It is Thursday evening as I sit down and begin writing this piece. I practice taught a yoga class for the second time ever tonight. Many of you know I’ve been going through a 200 hour Registered Yoga Teacher (RYT) training for the last couple of months. This weekend is the second to last weekend already! The group training takes place all day on Saturdays and Sundays for two and a half months, with a couple weekends off at different points in the process. We had last weekend off. Our assigned break work during the two weeks away was to teach our learned sequence two times to at least one other person. Last week, I wrote about my first class, which had me over the moon.
This week, on Monday morning, I started planning my second time to practice teach before training reconvened again on Saturday. For these first two times teaching sola, I set out to make it like the real thing. I am familiar with the class schedule of the studio where I am a member and also doing the teacher training. On Monday, I decided to ask permission to use a specific room when I knew there was not a class. Of course, the studio typically rents the space to independent teachers holding private sessions and the like. For this instance, they were happy to let me use the room since I am going through their teacher training and practice teaching. I was so glad I asked. In a way, I surprised myself. I made sure to make a plan I had to stick to. Once I had the room booked on Monday, I started texting a few people who I thought might like to come on Thursday (tonight). By Tuesday I had five people committed. The fact that people committed helped me commit to the preparation. I taught my hour-long class to some nice ghost students in my living room on Tuesday night, Wednesday night, and today on my lunch break. After that, I knew I was as prepared as I could be, and I let it go for the next several hours.
5:30pm rolled around, and it was time to drive to up to the studio. I put some moody music on in the car. The weather was warm and overcast. Sun rays were popping through the clouds like a painting. I drove up and down the hills of Old Hickory Boulevard toward the interstate. I was calm. Sure, I had a few butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. Even those made me content as I noticed them. The nerves show me I really care about this, and I really care about the people joining me on the journey. Yoga has been so incredibly special and life changing for me. As I’m learning to effectively share the practice with others, I aim to be a clear channel. Yoga is something for each person to discover and experience within and for themselves.
Tonight, my class started at 6:15pm. It ended at 7:15pm. The group seemed to enjoy it. They gave me generous, positive affirmation and some helpful feedback. We chatted for a little while afterward. I got in my car and took a moment to thank the Powers that be that this is really happening. I smiled and drove home.
If this seems a tad anticlimactic… good. When I got home and told Dominick about it, I paused mid-sentence and said: “Anticlimactic Mountaintops” with a smile. I wrote about quiet victories in that linked post. If you’d like to take a detour now, or swing back around at some point to read it, there you go.
There was no huge spike in emotions today. There was no huge dip either, even with the parts of my teaching that could have gone better. Was there discomfort? Yes. Was there joy? Yes. Everything went as planned. I taught what I prepared. On the way home, I stopped at the store to restock bubbly water. I couldn’t resist some chips and Reese’s eggs too. Life is good.
This steadiness has not always been here. I’m observing it, enjoying it, and writing about it because it is still new. Not too long ago, I still lived on the rollercoaster- the hyper, erratic mood spikes alternating with depressive dips. Today it felt nice to calmly do something I was prepared to do. It felt like a big achievement, yet I didn’t have make a big deal about it. Preparing doesn’t mean obsessing. I didn’t have drop everything else to put all of my energy into this one thing. I still showed up for everything else this week- my full-time job, writing, and three family birthday evening get-togethers. Turns out everything can co-exist if I allow myself to stay in the calm center. Cool.
In my post last week, I mentioned a flash of inspiration I had the night before, which I didn’t choose to utilize for the SUD topic that Sunday. That flash came in the form of two words: scar tissue. The two words orbited around me for just long enough to realize I didn’t generate the thought on my own. It came from somewhere. I trust this phenomenon after reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic (I would call her book more scientific and spiritual than magical- meh, semantics) and Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. Another shout out to
for hosting our Artist’s Way group on Substack. We’ll be starting week 8 of 12 on Monday.
Scar tissue.
Maybe today felt so steady because certain wounds that have been healing the last several years are now closed. The tissue might still be a tad sensitive or tender some days, but there is no blood. No scabs. No itching. They have transitioned from wounds to scars. I realized I have been able to continue forward fairly steadily in new territory because there is not much, if anything, festering within me. Thoughts that used to completely throw me off kilter for days are now just thoughts I can witness and ignore.
