Thursday, August 29, 2013

Ironic oxymorons

Last week, I went to the doctor because I thought I was dying.

No, seriously. Legit--I thought I either had a mass on my brain, or I was having a heart attack.

You can laugh. It's funny now. Those two things aren't even slightly related.

I started back to work last week--new everything--and I felt anxious and nervous and overwhelmed, but nothing that gave me a full on panic attack...

...only I was totally having them. I sat in meetings last week and suddenly my heart would race, I would start sweating, and it felt like all of the blood was draining from my head. My legs would get tingly and I'd have to grip something to keep from falling face first into my coffee.

I had a migraine daily. I had so much Excedrin migraine coarsing through my veins that I was like Jessie Spano circa 1989...

"I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so...so...!"

Once my Russian doctor (I feel like I should tell you she's Russian because her accent is awesome) was sure I was not, in fact, dying, and I just needed to find my groove--"and relax!" she said (with her Russian accent)--I felt a bit more at ease. Pun intended.

In fact, I haven't had a panic attack since.

It wasn't until Sunday, when I unrolled my yoga mat in a class, lay down in the toasty room with that familiar and soothing China Gel smell, and exhaled with much gusto that I had this thought:

"The yoga teacher had panic attacks."

Shit. Seriously?

I was am a walking oxymoron.

My morning commute isn't nearly as long (I swear, I'll stop talking about this new job eventually), but since it's the place I do my best thinking, and I've had a few days to sort this out, I thought I'd share my conclusions.
  1. It isn't enough to just practice breathing on my mat. When I practice, I am there. My mind is a one-track-inhale-exhale-flow machine. Why can't I stay in that flow when, say, my kids are climbing into drawers and sitting in them with the toaster and throwing raisins on the wall when I'm cooking dinner (because yes, that happened. Recently. Ok, last night)? Where does my breath go and why can't I stop and say to myself, "Breathe"? My conclusion is because it's not part of my daily practice--my drive to work, pick up kids, go home, make dinner, give baths, bedtime routine. At no point do I say, "Inhale as you put the car in drive, exhale as you roll down the window." And while it doesn't need to be as black and white as that, well, maybe it does. And so post-its are helping me. I wrote out a whole bunch at work today, and they're going in special places around my house. "Breathe you idiot" happens to be my favorite. Kidding. Not very yogi like to call yourself and idiot. But maybe it would get the point across.
  2. Remaining in the moment is hard when your mind is organizing and categorizing and processing a thousand files a minute. My mind was on overdrive. I was overthinking everything: every lesson plan, every word, every idea, every movement, every new name on my roster, every new person I met. I analyzed and overanalyzed and rethought each movement I made. I relived it all in my head, hashed it out time and again, and then I anticipated the next interaction or idea or thought with so much anxiety that my heart had nothing to do but race, and my head had nothing to do but hurt. Duh, Russian doctor. Textbook panic attack. Now that I've established a routine, I'm giving myself deadlines. "Things don't feel awesome now, but they will by Friday...or next week...or October," and that seems to make my mind shut itself up and calm the fuck down.
  3. Sorry for the profanity in this post. It's not very "bright" of me.
Why share all of this with you? Because a friend reminded me this week that sometimes a blog is the one thing that makes us feel normal and say, "Gosh, someone else out there lives through and feels the same things I do!"

And also, yoga teachers aren't perfect. Yogis aren't perfect. You can count on me to stay positive  to anything that's going on in your life...but I often struggle to remain in that bright spot with my own.

We're all on a journey, doing the best we can. Every morning we wake up and it's a new opportunity to grow.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Healing

I've been thinking quite a bit lately about how we each have the power to heal one another in various forms--words, the act of listening, prayer, and touch.

Think about how much more significant something becomes when it's said with even the slightest touch--even an introduction is more powerful when a handshake is firm.

I have a friend I was lucky enough to live with in France, who, every time she shared a laugh with you, would look you straight in the eye and grab your forearm.

It was so powerful for me that when I think of her thirteen years later, that is what stands out. Her grip was so full of a shared love it just made you feel good, laugh harder. The energy we share and transmit can be just as healing as it can perhaps be depleting.

Last night, at the end of the yoga class I taught, I apologized for my wrist cracking and popping as I gave people head and neck adjustments in savasana. We all laughed, but I was especially taken by the woman who said, "It's such a bonus, your touch, that I leave feeling even better than I thought I could."

When I first began teaching yoga, I had to accumulate Karma Yogi hours--time spent teaching yoga for free (because, well, you know, you can't charge people when you're terrible).

I had a bank of guinea pigs in the staff at my school, and a dedicated ten of them allowed me to guide them through asana and pranayama (fancy pants words for poses and breath), but really, they came for the head and neck adjustment at the end.

And that was all fine by me--I wanted to heal and help in anyway I could, and for them it was always the power of touch.

One of those ten was a woman named Trish, who taught across the hall and down from me for five years before she decided to take an early retirement to do, well, the fun things retirees do. For her, it would be time spent with kids and grandkids, and helping her daughter run her cupcake truck business.

(Duh...cupcakes all day or stinky sixth graders? Um...cupcakes!)

In January of this year, she emailed and asked if she could still come to the yoga classes I was holding in my classroom. She needed a good head and neck adjustment. :)

She brought her check book to her first class back in my stinky classroom, which I promptly told her to put away. She then offered to pay me in cupcakes. How could I refuse?

I led her and a few other teachers through poses and breath, and then everyone's favorite part--the healing power of touch and the coveted head and neck adjustment.

I didn't see Trish again.

Two weeks after her return she was diagnosed with inoperable brain tumors.

She passed away this morning.

And for me--what I can't seem to let go of--is that the last place I touched so lovingly and with such good mojo...was her head.

My first few years teaching I was lucky enough to have a principal I adored.

His name was Mark, and he had the biggest heart, kindest soul, and softest demeanor.

After his departure, I was told the story about how Mark, a devout Christian, would arrive well before the staff and walk the halls, praying at each teacher's room--for strength, and courage, and confidence, and patience, and anything else he deemed necessary.

That building needs Mark.

For the second time this summer, they will bury one of their own.

I went for a run this morning without my kids--I needed to, for lack of a better word, cleanse. It is really hard to run and cry at the same time, so it was good to not focus on the sadness.

My mind kept repeating lyrics to one of my favorite yoga songs (Om Narayana) by Wade Imre Morissette, and I end this blog post with them because they embody the absolute sweet spirit of Trish...and the spirit of our ability to heal one another--maybe not in the medical sense, but in the much more powerful sense of healing emotions through touch, prayer, words, love.

Joy on the inside and peace on the outside,
Loving on the inside and laughing on the outside,
Kissing on the inside and healing on the outside,
Flowing on the inside and thriving on the outside,
Clearing on the inside and accepting the outside,
Shining on the inside and shining on the outside.

Shine on, Trish...Shanti Om.