After my second IVF, I got mad at my body. After years and years of taking amazing care of it, I was repaid with infertility at an unreasonably early age. I felt betrayed that my body would do this to me. And I was pissed.
“Listen, You,” I said to my body. “Your infertility is bullshit, and you deserve to be punished. Now, I know how much you love doing yoga, but I don’t care about you right now. Not to mention, doing yoga makes me feel closer to you, and that makes me feel even more vulnerable, and I feel bad enough already, so… You’re grounded: no more yoga.”
The punishment stuck for about a year. Well, mostly. I would occasionally cave, but for the most part, I kept to my word. And it was good. Well, maybe not exactly good, but it was fine. OK, so, not entirely fine. I did spiral a bit. And I grieved. A lot. But whatever. I said no yoga, and I meant no yoga.
And I kept my word until a few months ago. By the end of 2010, the anger was getting exhausting, and I figured it was time for me and my body to make amends. Plus I wasn’t working, and I needed something to do, so I did yoga. At first a little, and then some more, and within a couple months I was practicing 5-6 days a week.
And it changed my life.
It was unexpected; I turned to my mat every day because I didn’t have much else going on. And the change wasn’t immediate, but after about 4 months of daily down dogs, I was altered.
I remember reading this New York Times article a while back about how meditation changes the brain. I believed it, but I never imagined what it could have felt like. Granted yoga isn’t meditation — it’s meditative, which isn’t the same thing — but still, my brain was different.
A teensy part of me feels like outlining all the incredible ways that my mindset shifted, but I’m not going to. It’s not anything that can be explained, anyhow. It’s more of a mood. A sensation. A kind of a filter. Or maybe it’s losing a filter. In any case, I’m not going to describe it.
But, it’s seriously awesome.