On the Mat

My intention when starting this blog was to not only write about being a mom, a wife, and a homemaker, but also about being a yogini, a teacher, and a student. Often for me, these aspects of myself are tied together, forming a colorful blur of who I am. Sometimes, though, I think it's relevant to address them separately (or at least kind of separately). I plan to post On the Mat with some frequency, the first few posts will share with you some of the early parts of my journey to where I am now. Sometimes the posts will be just about yoga; sometimes they will be about it all. I hope that you will share your thoughts with me.

So we left off in the months following my first Baptiste yoga class. 6 months or so after that first class (I can't remember the timing exactly) the studio offered a program called 40 Days to a Personal Revolution, based on Baron Baptiste's book by the same name. It was expensive, but the cost included 6 days a week of yoga at the studio, plus weekly group meetings, a journal, Baron's book, a discount on boutique items and 2 weeks of unlimited yoga upon completion of the program. I decided it was worth the investment and I signed up. the basis of the program is that it takes 21 days to break a habit and 21 days more to solidify a new habit. We'd be journaling, practicing physical asana, meditating, changing our eating habits, and changing our way of thinking through reflective journaling.

This process was incredibly challenging for me, both emotionally and physically. Yoga forces us to face our fears, our lies, ourselves…if there isn’t even an ounce of willingness if your heart for this, you stop doing yoga. Sure, you can coast through the physical practice for a while, ignoring reality, and you might even still notice some changes in your life. Eventually though, you either learn how to work through the pain/anger/tears/frustration/whatever else comes up, or you run away and never look back. I had a lot of shit that came up, and I really struggled to work through it instead of running away. “The pose begins the moment you want to get out of it.” Somehow, something kept me there, coming to my mat 6 days a week, even if I cried for the entire class (and there were days I cried for the entire class). I struggled most with my own worst demon – self-doubt. I fought my ego against forcing myself into postures that I wasn’t really ready for. I learned my true limits through injuries incurred. But through it all, I was on my mat, and even through the pain I saw how much yoga was changing my life. I realized I was gaining insight to myself that I never had before. Even on my ‘bad’ days, I already had a better sense of self than I had ever before. I was waking up.

This 40-day commitment planted a seed in me, deep in my mind, that maybe I wanted to become a yoga teacher. Later that year, the same studio began advertising for a 40 hour Teacher Assistant program. Following the completion of the program, we were offered the opportunity to assist live classes. Yoga was quickly gaining popularity in the community, and classes were packed. I couldn’t WAIT to get my hands on people! I started assisting 4 classes every week, sometimes more. I assisted workshops at every available opportunity. Suddenly, I knew what I wanted to do with my life: I wanted to teach yoga. Prior to this revelation, I contemplated law school, becoming a paralegal, or even getting a masters degree in education. I was actually registered to take the LSATs, and canceled the day before the exam because I knew that, although I was sure I’d be a successful attorney, I wouldn’t be true to myself if I took that path.

In no way did I set out to become a famous guru, but I did know that I wanted to share this gift. Later that same year, I took the (very expensive) plunge and applied for a Level 1, 100-hour teacher training with Baron Baptiste. That 8-day trip changed my life. I was finally starting to get to know myself, peeling away the layers and layers of bullshit that had accumulated over 25 years. This was only a scratch in the surface though, and I knew that. I knew I had a long and likely painful road ahead, but it was a challenge I was willing to take. The promise of freedom, confidence, and self-love was enough to fuel me, even on my darkest days. And there were a lot of dark days. Unfortunately, that is often part of the process. We do not find the light at the end of the tunnel by simply ignoring the darkness…we must walk through the darkness to meet the light. The same goes for our misery/pain/sadness/hurt/anger/confusion/etc. When we ignore these emotions, they manifest in our bodies as dis-ease…disease. The way out is through. Acknowledging where we are in life – physically, emotionally, spiritually – is the first step in growth and change. If we deny what is really going on, how can we possibly move forward? It isn’t an easy thing to accept ourselves as we are, especially when we start to see clearly and we can see the ugly parts of ourselves, and we all have ugly parts. If we focus our energy on getting through the darkness, we can make it to the light. I realized that if I held myself accountable for the things I could control (how I respond to my circumstances), and stopped worrying about the things I couldn’t control (like traffic, or whether other people liked me) then I could spend my energy constructively.

