I had another solid class tonight. Nothing stellar, and still felt like a marshmallow. It was familiar- several months regressed, but recognizable nonetheless. I can look at today’s practice and say “ok. I know what this is. I know that with consistency and proper effort, I can build back to regularly occurring smiley, giggly yoga. I’m sore, but not in pain. I learned a lot about the difference with my hips the past two months. What was going on wasn’t just sore, it was malfunction, and by trying to push forward I actually ended up impeding the progression of my yoga. One of my friends is doing the same exact thing now. It is frustrating to watch. She is miserable in class. She is in pain. She is trying EVERYTHING she can think of to deal with the pain… Instead of addressing the actual problem. I gave her Dr. J’s card. I wish she’d use it.
I noticed tonight that I stop, and/or wince at the places I had been hitting painful resistance in my hips and shoulders. It’s mental. I have no pain, and appear to have maintained my flexibility. I have plenty of room to keep going… But I stop where the pain was. Just one of those quirky hot room issues to work through, I guess.
Yoga isn’t the only place I have suddenly located familiar territory. Know how I’ve said I got stuck somewhere around 8-12ish? I came home from yoga tonight and was getting ready to do my usual turbo shower, jammies, straight to bed… Until it dawned on me. I have my own bathroom for the first time in my adult life. I have my own bedroom for the first time in my adult life. I am the only keeper of my own time.
I have spent years rushing to conserve water, maximize efficiency and take up as little space as possible. I do what I have to do then focus all of my energy on keeping out of the way and avoiding conflict.
I don’t have to rush, or hide in my bed here. I don’t have anyone to fight with. And no one here will make fun of anything I do (Avery can’t talk). I have the opportunity to catch up and learn how to be girly now.
Tonight I took a bath with some purple foamy stuff. I took the time to brush my hair. I tried some firming face mask (for the first time ever), and I painted my toenails sparkley and pink. These are all things that, I assume, are fairly unexceptional by the late twenties. I’m also pretty sure most of my friends are opting for professional dark reds or neutrals when it comes to nail painting… But I’m 8. I’m catching up. I wear closed toe shoes to work. No one has to know how far behind I really am.