Fuck Crying-Namasté

 
It’s the letting go part of yoga that is so hard. The release. The submission. Letting go of thoughts, of negative energy, of worries and of everyday life is hard. It’s so fucking hard to free my mind of shit and my body of the tension built up from carrying that shit.

But, today, I did. I let go. And it wasn’t this spiritual beautiful thing at all. I fucking cried. During a practice. During Shavasana. What the actual fuck? I love Shavasana. I mean, not today, but normally I do.

I arrived with a broken heart and an intention to heal it. I was laying on the floor in Shavasana (corpse pose) wishing I never had to get up. Begging the universe to either make me a corpse or extend the class because I could feel myself losing it and I needed time to work through it.

I pretended the weight of the blanket was warm dirt. 

Tears and feelings were swelling and I wasn’t strong enough to blink them away. Twice I started to leak and was able to reel it back in. My chin quivered and my breathing was jagged, but I pulled it together and tried to just breath and clear my mind. I was trying to imagine just melting into the floor, or more dirt being added to my chest to calm me. 

Then, I quit that shit and just focused on not bawling my eyes out. Maybe even the hope of leaving with my shit together, maybe a little dignity because there is no way my sniffing and breathing was not heard.

  

When the teacher came to me to do an adjustment, which I basically pine and drool for, she held my head, and turned it from side to side. There was a remnant of a tear in the corner of my right eye that I couldn’t feel…and when she turned my head left, it slipped out. That was fucking it! That was all it took. As she set my head down, I mouthed thank you with eyes still closed. As she walked on I took a few shaky breaths and then couldn’t stop the avalanche.

Tears poured, and I sobbed…as quietly as I could. Like someone had died. Only, in real life when people die I don’t really cry that much.

It was not a “beautiful release” that people write about. It was a “get me the fuck out of here” moment. In yoga. My ears were full of tears, I wiped and wiped and wiped and couldn’t stay ahead of it. Boogers, stuffy nose, wet hair, red eyes. All the makings for a genuine and sweet “are you okay?” which would have been the end of me.

Thankfully, no one asked if I was okay, and I dashed out of there fast as fuck. (Fuck, yes, that’s a measure of speed now.)

I basically cried off and on, the rest of the day. That sucked.

Crying in yoga…not beautiful.

Fuck crying in yoga.
Namasté

xo

2 thoughts on “Fuck Crying-Namasté

  1. I think once you’ve released all of that tension, you’ll start to feel better. I don’t dare practice outside of my apartment, though. If I cry in front of a bunch of strangers, I’ll become a gossip item. xo

    1. Thank you. And I suggest giving the gossips something good to chat about. Practice anywhere you want to! I actually feel better every day. And, excited to say I jut enrolled in Yoga Teacher Training! Ahh!!! Namasté!!

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