Time and time again I tell myself “I don’t think I can do that”, and my body proves me wrong.
Those who know me know that yoga is a huge part of my life. It is more than just a hobby, it is a way of life. I highly recommend yoga for anyone with (or without!) chronic illness, because yoga really is accessible to everyone. I will admit that my absolute favourite parts of yoga are the headstands, the handstands and all other things that really challenge me physically. But here’s the thing: yoga isn’t really about the headstands, handstands or any other fancy poses. Yoga means ‘to yoke’; to unite; to join; to connect. It is a process of becoming more aware of who we really are. The poses we typically associate with ‘yoga’ in the West are one way of working towards this, but anything that helps us connect with ourselves is yoga. Therefore, anyone can practice yoga. It doesn’t require physical fitness, it assumes no religious underpinning, and it doesn’t mean you have to pay £8 to attend a class. Sit for 5 minutes focusing on the sensations in your body – yoga. Use techniques to regulate your breath when you feel stressed – yoga. Practice self-compassion, being honest with yourself about what is right for you – yoga. In fact, everything we do could be yoga if we practiced it with full awareness.
For the last couple of years I have dabbled in acroyoga, which combines yoga with acrobatics, working with and supporting other people in pairs or groups. There are a million reasons why I love acroyoga: it appeals to my love of a physical challenge, it pushes me outside my comfort zone, it builds trust and communication, and above all, it is seriously good fun! Around 6 months ago I had a bad patch health-wise, my mental health and motivation suffered, and I stopped practicing acroyoga. Before I knew it, I was out of practice and convinced I wouldn’t be able to do it anymore, and acroyoga was no longer a part of my life.
Just before Christmas, I was having a good week and I bit the bullet and went to my local acroyoga class. I was nervous about going. I really didn’t know what I would be able to manage physically, I had been out of action for so long and I was convinced that I would no longer be able to do the things I used to be able to do, that everyone else would be better than me and that I would have a miserable time (self-pity anyone?!).
Well, how wrong I was! I managed all the poses I could do before, including the one in the picture, which I had actually really struggled to get the hang of when I was practicing regularly, and which I’d only ever successfully done twice before (thanks to my fellow acroyogi for letting me use this picture!). But more than that, I had fun. I instantly reconnected with the wonderful community of acroyogis and I forgot about all my problems. It was the happiest I had felt for a long time.
I honestly cannot believe what my body allowed me to achieve that night, but when I think about it, I really don’t need to be upside down hanging off someone’s legs to realise how powerful my body is. I have been chronically sick for years and yet every day my heart continues to beat, my lungs continue to breath, and my body allows me to live a relatively normal life. Day after day I feel my body struggling just to make it to the end of the day, and yet, after 6 months of inactivity I was still able to do challenging poses and even learn some new poses. I have absolutely no idea how my body does it, but it does. Time and time again I tell myself “I don’t think I can do that”, and my body proves me wrong.
I know that I am fortunate. I know that for many with chronic illness, a good day means making it to the shower. I am lucky that my body allows me to achieve things that for many would feel impossible. But the message is still the same. Chronic illness can feel like a daily battle: me vs body. It can feel like my body is punishing me, fighting me, willing me to give in and just be sick. And then I have moments like that evening at acroyoga, and I am reminded that my body is not fighting me at all. My body is willing me to be well, not sick. Even in my sickest times, my body continues to chug along in the background, waiting patiently for me to be well again. My body is not my enemy, it is my friend.