I was running late, which isn’t new, but I had never been so tardy to yoga. Twelve minutes had been forfeited, and I almost heard my body cry out in defeat when I settled into the mat.
Over the next 45 minutes, I really questioned my entire existence. My arms and legs were feeble, my concentration was muddled, and the outfit I had selected most certainly flashed the nearby maintenance worker during an inspired downward dog. Oops.
The truth is, I was unprepared for the consequences of being late. I’ve been doing yoga for years, but every session is unique, as is every teacher.
After I attempted my fourth new-to-me position, I felt my forehead hit the mat.
I’m tired of being an adult.
Physical exhaustion, of course, is nothing new. I’ve been a mother for over three years. But, these days, my weariness has threatened my mental clarity.
Take, for example, dinner just last week. After spending the entire Saturday with our kids, my husband and I – quite insanely – wanted to have a family meal around the table…one that would not end until after 7 p.m.
[Insert breakdown here]
Incoherent demands for napkins were made and gnocchi carnage painted the table canvas.
In short, it took our children approximately 60 seconds to spoil the two hours worth of love my husband had invested in our tiny kitchen.
Needless to say, we bathed and tucked in the kids early that night…but not before my husband caught vomit in mid-air as it came pouring out of our son.
You’ve got to swallow, Kid, even when the food is bitter.
But, as a parent, the luxury to say “no” to responsibility when I’m tired, stressed, and weak is usually not available. Little worlds depend on me, and they are often my only motivation to keep running the race.
And in that third dinner cleanup – if I listen closely – I can hear a whisper of hope: “You can do this.”
Thank you, Mom. I still don’t know how you survived.
One Year Ago: Untold Stories