What Yoga Means To Me

I am not a fan of metaphors. In fact, I quite detest them. In any English class, I’ve always been the type of person to ask “Why can’t ‘x’ mean ‘x’? Why does ‘x’ have to be a metaphor for ‘y’?” I am a very literal person who is appreciative of straightforward communication.

“Okay, Liz, get to the effing point.”

Fine, fine. I’m getting there.

I first started doing yoga in 2011, just after I graduated high school. There was no reason behind this decision; I took a general education survey at Wright State University and was placed into the class. The only thing I remember thinking is “Great. Physical activity in front of a bunch of random people. Just what I needed.”

I can confidently say that the class was not what I expected. My instructor was an extremely fit 50-something-year-old male who eventually started calling me the “Michael Jordan of abs.” It wasn’t just about fitness though, it was about understanding the connection between the mind, the body, and the breath. I was 18-years-old. I didn’t “get” it. I just wanted to be fit. I could have taken up pilates, running, strength training, or any other form of exercise, but somehow yoga just stuck with me, and I began doing it every day at home.

10 years later, and I’m still doing yoga every day.

Over the years, I’ve grown more anxious, bitter, and depressed (honestly, for a wide variety of reasons that I won’t get into here). This sometimes manifests itself into panic attacks, physical illness, and just…general fatigue.

While at an antique store with Kyle the other day, I even had a bit of a scare. Whether it was from anxiety, stress, or another environmental factor, I am not sure, but my heart began to beat arrhythmically. All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe, and I had to rip my mask off (which felt dramatic). Breathing in the fresh air helped, but my panic didn’t go away. Kyle kept asking me what was wrong, but I didn’t know what to say. So I kept saying “I don’t know,” over and over again until my heart began beating normally.

I hate that, at any moment, my vital organs can be like “Y’know, I don’t feel like working today. I have submitted a PTO request for RIGHT NOW,” and then… nothing.

Anyway, I digress. My first point: my anxiety and stress sometimes manifest into WEIRD BODILY ISSUES which I absolutely do not like. My second point: yoga helps combat my anxiety and depression.

I have tried meditation, but I can’t be trusted to sit alone with my brain for more than five minutes. It never ends well. Yoga at least distracts me and keeps me present in what I’m doing, and not thinking about what’s next on my to-do list, or reminiscing about some moment in time that I regret.

I still kind of roll my eyes at any mention of the word “chakra” or just…white people using Sanskrit. Sometimes I just think “Okay, Mary, just say mountain pose.” But that’s just me being me.

Despite other forms of exercise, yoga feels like a practice that shouldn’t be about getting ginormous glutes or six-pack abs; it should be about becoming a better ‘you.’

I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s how I feel, and I’ll explain why.

My friends may disagree, but my mental health has improved since doing yoga. Do I still complain about work? Yes. Do politics still fatigue my soul? Also yes. But I feel like I have a healthy escape, should I ever start to spiral.

Every morning, I check in with my body. If I’m not mentally present or just have a lot going on and am feeling stressed, my body responds accordingly. If I’m attempting tree pose, but thinking about some stupid meeting I have later on in the day, I feel my body start to wobble. This reminds me that I’m not balanced. I’m not present. If I’m doing tree pose, and I’m thinking about tree pose, I don’t waver. I stand strong.

So, maybe there is something to yoga. Maybe there’s a reason why people continue to practice around the world.

If you’re not mentally balanced, the way you interact with the world won’t be either. To avoid chaos, you need to accept patience and tranquility.

I don’t think yoga is the cure for my depression or anxiety, but it is one metaphor that I can finally get behind.