Namaste-Schmamaste
I pulled into the parking lot of the yoga studio where I recently started taking classes. Wait…class. I’m only taking one class a week—I’m not that ambitious. (And I’ve already hurt my knee, but that’s a whole other issue.)
Anyway, it’s an early-morning class and I’m forcing myself to go because if I don’t force myself to do things like go out of my house, I won’t. Forcing myself to go out of my house AND get some exercise seemed like bonus points to me, so there I was, as mentioned above, pulling into the parking lot of the yoga studio. Suddenly, I see a car in my space. We don’t have assigned spaces, but it’s the place I’ve parked the last five times I’ve gone and I’ve grown to like it. It's comfortable. There was some bitch sitting squarely in my space and preventing me from parking there.
In my defense, I did realize that saying to myself, “That bitch!” wasn’t exactly the tone one should bring into a yoga class. Especially since that bitch was probably going to be one of my fellow yogis. And she was (of course) along with the other bitch who took my favorite spot near the back next to the wall. It was a rough class that day. I cried through most of it—not just because of my sore knee or the other 66-year-old bones and joints challenging my every move—but because everything reminds me of Annie. She took up yoga after the pandemic to get fit and she used to practice up in Maine on the back deck. She always invited me and I always declined. And here I am going to a yoga class. Also, the music often triggers tears because of the lyrics or just because Annie liked music. It's everything.
And when I say everything, I mean every thing is a challenge. Thinking, sleeping, talking, remembering, walking. Yoga. The last time I wrote about my “mushy brain” a friend wrote a comment citing the research that proves brains get mushy. She sent me a graphic, because who doesn’t understand a graphic?
From there I looked up the article the graphic came from; it turns out my brain is as traumatized as if I had suffered a brain injury.
“The problem isn’t sorrow; it’s a fog of confusion, disorientation and delusions of magical thinking [as] the emotional trauma of loss results in serious changes in brain function that endure.”*
No wonder I’m calling people names.
But, the problem is also sorrow, I think. I am sad and bereft and helpless against the endless prospect of feeling this way for the rest of my life. Of missing Annie now and missing her in the future. I haven’t found another person with whom I will consult when I’m trying to find an outfit for my book launch or from whom I need help organizing a writing retreat. I have to think about that at the same time I’m thinking about ordering a plaque to put on a memorial garden box on Frye Island or writing thank you notes for the gifts of sympathy I received for the loss of the person I already did have. I mean, honestly, there are days I can’t believe she’s gone.
And that’s part of this whole grief-as-brain-injury thing.
“Grieving is a protective process. It’s an evolutionary adaptation to help us survive in the face of emotional trauma…”*
The brain is responding to a traumatic event so what difference does it make that you want to take a yoga class? It’s protecting you!
It takes a lot of energy to try to remember to behave like the somewhat typical human being I used to be when who I feel like now is kind of a bumbling mess of forgetfulness and tears. The article also said,
“The task is to integrate [the thinking and feeling parts of the brain], so you’re not drowning in the feelings without thought as a mediator or silencing feelings in favor of rational thinking.”*
One of the reasons I chose to return to yoga—after like a 20-year absence—was not just because it gave me killer upper arms, but also a sense of calm. I know the conflicting thoughts of grief I have will eventually integrate in my brain, either with time or intention. Forcing myself—and it really does feel like forcing myself, even when I know it’s good for me—to do things that help me stay calm and centered and grounded is my path towards that, slow as it may feel.
After all, my name is literally an anagram of namaste—should be a snap, right?**
*All quotes & the graphic come from this article in Discover Magazine
** (OK, here…I’ll show you: EASTMAN = NAMASTE. See?)
As you know, I’ve always said that every girl needs a gay. And I’ll be happy to be your gay and pick out your outfit for your book launch! XOXO
Well, you're way ahead of me! (I had to look up the meaning of the word 'namaste'.) But maybe this 'forced march' of acceptance is too soon! Or, maybe, this step to yoga is too close to your daughter. Perhaps, a gift of kindness that gives you a new window on moving forward! One without so many memories right now which are too raw! Just a thought, dear friend.