Unlike my last yoga teacher training weekend, I didn’t have this euphoric high. Instead, I left feeling like a failure. I left feeling like my anxiety is too severe for me to accomplish anything. And today, I had therapy.
I was so anxious to see my therapist. I didn’t want to hear that I should’ve done a better job of focusing only on the present. I sure as shit didn’t want to hear that I was allowing my anxiety to consume me this past weekend….or that it was only hard because I was making it hard. Fortunately my shrink usually isn’t the fucking cunt that I sometimes anticipate (actually, she never is….my mind just automatically goes for worst case scenario). Maybe, even after all of this work, I still have some issues with trust in that relationship 😕
So instead of lecturing me like I had anticipated, she told me that what she saw in my previous blog posts about the weekend was me holding myself to these unrealistic expectations instead of meeting myself with compassion. I was dealing with my sister going into major surgery on her skull while I was trying to learn anatomy. Of course I couldn’t possibly be expected to learn everything that was presented this weekend! These were not her exact words, but it’s what I got out of our session.
Tonight in yoga class, there was a substitute teacher. At first, I was disappointed; however, I do really like this teacher so the disappointment was quickly replaced with excitement. She opened the class by asking us to think about the story that we tell ourselves or the story of what our life looks like. My thought:
I’m a failure.
Then, she asked us to come up with a new story for ourselves if the first one isn’t quite accurate. New story:
I am strong.
Throughout the class, I thought about all of the ways that I didn’t fail this weekend. And, I even applied some of the things I learned in anatomy to my practice tonight. This weekend, I was not a failure in yoga teacher training; my mind was just preoccupied with something that was far more important than which type of contraction your hamstring is making in a forward fold (or maybe it’s not contracting at all? Who the fuck knows….clearly I don’t….and that’s ok….it’s just anatomy).
I can’t change the past, but I can change the story I tell myself about it.