sisters!
Bringing small people into the world will change things. And whilst this was largely for the good, along with the intense love I felt, accepting the imperfections, the chaos and the uncontrollable changes in my life, completely floored me. I was hard on myself; judgemental of my parenting, and critical that my body had not protected my lost child or then returned my body to its pre babies abilities and appearances. My desire for personal perfection was tiring, mentally consuming and damaging.
Becoming a mother floored me but is was yoga that got down there with me, embraced and nourished me, slowly lifting me back up and continues to carry me through to a more loving, kind and compassionate life. It has made me a better mumma, sister, daughter, wife and friend. And crucially, yoga has made me a better friend to myself.
The first time I stepped into a yoga studio I immediately felt at home. The smells, the sounds, the rituals which would become so familiar. There was something intuitively connecting me with the space. It was as if I had been there before, as if I never wanted to leave. I felt supported, I felt seen, I felt safe.
Half way through the class I cried… like REALLY cried. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion. I had two under two at home after all… or perhaps it was in that moment I felt something move, something shift. The more I dropped into my body and out of my mind the more the tears came. It was a sweet release from the perceived pressures of motherhood that I was carrying around, the pain of loosing a child and the ‘just keep going’ for everyone else. It was the acceptance of what is… right here, right now.
And so it started. I felt drawn to my mat everyday. And the more I showed up for yoga the more I was able to show up for myself. The more I showed up for myself the more I could REALLY show up for those around me. Yoga has become my friend, my constant in the chaos and at times my therapy. It felt very personal and raw for many years as my body and mind continued to shift through layers of emotions and learnt behaviours. Even now, I still find myself crying in some classes, but it no longer surprises me… the body is an amazing vehicle for moving through energy and I love how I feel after a good cry.
Yoga is a practise… and so is being a parent. We are all learning, growing, adapting… and some days the wheels are going to fall off… and that’s ok.
How we pick ourselves back up, show kindness to ourselves and others is the testament to this practise, not the striving for perfection or the Instagram version of it. Self compassion is the most amazing gift we can give to ourselves, and yet at times the hardest to find. It takes practise.
A mantra I adopted many years ago now and often say to myself when the critic inside my head tries to creep in…. “You are doing your best… that is enough.”
Namaste my friends. I hope to see you on the mat soon.
Bri
IG: @briwringe