Sometimes yoga looks like three fold-up chairs in a group therapy room that smells like coffee. And you talk about the things you feel ashamed of, you share the things you think no one wants to hear because you are afraid they will judge you or not accept you or not love you.
And you use this space to practice being you. You use this space to practice being human.
And you find out that the other dude has a similar story to mine and I’ve known him for X months and we never shared this.
Because yoga looks like intimacy. Looks like trust. Looks like holding space for someone, no matter what.
Oh and then maybe we do some poses, or we just keep talking for the remaining 26 minutes or something. And sometimes you hear a story that breaks your heart and you’re so damn grateful that the person is there, sitting across from you telling their story.
You’re so damn grateful that they weren’t successful at giving up on this life. You’re so damn grateful they are here telling you how grateful they are for the simple things in their life, the things they always took for granted.
And you realize how grateful you are for everyone who has ever held space for you. Who has ever listened to you and let you open up. And just BEEN there.
It is truly a gift that we get to surround ourselves with these people as we grow older. I’m grateful for all the souls who hold space for me.
To just be me.