This is a story about my re-entry into my body.
Once upon a time, I gave birth to Grace. Into the world came a magnificent baby. She grew in my body.
And once she was here, my body continued to sustain her. It fed and carried and comforted her. My body existed for her in the most joyful way.
One day, my best friend called, “I’m picking you up at 6 p.m. Dress in comfortable clothes. You won’t regret it.”
There was such excitement and urgency in her voice that I did as instructed, gently handing little Grace into the arms and care of her father.
6 p.m. arrived and off we went.
She pulled up to a stone barn. In we went, and the next hour was filled with movement, sweat, strain, and as I moved through the Ashtanga yoga poses explained by our instructor, the woman who served as our yoga guru for the next few years, I had no time to feel confused. My body wasn’t even trying to assume the poses. It just did it’s best with very little judgment.
At one point, face down, butt up, t-shirt pooling around my neck, I felt a moment of embarrassment. But this moment passed as the gentle voice of Kathy, our teacher, urged us to keep moving.
Finally, we melted into Savasana, the part of yoga practice where you relax. In the darkened room of the barn, surrounded by people whose faces I never observed, I felt my body re-enter itself. I was reminded that this was my body. My body was my child’s. But it was also mine.
I was back in my body. I had re-entered.