I think we are well-advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise, they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.
— Joan Didion
There's a moment before the next wave where grief is just a memory.
For a moment, I remember how it was. How my heart tried desperately to rip itself out of my chest and my wails went silent as they lodged themselves in my throat. How the edges of my eyelids stung hot and the pit in my stomach grew heavier every morning I woke up. It's all a memory that seems like a lifetime ago.
Sometimes I stop long enough to wonder why, and I'm both afraid and relieved when I think that I might be done grieving. So I let it go and get on with my day.
I start to ignore the signs that the tide is rising and the next wave is about to wash up at my feet. Roses crisp and dried up at my altar. Photos collecting dust. Loosely made plans and unanswered emails.
And then.
And then something happens, and I'm cracked open. I don't just remember the physicality of my grief, I feel it, and it absorbs me.
All of a sudden, this day—which was just like any other day—becomes the worst day. Everything is wrong and there's nothing that I can do to fix that.
I miss him. I miss me. I miss who I was when I was lighter—when I didn't carry around this hundred-ton weight. At the same time, there's nothing that I want to do to fix that.
That hundred-ton weight is the result of deep love. It's the price I'm willing to pay to remember that love. If I can remember that, I can give myself grace. I can wrap my grief with compassion and hold the pain and the love together in both hands.
Noticing this, I can start noticing other things.
I look around, and I begin to wonder.
The melancholic winter sun hugging the horizon. The crisp breeze turning hot tears cool on my cheeks. Leftover leaves from a previous season skimming the tops of shallow puddles. Bare tree branches rocking back and forth without intention. Do they know what it's like to miss someone?
I wonder in silence and notice things.
My partner's dimple deepening when he smirks. I hope our kids get his dimple. An old man and a toddler sitting on sun-basked porch steps. A stranger offering a 'good morning' as they whisk by on their bike. The slow pitter-patter of four-legged friends coming up to greet each other. The comfort of my heart safely wrapped up in layers on this chilly winter day.
None of these small moments take away the pain, no. They don't fill the void of missing someone so intensely you can't think of anything else. But as I collect these small moments, they beautify my pain. They make my grief beautiful and lovable instead of simply painful. And I start to wonder if these small moments, which are seemingly insignificant, are actually quite significant.
The small things that we're all noticing every day have meaning. They tell us something about life, love, joy, and heartbreak. They expand our minds, allow us to wonder and explore something about ourselves. And maybe that's all we're supposed to do in this lifetime. Maybe all we need to do is walk around noticing things.
When I begin to wonder, I start to feel alive again. I situate myself in this world and see that there is beauty all around. There are things to love everywhere I go. There is love in the leaves, in the gentle breeze, in the way the sunshine wraps itself around me.
And once I know that, I can start to take care of myself again. I pick up fresh tulips, dust off my altar, and let myself love my grief again. ✨
✨ yoga etc. is my newsletter on yoga, social justice, collective wellbeing, and collective healing. Every week, I share a piece of me—a weekly dose of mindfulness—hoping it resonates. The best way to support my work is by sharing this newsletter with those you think might find a piece of them. ✨
Yoga of movement ✨
My class schedule for this week is below. Tuesday's class is now in the mornings at 7:30 am GMT for my little morning birds (as always, you can catch the recording later in the day)
Tuesday 11th January ✨ Rejuvenate ✨ a dynamic flow with options for all levels to ignite creativity, fire, and confidence (book)
Sunday 16th January ✨ Sunday Soul ✨ an invitation to slow down, rest, and restore through gentle movement, yin, breathwork, and meditation (book)
Please try to sign up at least 3 hours before the start of class, and if you can't make it in real-time, you'll get access to the recording.
And lastly, a few recordings for you to try out on your own time:
15 min ✨ Yin For Outer Hips
45 min ✨ Good Morning Flow
90 min ✨ New Moon Sankalpa Practice
Series ✨ Beginner Friendly Flows
I'm also available for private and corporate classes, and I offer complimentary private classes to nonprofit and not-for-profit organizations. Reply to this email if you're interested!
Yoga of action ✨
I'm tithing 10% of my income from my online yoga classes to organizations that fight against white supremacy. Every month, I'll pick a new organization and highlight it below. If these organizations call to you, please consider contributing (no matter how small).
My December donation will go to Survival International, a global nonprofit and movement decolonizing conservation and supporting tribal peoples’ rights.
80% of Earth’s biodiversity is in tribal territories. When indigenous peoples have rights over their land, they protect the land at a fraction of the cost of conventional conservation programs. Still, governments and NGOs are stealing vast parts of land from indigenous communities under the claim that this is necessary for conservation.
Survival works in partnership with tribes to amplify their voices on the global stage, stop human rights abuses committed in the name of conservation, and put indigenous peoples in control of wildlife protection.
Have a suggested organization? Leave a comment to share.
Yoga of words ✨
Grab a pen, grab your journal. Have a seat somewhere comfortable. Close your eyes, take a breath in, and let it go. Your weekly writing prompt is below.
What comes to mind when you think of the term “self-love,” what comes to mind? What do you think it looks like to love yourself daily? (15 minutes)
Feel free to share what you've written by clicking the link below. But, of course, you’re also welcome to keep this practice as just yours.
Other musings ✨
You have arrived at the fire (Cheryl Strayed)
It's time to embrace slow productivity (The New Yorker)
Have the compassion to break your own heart (Instagram)
Why do I struggle to visualize a future for myself? (Annie Wright)
A mesmerizing view of the largest animal on earth (Instagram)
Wisdom of the Moon Goddesses (Empowered Life Circle)
On repeat: Slip - Slumberville Remix by Elliot Moss and Slumberville (Spotify)
I'm here for you—for class, advice, or anything you need or would like to share. Always a phone call/text/DM/reply button away.
LBC ✨
P.S. If you like this newsletter, please share it with your friends! And if someone sent you this newsletter, you can subscribe below!