I signed up for a Vinyasa class early in the day. When a time-sensitive work meeting popped up, I shifted it to the last class of the day: Kundalini… but I had wanted Vinyasa. I was in the middle of the 84-day yoga challenge, and I needed a class. I wanted heat and sweat. I was already in a negative mood, belittling myself for letting work take over my personal schedule yet again. Perhaps you can relate to the breaks in a familiar routine, or boundaries you have difficulty upholding?

I had never done Kundalini before, and, just like a child, I found myself thinking “I don’t like it” before I even joined the Zoom room. 10 minutes into the class, I sat, sweat dripping from my face, along with my faulty assumptions. I felt like I was on a water ride, expecting to float but instead finding a rippling tide. The tide – the fire – was being stoked by my breath. Why am I in awe of this? I “should” know this. My breath has stoked enough fire during panic attacks. This was different. This was controlled. It was brewing something strong, focused, deep. It cleared away more than the recent negative emotions; it cleared away the day. It set me on fire for my evening. Tears welled up inside. The kind that start from the gut and make their way up, catching your breath at the throat. 

As a working parent, I’ve been yearning for this – this clearing. I’ve been desperate for it during the transitions between leaving the office behind and embracing the evening at home. The deep clearing of the chaotic day, the active brain, the nonstop pings by email and Slack. Finding a way to a state of energy to match my love and excitement to coming back home. 

I watch the anger at myself rise. Why didn’t I try this sooner? This could have saved me so much frustration and imbalance, as well as from bringing work energy home. It morphs into grief, so I allow both the anger and grief to be there. I don’t try to rationalize them away. I also don’t judge them being there. With almost a decade of a consistent practice on my mat, I’ve learned to let them in. They no longer consume me with each visit.

They eventually move on. A light, calm energy sits where they used to. It travels the same path, from my gut up to my throat, no longer stuck. This energy hits my lips with a sly smile – hope and gratitude… Seeing a favorite teacher walk into the room… A lesson that took me deeper into nonjudgment… Learning something new about this practice and about myself – every day.