Posts In: yoga mama

Something made you roll your eyes, hiss a little, and think “they are so extra- ugh?” as you scrolled through the feeds.

Is there someone you feel like you are silently  in competition with?

Is there someone you watch and might even take notes from, but you don’t “follow”,  “like” or <3 them.

We know that social media has created means to constantly compare that never existed before. And we know that comparing ourselves to someone else’s parts will always insure we (feel like) we are coming up short and can never be enough.

Yet.  Still.

Can we learn something from compassionately examining who and what we envy ?

I’ll share a personal experience that I’ve tucked away and carried around for a while.

Before I became a mama, I’d suck my teeth when people talked about, posted about, wrote about, or shared pictures of their kids. Or I’d pretend to be overly interested. Once, while on a retreat, a sister kept talking about her children . At first I was “so” into it. But it seemed to go on too long. My fake interest turned to pure irritation. I literally said to her
“Girl… I thought you came here to rest and be free of them and all that. Don’t you have something else in your life to talk about” (Yes y’all, I said that to someone). I was so annoyed at her. But was it annoyance? Was it “at” her? I went and sat with my feelings and examined my response.  Annoyance gave way to the feeling of a sharp rock in my belly. My heart felt punctured open, 1,000mph wind howled through.

My sitting turned to laying down. I held myself and wrapped deep breaths around my spirit. Then it happened. This feeling was a tunnel to crawl and peer through. A way to both see and humbly touch what I wanted. I wanted children that I would miss on a retreat. I let myself feel all of the inner questioning that I’d “put it off”  and then it seemed to be eluding me.  I wanted to unroll my yoga mat and have little socks that had been left behind fall out. I wanted to feel and give the depth of love present in that sister’s (and so many mamas) eyes, words, and the way she carried her body and even her purse around.

For many layered reasons, I couldn’t/ wouldn’t admit that longing any other way. And so that thing dressed up like annoyance and strolled in as envy.  Only once fully investigated did it reveal a desire that I’d meticulously hidden and covered up beneath other emotions, interests, and even ambitions.

Envy does not feel good and is not “nice”. And yet, it is often a determined and nuisanced teacher. You may be more evolved, and so, you won’t have or need the lessons to come through envy.

but y’all… that was how I realized one of my deepest desires. Through a messy inquiry into who and what I envied & exactly why.

Who do you envy? Are you jealous of someone else’s work? Relationship(s)? Family? Vacation? Why? What does envy feel like in your body? Where do you feel it? What longing or desire might be asking you to take notice through this fiery emotion?

Danielle Laporte says this of jealousy/envy:

“It asks us to give ourselves permission to want what we want… and get our ass in gear.

Envy is often a call to action.”

Inhale*exhale.

love+ honor you as much as you can. Then look your envy in the eye. Look at and beneath it. Ask it what it really wants. Be honest.

Ask you what you really want. And

Take your next bold step.

The landscape within me changed. The geography around me shifted. I at once knew this path and my feet were at home. Yet I was also lost.

I looked at the deep lines on my belly, were they directions? Were my expanded hips and breasts there to point me in the right way as I navigated this wild territory?

New mama.

“Guide my feet, while I run this race.” The first year of mothering and studio ownership revealed my dark- deeper. My underbelly. My fears. My messiness. My grit. My shame. My pride. My place of grace. My resilience. My strength. My softness. My naivete. My wisdom.

I wouldn’t trade nothing for year one right now, and I ain’t turning around either- though.

I have to do this work. This work has to work.
I want to do this work. I feel called, inspired, loved, challenged, and sometimes on edge with this work. It is, in fact, actually, work.
.
I share the “full” studio pictures, and there are still days where there’s one, two, three students in class. Real life is this AND that. Not this or that. .
I share from an open hand often, and there are moments when I am gripping, tightened fist, closed.

Some days feel like walking through thick and unrelenting bush. Some days I am dancing in an open field, twirling forward.

All of the while, I sense my feet are being guide.

Sometimes it’s a fire walk to get to stream. Sometimes we crawl to what we think is the finish line, only to realize it’s the start. Sometimes the directions are wrong, and we get lost in order to find our way home. Many times we are standing, in front of the sign we are praying for, but can’t see it because the message isn’t often packaged or in shiny papers.

My feet have been guided to this place of knowing: It ain’t “this or that”. It’s this AND that.

Who carries mamas?

Mamas carry people. Our bones expand. Our organs move. From the inside, and in the most intimate places, we make room for others to grow. We share blood, breath, and pulse. Create cords, new ecosystems called placentas.
We carry people in our bodies, completely.We take people in.

Deep in my marrow, I knew it would change everything. It had to.

I labored 2.5 days. Traversed through physical, emotional, spiritual issues I thought I had moved through 1000 times before. I burned sage and I prayed. I played Outkast and I danced. I made offerings and I cried. I called on my Ancestors and I listened. I crawled up to the helm of God’s dress and I pulled and pulled until an opening was revealed.

Through the opening and beyond, this mama walked across water and blood to go get my baby. (I passed so many mamas who have been and will be- along the way.)

Reaching down into the river of both time and myself to touch Oyetunde for the first time, I reached down to catch all of the dreams, fears, doubts, and longings I’d never whispered to anyone before.

He was born just before dawn, and though my labor was an epic quest and rite, in the final stage I did not push. I did not need to.

The work had been done. I got quiet enough so I could hear the breath and pulse of God. I followed that sound toward my baby’s heart. In tune, I breathed the fullest breathes of my life until we both made it to the other side.

My mind was full, and not crowded. My body had ripened soft, yet not been swallowed whole in the consuming process of giving birth.

My heart was cracked open, but not broken.

I had done the hardest thing I had ever done.

Today, my son turns two years old.

Because of him and the power, freedom, and healing of his birth, I know anything is possible.