I can’t tell if I like yoga or not. I want to. I try to, but sometimes something weird happens in yoga or on your average Monday, or Tuesday or Wednesday…..all of a sudden it feels like there is not enough space in whatever room I am standing in. When I’m doing yoga, it’s almost as if all that stretching makes me tight. I know, I know, I’m a living oxymoron.
Everyone I’ve talked to, everything I read, says that I should practice yoga and meditation to help with my anxiety. So, I tried. I went to a meditation class with my husband (he was my boyfriend then) about 11 years ago. It was just Danny, me and one other girl in the class. The class began and then all of a sudden I “woke up” and it was over. I couldn’t believe it. When it was time to leave I followed the other girl out of the class and onto the stairway landing. I was a little in a daze and on about the third stair I fell and bounced on my butt all the way to the bottom, chasing our fellow classmate out of the meditation hall. I’m pretty sure I made the building vibrate. I haven’t been back since.
I’ve done yoga a bit. I did one hot yoga class. Seriously, I was totally unaware that my shins could sweat. It was crazy. I haven’t been back since.
I’ve taken a couple of regular yoga classes. They were OK, but they were indoors. Which is sort of hard for me. My anxiety makes me feel claustrophobic, and being in a small classroom makes me claustrophobic, and definitely when I am supposed to be calm and quiet and stretching, I feel claustrophobic. I haven’t been back since.
The other day at work, I was feeling claustrophobic (I swear it doesn’t happen that often even though reading this makes that hard to believe). I was working on the espresso machine when all of a sudden, I felt like I needed to get out. I had the strongest urge to just run out of the shop, into the fresh air, tear off my shirt and run screaming down the street. Really, it sounded so nice. And scarily, it sounded like a good idea. That was when I did a little self-talk, “Laura, don’t do it. Do. Not. Do. It. You have bills to pay so, no matter what, you’ll have to come back to work on Monday, and trust me girl, if you tear off down the street without your shirt on, YOU WILL NOT WANT TO COME BACK ON MONDAY.” My talk worked. I didn’t scream. I kept my shirt on, thank God, and I’ve been back to work since, so all is well.
And now, here we go again, it’s been a crazy day, I’ve got two girls that want me to play “kitty” with them, I need to go to the store to by plastic cups and I should probably fold the laundry that is undoubtedly, by now completely wrinkly. Instead, I think I’ll stand up, do some stretches, breathe in, breathe out and give it another shot. Because, I’m pretty sure, every sentence I’ve written above is evidence that I really need to do yoga. Or, I’ll just stick with what I’ve been doing, which is running down the street (with my shirt on) really fast until I can’t run anymore, and then I’ll feel better. Maybe, I was just meant to be a runner.
Always and Forever,
Stiff, Tight, and Claustrophobic