I know, I know. This is heavy stuff. So what’s the rest of the story?

I taught my first solo class on the fly (the teacher got sick and I was there to assist) about 8 months after that training. Another year and 10 months after that, I took the next step and applied to participate in Baron’s Level 2 teacher training. In between, I started teaching regularly at 3 studios, I completed another 40-day program, and I received my 40-hour pre and post-natal yoga teacher certificate. I was no longer assistant teaching, but I was starting to find my own legs. Those two years were stressful years, and the more layers I peeled away, the more shit came up for me. Although I also met my husband during that time, I was going through an extremely stressful time in my personal life, feeling stuck at a job that I had no passion for, wanting to teach yoga full-time but being unable to afford the financial consequence. I attended that Level 2 weeklong teacher training feeling distracted. I look back now and feel as if I cheated myself by not allowing myself to be fully present. A year later, I went back to Level 2. This time, though I was still dealing with stress (I mean, lets face it…there are many stresses in life) I committed to being there. The first couple of days were hard. I cried. A lot. I felt alone. I had teacher friends from home that were there, but I felt like I wasn’t part of their world. This had happened the first time around for me as well, but since I hadn’t been teaching for very long I didn’t feel the affects the same way. The second time, I opened myself up to possibility, and I felt myself finally come into my power. I started to learn how to constructively confront someone that I felt had wronged me. I realized that there was more power in owning my actions – good or bad – than in pretending nothing had happened. I was finally, finally allowing myself to shine.

I came home from that trip, and 6 weeks later I was pregnant. When I was 19, my doctors told me if I ever wanted to have children, I should probably do it soon because otherwise I would never be able to get pregnant. My Lupus had been in remission for 4 years (no medication, other than over the counter NSAIDs for 4 years!!) and I had never been that healthy in my life. If you’ve been following my blog, you know I had a healthy baby boy. Sure, I gained 47 pounds, and I had a lot of doctors appointments and my doctors were overly cautious, but I had a healthy pregnancy and a healthy baby. I got pregnant immediately. During my pregnancy, my classes exploded. First they doubled, then some of them tripled in size. Maybe its because everyone loves a pregnant woman, but maybe it’s because I was finally allowing myself to be myself. I knew that if I was going to bring a child into this world that I had to give that child the best example I could of how to live. That meant a lot of letting go. I practiced throughout my entire pregnancy. I slowed down a lot, of course, but I still made it to my mat. I taught right up until the week that I gave birth. Now that my son is almost 11 months old, I realize more and more the importance of being authentic, and my yoga practice comes with me off the mat. But by no means does this mean I’m “done.” The prize is in the process, that’s why it’s called a yoga practice, and not yoga perfect. The great majority of my revelations (and there are always revelations…we are always evolving, it is a never ending process) still come to me on my mat. Each time I take another teacher training or master class, I learn something new about myself. I start to see MY world and THE world more clearly, and I start to recognize how they intertwine. The more I get to know myself, the more authentically I can live my life. My current class size averages 10 times the size of my early averages. This is not because my classes are easy. Any of my regular students will tell you that I challenge them physically and mentally in every single class. But they are noticing changes in their lives, on – and more importantly – off of their mats. They’re excited for their practice, and they’re excited to share the changes they’re experiencing. This is why I became a teacher.

10 Months Old

Here are a few raw photos from the 10 month birthday portraits, and also some from the last week and a few from today's Nekkie Time. For your viewing pleasure. Enjoy :)

Sometimes, we don't even know why our moods change...but we go from eating

to screaming, in less than half a second. How come this is only acceptable if you're a baby?? (I know you're jealous).