One could argue it’s only because I gained some hindsight that I became passionate about the cumulation of small steps and time it takes to experience victory. I first sobered up in 2018. I had a couple relapses in 2019 and 2020. I didn’t develop a regular yoga practice until April 2021. I didn’t start writing on Substack until October 2022. I didn’t start yoga teacher training until January 2023. Why do I share the timeline? It’s not because someone else’s timeline will look like mine. It could, but most times everyone’s details are different. It simply gives a reference point for anyone who might be thinking their progress isn’t happening fast enough. Look at the three years it took, from 2018 to 2021, to simply get back on my feet as a human being. AA helped me learn accountability and discipline. That group helped me learn how to be one in a community. I could then carry that developed consistency into other activities like yoga and my job, which then led to upgrades like promotions at work and registering for yoga teacher training. The domino effect of choosing to take the next right step- every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month.
Walking with scars does not mean always rehashing the past. The healing of that particular wound is complete if it is a scar. That takes time and process. Memories are still there the same way I still notice a scar. It’s a humbling reminder when things get really good. It’s a humbling reminder when things get really bad. I know I can get through anything that comes my way because of what I’ve been through. I can hold space for others because of what I’ve been through. I know I’m not there to fix anything for people because nobody could fix things for me. I had to walk my path. I had to take my steps. I still desperately sought out people’s stories so I could have any sort of reference point when I felt lost. I listened. I got honest. I got more honest. I got gut-wrenchingly honest because that is the only way to total freedom as a person.
Of course the appropriate times, places, and confidants will vary for each person when they are ready to get honest. It’s not about off-loading something big and dark and heavy in order to feel better, at the expense of the person who is listening. It should be more thought out than that, yet still not avoided (“what I resist persists”). This is why I wish everyone could do a 12-step program. Amends don’t come until step 9, and even then, sometimes amends with certain people don’t happen until years later. Many groups adopted the 12-step model for any addiction or disorder- food, sex, gambling, you name it.
Admittedly, sometimes I feel compelled to write more about the darker things. I dipped my toe in the water with the story about stuffing wine into my purse at the grocery store. I don’t know what other stories I’d choose to share and when. What are your thoughts about this? Does it really only boil down to motive? I’m not going to write about things just to prove I don’t have anything to hide. I’m not here to prove anything. I’m here for connection. And even if I have the good intention to connect, or “help” people, or simply spread the light and love, I still don’t have any clue what will be the thing that helps someone.
At least for today, I’m on the line of thought that creating is more about following intuition… a gut feeling… the shiver down the spine… an inspired thought like I had with the words scar tissue floating around me last weekend.
What if a scar turns out to be a key? What if the terrible thing that happens… the crisis, the fallout, the bottom, the death, the open wound… is a door? I know it doesn’t make sense yet. It seems backwards. Stay with me. I’m a believer that everyone experiences something in their life that brings them to this door. What if the person who is painfully brought to this door is knighted and dubbed: the quester of the key which opens that door? There is no other way but backwards or through the door, which is currently locked. Nobody else can recognize or find the key for them. The new quester, who is still suffering, probably doesn’t even know they’re looking at a door. All they know is: “this f*&^ing sucks.” Maybe the quester even wants to die instead of go on a quest. They muster up enough breath to ask: “How do I this? How do I even know what I’m looking for?” If they’ve asked someone who is generous enough and a little farther along on their quest, that someone could show them a scar from their journey and tell its story. That might be enough for the sufferer to get up and start searching.
As for the person who shared their scar with the sufferer? Maybe it is that moment when they realize the scar is a key. They just unlocked their own door.
On the other side of that door?
Everything.
Your journey reminds me of mine! Went through RYT about 2 years ago with no intention of teaching and it was such an interesting journey. Keep showing up, keep teaching, and keep sharing your stories 💕
I usually read along with your voice, but this week I opted to put the phone down and just listen to your sweetness. Then I remembered later that I had to go back and look at the pictures. Don’t want to miss anything!