Where was I?
Who was I?
At 55, I was utterly lost. Believed I was a total failure. Everything I ever did went wrong, or so the little voice in my head kept saying. I struggled with relationships and when they fell apart. Anything that went wrong around me was all my fault. Despondent and utterly miserable and the only person to blame was also my fault—or so the little voice in my head kept telling me.
Walking out of the arena, having watched my son speed skate, I spied a poster advertising chair yoga for seniors.
My sister does yoga and I never quite knew why. Thoughts of the poster kept popping up in my head.
I was intrigued. I have pain in my hip and thought perhaps doing yoga this way wouldn’t be so hard. I might not feel so embarrassed if the participants are older than me or have more flexibility issues than me. The voice told me I would make a fool of myself anyway. The little voice kept telling me I couldn’t go. I was not good enough. I wouldn’t know anybody there and would be scared. But another voice, from another part of me, was speaking something else.
And I couldn’t stop listening.
I went to that chair yoga class one Saturday. I was scared but I wanted to do yoga more than letting the fear win. The people were mostly older than me. Some were less flexible. It didn’t matter. I didn’t use the chair. I didn’t need it. I walked out of that class with a warmth in my whole body.
I had never experienced anything like it in my life. Alive from the inside out. My body had been fed a food that I had never tasted before. The little voice said I was losing it. I was mad. The other voice and the warmth held on tight.
Since that day, I have been slowly feeding that inner warmth. Since that day, that other little voice isn’t shouting as loud. Since that day, I learnt not everything that goes wrong is my fault. Since that day, I began to learn how to love myself. Since that day, I began to live life.
It is never, ever too late.
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Apprentice Editor: Kathryn Muyskens/Editor: Cat Beekmans
Photo: Someecards/Created by elephant journal
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