It's nice to take a moment and bask in all of my glory...just like a man, I also stood at the window naked

and played with my tools.


Seriously, I was lucky I got him to look at me AT ALL during this session. And smiling? HA! Nothing I did could crack him, until I put the camera away.

**Just in case you're wondering, I do know his diaper is too big. Unfortunately, we ran out of the appropriate size, and I was lucky enough to have the next size up "in stock." A run to Target is on my never-ending to do list.

On the Mat

My intention when starting this blog was to not only write about being a mom, a wife, and a homemaker, but also about being a yogini, a teacher, and a student. Often for me, these aspects of myself are tied together, forming a colorful blur of who I am. Sometimes, though, I think it's relevant to address them separately (or at least kind of separately). I plan to post On the Mat with some frequency, the first few posts will share with you some of the early parts of my journey to where I am now. Sometimes the posts will be just about yoga, sometimes they will be about it all. I hope that you will share your thoughts with me.

When I started my yoga practice 12 years ago, I practiced sporadically to videos made by well-known aerobics instructors who were trying to cash in on the newest fitness trend. I practiced in the living room of my shared apartment or my parents' home, on carpet, on a crappy mat, without the appropriate knowledge or tools to have a clue what I was doing. The first class I attended was taught in the wrestling gym on my college campus, by someone who (I'm guessing) took a weekend workshop on "how to instruct an hour of yoga." I went a few times, but really, the classes sucked. Despite the fact that these early practices were a little rough, over the next few years I kept making my way back to the mat. Sure, I tried pilates (also from a video) but it did nothing for me. For several years I worked out in the traditional Western sense - beating myself up at the gym, lifting heavy weights and spending hours on the treadmill, bike, or elliptical. For two years or so, I even became what most would consider a gym rat. Literally, I went to the gym 6 days a week for at least 2-3 hours each day, spending an hour or more doing cardio, another hour lifting weights, and a half an hour stretching. I went to spinning 4 times a week. I ate whatever was convenient and easy, which generally meant Starbucks, pizza, bar food, and ice-cream. My reward after an exam was done or a paper was completed was a whole pizza and a pint (a PINT) of Graeters (best ice-cream EVER...Jeni's didn't exist then) drizzled with Bailey's. Seriously. The things I ate that were healthy, I ate in mass quantities. I felt like crap (I know I know, I was eating crap, but I was still only a size 8 and the heavy workouts weren't doing my body any favors), and though I was definitely strong I was puffy, stiff, swollen and constantly taking NSAIDs for joint pain. I'd never weighed that much in my life, and I felt it. Every so often, though, I would come back to those yoga videos. I'd practice a few days a week to these videos, then decide I needed to burn more calories and set myself off to become a runner or something (I really really wanted to be a runner. I wanted a runner's body, a runner's gait...I wanted a runner's long, lean legs and strong spine...but, no matter how much I ran, I never became a runner. I hate running. Seriously. I can't believe I was on the track team for two years in middle school. My failed attempts at becoming a runner have made me amazed by anyone who runs for more than 20 or 30 minutes at a time and says they like it. Seriously. If you're a runner, I'm amazed by you.)

When I moved home after college and got a "real" job, I was still going to the gym. I was even working out with a trainer. I still felt like crap. My body just ached all the time. And I was still heavy, even though I had lost some weight from drinking less and eating better. I decided to give yoga another shot, a "real" go if you will, and I did some research about yoga studios near where I lived. During my search, I stumbled upon a newer studio where the teachers taught Power Yoga, based on the teachings of Baron Baptiste. I read the teacher bios, thought they sounded like real people, and decided to go one evening after work. I got my cheap mat and my Victoria's Secret yoga pants (yes, even 8 years ago Victoria's Secret was selling yoga pants) and I excitedly made my way to the studio. The Karma Yogi* was super nice....she told me I would love the class, so I should just buy a package of classes, but if I wanted to try it out first and see if it was for me, I could pay after class. This way if I hated it, all I would lose was the drop in fee. So, I made my way into the room and set up my mat, all-in-all feeling pretty good.

