When you’re a yoga instructor, you’re a guide. You take students along on a journey. Yes, you’re a ‘teacher’ when you need to be. But you are mostly guiding them. And as a guide, it’s your job to also try to make the ride inspiring – sometimes challenging, maybe enlightening – but mostly you want your students to walk away saying, “That was great. I so needed that.”
My students were recovering addicts. They were going through divorces, career changes, and life crises. They were broken-hearted and they were healing. They were in the middle of finals and dissertations and other hard freaking shit and yoga was helping them get back to themselves.
Then one day, I was in the middle of some hard freaking shit. (more…)
Every so often I get itchy.
I don’t mean, I-must-be-allergic-to-something itchy. I mean, that feeling like something’s not quite right. Like my shoes don’t fit and I want to get out of the house and DO something, but I don’t know what. It’s when I hear my favorite song and it’s just that old song again. I feel stuck in a rut and desperately want to get out. (more…)
“I don’t regret anything.”
I used to say this. A lot.
I’ve made mistakes (some of them rather significant). Declaring that I didn’t regret anything was a way of owning it all. I felt like I was saying, “This is who I am, flaws and all. This is me: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Take it or leave it.”
I’m not sure where I got this philosophy from. Maybe I caught some (more…)
“The hardest part of parenting is catching barf in your hands.”
My dad told me this at some point in the year before Judah was born. My mother agreed. Parenting was easy.
I thought back to these words many times in the first few months of being a momma. And they made me so freaking angry. Parenting was NOT easy. No it was not. If Judah was an appliance, I would have (more…)
The walls were adorned with posters of Angela Davis and Gloria Steinem. And there was always a stack of Ms. Magazine in the corner, which we were free to take.
The UCLA Women’s Resource Center was cozy, but quiet. It was supposed to feel welcoming and warm, the kind of place you’d want to go if you needed support. Situated in the basement of a humanities building, it was a refuge for young women, a place where you didn’t have to shout to be heard, a place where your voice mattered – no matter how meek.
The Women’s Resource Center was the gateway to (more…)
Every once in a while they creep up on me. I only know they’re here by the tightness in my chest, by the shortness of my breath, and by the slide show of ‘what ifs’ that flash before me, keeping me awake while I listen to the sounds of my partner sleep.
I’m talking about the Mean Reds. Or, in case you’ve never seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Fear (to be more specific, ALL the Fears). (more…)