A New Ache

I stare down at my bloodied elbow and wonder.

For sixteen years, I have practiced yoga. Only in the last few have I really felt like I've begun to understand the point of it.

The first time I stepped onto a yoga mat — in a local class down the street — I was wounded.  Not from the yoga; I came to the mat already wounded, as so many of us do. That day, I began a journey that took me deep into those wounds.

Those first few years were ugly. I was in my twenties; healthy and fit. The yoga looked really "beautiful" on the outside, but on the inside, it was a shit-show.

I won't bore you with the details of my angsty, teenage-slash-early-adult baggage that I brought with me to that yoga class; you can imagine. The point is that in the beginning, it may have looked pretty, but it was really hard internally.

It was hard to learn about failing and forgiving myself. It took years for me to understand yoga wasn't about self-punishment. It took injury and long dry-spells of not practicing. It took periods of thinking I wasn't good enough, or too good, or just misguided.

Somewhere along the way, the yoga began to change. I began to see the fact that yoga was happening all the time, whether or not I was practicing asana. It was a mental shift.

I learned to forgive myself and others. I learned to admit I was wrong more often than I was right, but that was actually a good thing, because then I could open myself up even more to the learning. I learned that there is no ultimate destination in yoga; there is no "finishing" yoga.

I learned what it meant to practice something.

***

Today, I’ve stepped onto a new mat.

My husband looked at me with slight dismay and annoyance when I told him, "I signed up for jiu jitsu classes."

I blame him, partially. He has been a life-long martial arts practitioner, and his love and passion for it always inspired me.

Over the summer, we decided to sign up Little Girl for jiu jitsu classes, because we felt she needed the physical outlet coupled with the discipline/mind training. And then, my husband started going regularly, too.

I would sit in my daughter’s classes, silently observing the skills and philosophy being taught. There were a lot of themes of self-confidence and self-empowerment, but mostly, humble practice. Showing up and trying.

It sounded familiar; and something deep within me stirred. I wanted to try.

***
I have been to 5 training sessions so far.

The first day I walked into a class, my heart pounded. I was terrified. I had never played a sport in my life, nor been forced to be truly aggressive in any way.

There were no other women. The Professor gave me a somewhat ill-fitting gi to put over my worn yoga pants and tank top. The first thing I learned was that the yoga I had been practicing recently was sorely lacking in cardiovascular training. The second thing I learned was that seventeen men rolling around, wrestling with each other in what amounts to really thick, scratchy pajamas smells entirely different than an essential oil-imbued yoga studio filled with recently showered stay-at-home moms. And thirdly — I don’t care how hot the hot yoga class is — it is nothing like the heat in that tiny dojo on a late-summer day.

I stopped going after the first couple times. It was too much to manage with the kids’ schedules, my teaching schedule, and my new full-time work-plus-homeschooling schedule. And, it was scary.

I continued to bring Little Girl twice a week, and continued to be intrigued.

***
Things shifted. I decided to take a sabbatical from teaching yoga classes. I had stopped practicing, and my cup was empty.

Just a week ago I decided to go back to jiu jitsu, and make it count this time.

In these few days, I’ve bloodied an elbow and a knee, twisted the other knee, and sustained bruises on nearly every inch of my body. I wonder what I am doing and if I’ve made a huge mistake.

Last night, as I lay in the dark, trying to breathe thru sore ribs, it dawned on me that my yoga journey has come full circle.

The mat brings the pain.

The difference now, though, is that I know that the pain is not permanent, but rather an impetus for looking deep within for the lessons. The pain is the first part of the Fool’s journey; the stepping-off into the unknown and the willingness to encounter not-pretty things on the way. The beginning of practice is always painful.

Despite this, I feel the excitement of learning something new and of challenging myself to go beyond my comfort zone. I feel my brain struggling with new concepts and delighting in the raw physicality of this sport.

It’s like watching a baby learn to walk — all at once scary and inspiring.

The yoga is still happening, if only by another name. It all amounts to the practice of showing up on the mat — over and over again.