That class was probably one of the hardest classes I've ever been to. Not because the poses were super advanced, and not because the sequence was tough, but because I had to deal with me. You can't hide from yourself when you're on your mat.** All the time I spent in the gym working out and that class?? It kicked my ass. I was breathing heavy and sweating like I'd never sweat before***, and I was sure I was going to vomit, or maybe even die (I can be a little dramatic, er, I mean passionate). I even spent the last 15 minutes of that 75 minute class crying. I don't know why, exactly, but it brought up some strong emotions in me that had to get out. Regardless of this experience, I remember floating out of that room after savasana.**** I was definitely buying a class package.

My memory of specifics is a little fuzzy (after all, yoga teaches us to be in the present - not dwelling in the past) but I remember deciding that taking 2 classes a week would be a great compliment to my gym regiment. The thing is, though, I noticed immediately after that first class a huge difference in how I felt after a yoga practice (free, light, and full of life) versus how I felt after a workout at the gym (heavy, exhausted, cranky, hungry, sore). After only a short time (weeks, maybe a month or two), I gave up my time in the gym for more yoga. I was practicing 4 classes each week. I noticed the physical benefits almost instantly, but I was starting to notice a difference in myself off the mat, too. While I wasn't able to specifically define it at the time, I knew I had found something special and I wanted more...(tbc)

*Karma Yogis, or Desk Yogis as they're sometimes called at larger studios, are the people (often volunteers) who help sign people into classes and make purchases of classes or boutique items.
**Just like anything else in life, there are ebbs and flows. As a yogi moves deeper into their practice, they can find ways to hide temporarily. I will delve more into this in a later post.
***Power Vinyasa classes are moderately heated, but even without heat you still work up a healthy sweat.
****Savasana, or Corpse Pose, is a finishing pose for a yoga practice. It is a resting pose.

I Think My Heart Just Broke A Little

Every now and then I think we all need a reminder that life is too short to spend it dwelling on things that really, in the end, aren't so important. Your life will not be better "when..." spend your life living, want what you have, and LOVE whenever you can.

I have a dear friend whom I've known since college. Twice we were roommates in Israel. I was friends with her husband and kinda sorta helped introduce them. I was at her wedding. I love this lady. She's also a rabbi, and a mom to 3 gorgeous little ones. She keeps two fabulous blogs, here and here. Really, you should read her blogs.

Anyway, she recently began posting on Sundays, a SuperIma (Ima is Hebrew for Mom) check-in for us Moms to connect. So I checked her blog late Sunday and, within her post, she shared a link for this lady over here. I don't follow too many blogs. Seriously, I can barely keep up with my own, but something told me to click this time. The woman had been pregnant with twin girls and ended up having an emergency c-section and lost one of the babies. I was sad for her, and thought of her sporadically over the last two days. Out of curiosity, I checked back tonight and found that she has posted the whole story. OH. MY. GOSH.

You should read it. And maybe leave her some love, but at least send her some love through your thoughts. Her entire little family needs it.

I was just saying to my husband tonight that every now and then during the day I wish our little guy, Ari, would just nap a little bit longer so that I could get a yoga practice in, or finish the dishes, or clean the bathroom, or _________(fill in the blank) but then when I put him to bed at night, when I'm sitting on the couch, I often stare at the video monitor (yes, I still use the video monitor for my 9 month old because I'm obsessed with being able to see my baby whenever I want to and know that he's in his bed where I put him) and my heart just swells with love so powerful that I can't even describe it. I listen to him breathe, watch the curve of his little body sometimes rolling around to get comfortable, and I am so overwhelmed by this love that sometimes I think my heart skips a beat or two.

