February 1, 2015

Yoga Held Me.

male yoga

Tonight I went to yoga. And it held me.

As I lay on the floor, sweat pouring through me, my heart heavy and my limbs weak, I realised: it was choosing me. Right there, in that moment, I was everything.

Even if only for an hour, it held me where I was weak and it soothed me where I was sore. It looked at, stroked and cared for my aching mind and heart.

It required nothing except my presence. I couldn’t do it all and admitted defeat over and over again. And it didn’t care. I got back up and it embraced me. Smiling at my resolve, understanding and accepting.

Its power surged through me at times and its empathy at others. I was strong and then I crumbled. A man and then a boy. And I was loved nonetheless. Totally seen by something that needs nothing but me. In all my misery and pain, confusion and regret. With strength or weakness. Happy or sad. In all my crazy, in all my wonder, I was enough. I was enough.

I was allowed to feel. I hurt. I strained. I pushed. And I let go. And it was there throughout. Cheering my bravery and catching my falls.

As I lay in my final savasana, it gently reminded me “this is about you.” Tears found their way through my tight eyes and down to my clenched jaw. Yoga saw it. It knew. And it was okay.

I was okay.

Tonight I went to yoga. And it held me.


Author: Andy Charrington

Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photos: milopeng/Flickr

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