The Breath, the Body, and the Breakthrough

I almost titled this post “The Breath, the Body, and the B@llsh*t of Surrender” because honestly, that’s what this month of leaning into surrender has felt like. But the word breakthrough felt truer. More lived.

And, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to share this. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized how much these personal events of fear, breathlessness, and of surrendering this past week, lives at the very heart yoga, of my yoga in practice.

So here it is. Not for pity. Not for drama. But because I feel that these are the kinds of stories we carry quietly, and I believe they deserve to be spoken aloud. And maybe this whole series of events has been my own kind of break-through …

When Surrender Isn’t a Choice

This past week has been one of the most terrifying and humbling of my life. What started as a lingering cough from early winter turned into a series of acute respiratory attacks. The episodes started last Wednesday leaving me completely and utterly unable and to breathe.

On four separate occasions, I found myself gasping for air and finding nothing; clawing at my chest, stripping off what felt like suffocating clothing. I felt my lungs and diaphragm scooping, desperately trying to suck in air, but it was like there was none. My airway felt flattened, closed off, and the very thing that keeps me alive, my breath, was ending.

I’ve never experienced anything like it. And I now hold a whole new appreciation for anyone who lives with chronic airway conditions, like my mother who’s lived with asthma for decades.

Saturday morning, just minutes before going live for class, I truly thought I took my last breath. It felt that close. I’ve never felt such panic in my body, such fear in my mind.

And yet…
The next breath came.
Eventually.
Gratefully.

Surrender Isn’t Always Graceful

The theme for myself and my teachings this March has been rooted in Ishvara Pranidhana (surrender), the yogic concept of trusting what we cannot control.

I’ve been teaching for over 20 years, and still, each time I revisit these teachings, I learn something new. This past month, more specifically these past few days, I’ve felt the teachings land in my bones in a whole new way.

Surrender isn’t always peaceful.
Sometimes it’s messy and painful and full of fear.
Sometimes it’s crying in the ER, grateful for modern medicine and acute care.
Sometimes it’s teaching a class while working at 25%, with a puffer at arm’s reach and a rotator cuff that won’t cooperate.
Sometimes, surrender is just being honest and showing up as you are.

What We Practice For

If you’ve studied yoga with me before, especially The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, you’ve probably heard me speak about the kleshas, the obstacles of the mind.

The deepest of them all is abhinivesha, the fear of death.
The clinging to life.
The resistance to endings.

And yet death is woven into the fabric of our very existence. Not just the end of life, but the death of each moment, each breath, each version of ourselves we’re being asked to let go of.

In yoga, savasana (corpse pose) is the ultimate symbol of surrender. It’s where we lay everything down and practice the art of letting go.

We don’t just practice to move better or breathe deeper.
We practice to befriend the breath.
To trust the stillness.
To hold space for the fear and meet it with tenderness.

This Is What I Know Right Now

What I know right now is that the only thing I’ve ever truly needed is breath. And the only thing I’ve ever truly had is breath. Everything else (whether I can do a vinyasa or chant a mantra) is extra.

This past week, I was reminded again and again:
🌀 The breath is the beginning.
🌀 The breath is the teacher.
🌀 The breath is the ultimate surrender.

And so, I breathe.
I rest.
I show up, with a shaky voice but an open heart.

And I invite you to do the same.

Breathe with Me

Place one hand over your heart.
Place the other over that.
Soften your gaze.

Inhale gently.
Exhale fully.
Do it again.

Let it be enough.

Fo this, too, is yoga.

xoM