In twenty years (or maybe even in 10) I'm not gonna care if I practiced yoga for 45 minutes or for 90 minutes on a particular day, or if I "forgot" to clean the kitchen floor one week, or if the laundry piles up and I have to stay up a little later to get it done, but I know my life will be better if I got to laugh/snuggle/tickle/love my son a little bit extra here and there. I know I've said something similar in a previous post, but I think we all need reminders. We're still human, even if we are SuperImas, and it can be very easy to get caught up in the day-to-day and forget what really matters.

So, my friends, start your new year by saying a prayer to whoever it is you pray to and thank them for your beautiful life (it is beautiful, after all), kiss your babies/husbands/wives/partners/pets/loves, and send a little virtual love on over to Jen. She and her family could really use all the love they can get right now.

B'Sha'ah Tovah

In the secular world, when a woman announces that she's expecting a baby, others wish her hearty congratulations, and share in the excitement - often throwing multiple baby showers, asking about names, and wondering about the gender of the growing bundle of joy. In the Jewish world, moreso in the religious sect but nearly always amongst the traditionalists, we wish the woman and her husband B'Sha'ah Tovah.

B'Sha'ah Tovah is a wish for the parents-to-be that the baby is born in a favorable hour for the baby and the mother. This is not the same as wishing them Mazel Tov, which is a wish of congratulations.

According to Jewish law, although the human soul exists before the baby is born, human life actually begins at birth, when the baby is more than halfway out of the mother's body. There are many superstitions that reflect this: we typically do not utter the baby's name before the post birth ceremonies*, we don't have baby showers until after the baby is born (though some people, like myself, have them late in pregnancy when - if born - the baby would be viable in the outside world), many do not find out the gender of their child through ultrasound (though I think this is also shifting). For some, they don't even talk about the baby much.

When I was pregnant, I talked about my little guy all the time, I accepted all good wishes with gratitude, because every baby is a miracle, after all, and I knew that every positive prayer was in his favor. Just over 3 weeks before his due date, however, I had an ultrasound that showed something less than favorable. I have Lupus, so I was considered "high risk" despite my overall health and my age. Being considered high risk, I had probably close to 20 ultrasounds (maybe more) during my pregnancy, and the 37 week ultrasound indicated that maybe my little guy had stopped growing (what?! With as much as I was eating and gaining?? We wondered how that was even possible.). Based on the previous measurement, it appeared he had gained a mere 5 ounces in 3 weeks. He should have gained much closer in the range of 12 ounces to 1 pound. Panic ensued, and I was given the option to check in to the hospital in two days, having the little man by Friday evening, or wait the weekend out and come in on Monday for another ultrasound and round of Non-Stress-Tests (NSTs). I was warned, however, that since we would be going over the weekend they wouldn't be able to monitor me for 2 days, and therefore we'd have no way of measuring his health outside of my kick counts until Monday morning.

My husband and I consulted his father, who happens to be a high risk OB/GYN. He felt that, at 37 weeks with all other indications the baby was healthy, that we should check in and get induced. So, we told very few people, made sure we had some food in the fridge, dropped the dog off with my parents, I went and got a manicure and a pedicure (hey, a girl's gotta feel pretty - even if she's 47 pounds heavier than normal and swollen from head to toe from being an incubator for 9 months), and we made our way to the hospital.

Being induced is rough. I was in labor for nearly 22 hours. Despite the fact that I had practiced yoga up through the end, and despite the fact that I felt like he was going to fall out of me when I walked, er, waddled, my little guy did NOT want to leave his cozy jacuzzi in my belly. I can't say I blame him, really...we were evicting him at least 3 weeks early**. Post birth, my body was a wreck, though I'll spare you the gory details. My baby was teeny (not nearly as teeny as they thought he was - in fact, he was a full 8 ounces larger than what had been projected just 3 days earlier) and his beautiful face was bruised from being stuck in the birth canal. After a scare in the hours after his birth (the nurses thought he wasn't getting oxygen because his face was blue, but it turned out to be the aforementioned bruising), we were in a state of new-parent-bliss.

