Between grief and nothing, I will take grief.
- William Faulkner
Hey there!
If you're reading this, it's because you've subscribed to my newsletter yoga etc., or recently taken a class with me. Things might look a bit different here since last week, as I've moved our newsletter to a new platform. Don't worry; it’s still the same weekly edit in your inbox every Monday—just with a few new features!
One of my favorite new features is the ability to like, comment, and share. The purpose of this newsletter is to share a part of myself with you, but also remind you that we're all in this together. Please feel free to share your thoughts on anything in this newsletter, maybe a few lines you jotted down from the writing prompt, or even a little note about what you're looking forward to this week. Click the button below to leave a comment!
Now, onto this week's essay.
I turned 30 last week. I'd been looking forward to this new decade—the one everyone seems to love more than their 20s. I'd been promised a new era of maturity, acceptance, and self-assurance, and I imagined myself blossoming into this gorgeous goddess of wisdom and light. But I haven't been feeling very goddess-like lately. After a year of collective struggle, turbulence, and isolation, I left London to help my dad recover from pneumonia. But he never made it out of the hospital.
So instead of blossoming, I'm navigating through this deep grief. It seems like an impossible task—to create a life without my best friend and biggest cheerleader. And part of that task is recognizing that my relationship with my dad hasn't ended. How it once was has ended.
I'm probably deep in the throes of denial and bargaining, and nothing has gotten better with time—just worse, as more Sundays go by without our hour-long phone calls. The physical reminders of his absence are a punch in the gut. There are pieces of him in my house that I hate. Like the pile of button-downs that I have no use for but couldn't bear donating. And the apron that should be hanging in his kitchen, not mine.
But there's one piece of him in my house that I love.
I made an altar.
They told me it would help—all the lost daughters and the lost sons.
The altar's on my dresser. I see it from across the room when I first wake up, and it's right next to me when I get ready for the day. It has pieces of him and me and us. Parts of the past and reminders of the now.
I like getting to see him every day. In the old photos of us smiling—boundless joy frozen in time. In the fresh tulips I bought from the florist this weekend. In my name scribbled in his handwriting on the edge of a folder. In the grieving gifts I've received over the last two months: illustrated affirmation cards, a handpainted shell, a peace lily.
It will help, they whispered—all the lost daughters and the lost sons.
And it does.
I like remembering him as alive through this altar rather than as dead through the pit in my stomach. It's the difference between deliberately feeling his presence versus reliving the shock of his absence the moment I forget. It helps me feel full rather than empty. Still lonely, but less lonely.
This altar is the first step I've been able to take in cultivating a new relationship with my dad beyond what I've only ever known. I once read that grief is love with nowhere to go, and the altar provides an outlet for that love. This newsletter does the same—so thank you for reading.
To be completely honest, my 30th birthday was the worst. Despite my beautiful loved ones trying to make it as special as could be, I'd never felt more lonely—and that has nothing to do with them.
The day offered a realization in two parts. The first is more stark: my dad isn't here anymore. He didn't call; he didn't send an email reminding me that my birthday is, more importantly, his half birthday. He'll never make that silly joke again. And that's just a fact.
But the second realization offers a bit of light. There's more to our relationship than birthday wishes. Our love doesn't simply disappear at the end of his last breath. So how can I channel his love and guidance without him physically here?
While this new era starts off with a period of deep grief, we know that with death comes rebirth. There will be a time for expansion and learning new ways of being. But for now, I'll sit with my grief next to my altar—content in the heartbreaking and comforting mess of the now.
Yoga of movement ✨
This week's class schedule is below.
Tuesday ✨ Rejuvenate (45 min creative power flow)
Wednesday ✨ Foundations (45 min gentle beginner-friendly flow)
Friday ✨ Rejuvenate + write (60 min creative power flow and guided journaling)
Sunday ✨ Sunday soul (75 min dynamic flow and restorative)
If you can't make a class in real-time, sign up anyway to get the recording directly to your inbox. I'm also available for private and corporate classes, and I'm offering complimentary corporate 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 charity and highlight it below. If these charities call to you, please consider contributing (no matter how small).
In March, donations will go to The Breonna Taylor Foundation, and my April donation will go to the Hate is a Virus Community Action Fund.
Hate is a Virus is a nonprofit community of mobilizers and amplifiers dismantling racism and hate that launched in response to the spike in hate crimes against Asian Americans. The organization is raising $1 million to help essential and BIPOC community organizations working to dismantle systemic issues related to racism. Its goal is to amplify, educate, and activate AAPI to stand for justice and equality in solidarity with other communities.
Have a suggested charity? Reply to this email 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. Feel free to share what you've written by clicking the link below. You're also welcome to keep this practice as just yours.
What is love? When you say you want love, what do you mean? What does real love feel like? Who taught you how to love? (10 minutes)
Other musings ✨
I have a theory that all female group chats end up in the same conversation: planning a commune. (Mother Jones)
Eats: Sage butter grilled cheese (Yes to Yolks)
Buy from Black-owned cannabis and CBD companies (Supermaker)
New Zealand approves paid leave after miscarriage (The New York Times)
Join me at this workshop on the anatomy of breathing (Celest Pereira)
On repeat: a dreamy disco remix of Lady Gaga's Alejandro by The Sound of Arrows (Spotify)
I'm here for you—for class, for advice, for anything that you need or would like to share. Always a phone call/text/DM/reply button away.
LBC ✨
Love this as always. Your words are beautiful and so are you. Love you endlessly!
Thank you for opening your heart and encouraging others to do the same. Your honesty and vulnerability speak volumes about your strength, and it's a privilege to consume your words each week! You ARE, and will always be, a goddess of wisdom and light :)