Once the excitement died down, after the emails slowed, and in the week following his bris, I became really sad. I cried on his due date. Not because I was sad about my baby, but because I felt like I had robbed him of more time in the womb. More time to grow, to connect with me, to prepare for this bright, cold world. We found out that nothing had been wrong with my placenta at all, the measurements - which are subject to human error - were just off. I felt like I had failed at my first task as his mother: I let him be literally yanked into the world before he was really ready. I wondered how I could believe that everything happens for a reason, when the reason my baby was born 3 weeks early turned out to not be a reason at all.

I have amazing doctors. I know this, I am ever so grateful for them, and I trust them, which is why I followed their advice. But I still feel a twinge of sadness every now and then when my son is a bit behind other babies his age***, or when I look at his head which still misshapen from the suction used to get him unstuck, and I wonder if forcing my body into giving birth before my baby or my body were ready was really the best thing for us. At these times, I remind myself that I have a healthy, very happy, and gorgeously fat little boy, and that there are a lot of people who would trade places with me in a heartbeat, if given the opportunity.


I don't really think anything would have been wrong with waiting another week or even 2 to see if he decided to come out on his own, but I know that a lot can happen in two weeks, and for whatever reason, by Gd's hand this guy was meant to arrive here when he did. We have no idea what would have happened had we waited, and this is why we say B'Sha'ah Tovah. The reasons aren't always clear, but I understand the purpose so much more.

*Baby boys have a brit milah/bris, a ceremonial circumcision performed by a mohel, a person in the Jewish community who is trained appropriately (by Jewish law and, at least in the US, by medical standards). They receive their names at this time. Baby girls are given a ceremonial naming. Both are often done in conjunction with a large celebration.
**In the medical community, a generous 2 weeks past the projected due date is allowed for a "healthy" mom to carry her baby before medical intervention, meaning my son could have been born 5 weeks from when I actually gave birth.
***This is typical for babies born early, they are often behind developmentally in however many weeks they were early. Often they catch up pretty quickly, and for the most part, my son has as well.

One Week

One week from today, my beautiful baby boy will be six months old.

Six months old?! Already?!

But only yesterday he looked like this...

A tiny, skinny, wrinkly, absolutely perfect little creature that I created, carried, and brought into this world.

The day he was born, my mother-in-law visited me in the hospital and told me I would blink and we'd be celebrating his first birthday. I couldn't imagine that time would fly that fast, and yet we're thisclose to the half-year milestone, which means that next Monday my tiny little 6 pound baby will be closer to being a big one year boy old than he will be to being my tiny, little, firstborn, brand new baby.

See?! TINY!

Gd willing, this boy will someday have siblings, which means he'll be the only of our children to ever be an only child. If we are blessed with more of these precious bundles, they will have an older (or maybe even a few older) sibling running around. A sibling who will make messes, make noise, and most of all will demand my attention. The luxuries of being the firstborn can only be experienced by one...not only is everything new (not the "stuff," as that isn't nearly as important,though, for many first-time parents today, the "stuff" is all new too)...but Mommy and Daddy (and grandmas and grandpas) can give their attention to baby with very few distractions. Their world suddenly revolves around this one, tiny, brand new baby.

The truth is, of course, that six months old is not old - not by any stretch of the imagination. Six months old is still a baby. Six months old is still completely 100% dependent on Mommy for survival. My son hasn't even eaten solid food yet! But six months is a pretty big milestone.

Yoga teaches us to live in the moment. It's not always easy, and of course it doesn't mean that we will never think of the future or of the past, but it does help us to be present and truly experience our experiences. I know I have more time with his babyhood, but it is going fast. I glow with adoration, pride, and excitement each time he learns something new or discovers he can do something that he didn't realize he could do by himself. I love every second, even when I'm silently wishing he would sleep just a little longer so that I could be more rested. I am incredibly blessed to have the choice to stay home with my son, which means that chances are very high that I will be the one who is around when my son experiences his firsts. Knowing that so many will be coming very soon and very fast, this week I will take a little extra time to enjoy the sweet, milky baby breath that has already started to fade (despite the fact that he hasn't eaten solid food yet), I will give extra kisses to the velvety soft folds of baby rolls that have yet to be bruised or scratched or banged by this small someone learning to move on his own, and I will revel in the fact that this beautiful growing boy is my creation, a huge miracle that I was blessed by Gd to be a part of.

And I know that this boy, no matter what size or age, will always bring me joy, as long as I remember to be grateful for each moment in time.

Stories

Two weeks ago, while driving back from our mini-vacation in Ocean City, MD, I (out of nowhere, I might add) just decided that I was a horrible blogger. I hadn't posted in over a week, and my previous post hadn't garnered much attention. Forget about the fact that I had only recently become a blogger;

or the fact that I'm a first-time mom who's still adjusting.

As far as I was concerned, those details were irrelevant. And this was the thought that began one very long thought that listed all of things that I felt inadequate about in my life, past and present time.

Then I realized I was doing "it" again. I was stuck in a story, playing and replaying a sadly familiar tape in my mind. A tape that detailed all of the ways I felt I didn't measure up, based on judgments and nonsensical standards set by society or even by friends or family. I forget the exact statistic, but I believe that something like 90% of our thoughts are the exact same thoughts every day. So when we get stuck in these stories we are essentially beating ourselves up, over and over, day after day, just like a bully.

Sometimes we don't even realize we're in a story. Because of the frequency with which we "hear" them, we often don't even recognize they're going on again. They just manifest in our bodies as tightness, discomfort and dis-ease.

Furthermore, the stories don't always appear to be negative. Sometimes, we even think they're positive - almost like affirmations.

"I am so much skinnier than she is."
"I lost the baby weight a lot faster than my sister."
"I drive a much nicer car than that guy."
"My yoga practice is so much stronger than his."

The thing is that even these types of thoughts have a negative effect on us. You have no idea who you're really comparing yourself to - the woman you're skinnier than may have struggled with an eating disorder and is healthier when she's eating more; your sister may be suffering from postpartum depression and might have a hard time just taking a shower every day, let alone losing the weight she gained pregnant; the guy with the not-as-nice-as-yours car might be saving for his children's college education; and the guy who's yoga practice isn't so strong may be recovering from an injury. The bottom line is, at the end of the day, if we spend our lives comparing ourselves to everyone else, we'll never measure up, because we'll subconsciously set our standards based on our own outward perceptions of those around us.

Learning to quiet the mind, and therefore quiet down these stories (or sometimes even shut them up, when we're lucky) is one of the greatest gifts of a regular asana* practice. This isn't to say that as soon as you start a regular practice you'll never hear them again, or that new stories will never sneak up on you...however, through a regular asana* practice we learn how to acknowledge them and then release them to the Universe. The freedom you find when suddenly your bully isn't bullying you anymore cannot truly be understood until it is felt. Sometimes it's as simple as sitting in stillness (meditation) and making the decision to turn them off; oftentimes we need to be wrung out, physically exhausted from a rigorous asana practice, and reminded over and over again. Either way, it's not easy...but in the end, a life of freedom from this negative energy is well worth the investment.

As for my tapes, ultimately, I reminded myself that I am a new mom, and that I am dedicated to my son. A few days after we got home, I also took an amazing 2 hour class that focused on opening the hips, one of the favorite spots for our bodies to harness dis-ease. So, if my blog suffers a lack of my attention at times, I can live with that. In 20 years I'm not going to look back on this time and wish that I had blogged more.

I will, however, be grateful that I knew enough to spend an extra 20 minutes snuggling with my son.

*Asana is a reference to the physical postures in a yoga practice.