Saying Goodbye, and staying sane.

A few months ago, I shared a blog post I had written about a bunch of silver linings I was able to enjoy this past year.  Naturally, there are two sides to every coin, two opposite ends to any whole.  And there's a bunch of stuff in the middle.

This past year, I haven't been able to see my dad in person, due to Covid.  If you've followed me for a bit, and if you saw any of my recent social media posts, you got a glimpse at how close we are and how much he means to me.  

Then in mid-February of this year, he was admitted to the hospital for having a mild fall and I was incredibly stressed over it.  In an effort to acknowledge and share my challenges over the past year, I had planned to send another blog post; one that listed some of those challenges and all of the practices and techniques that I've been using to help keep myself healthy, sane, and cared for.  I planned to tell you about how being consistent with my yoga practice helped me keep the extra muscle tension in (some kind of) check, and the breath practices that were simply full, deep breaths every few minutes because it was the only way I could calm myself even a little bit.  I was going to tell you about my being gentle with myself when I didn't feel that I could do my physical practices because I was tired from insomnia and worrying.  I was grieving already.  I kept getting signs from the Universe that new beginnings were coming.  The signs kept coming, one after another, more and more frequently.

I knew that my dad was not leaving the hospital, despite being told the plan was to transition him home in a few days.

I knew that was not the truth.

Then we were told we needed to say our goodbyes.  Virtually.

 
So, now, I'll tell you about how I could barely move from the fetal position on my couch to get onto all-fours and move around so slightly just to ease some of the aching.  I felt like I had been hit by a truck.

I chose to lean into the feelings, cry for hours each day, sometimes so hard that I'd hyperventilate like I did so often as a child.

I chose to let others see me cry, to show the children in my life that crying and feeling feelings, without running away to hide them, is healthy.

I chose to breathe even deeper, to practice pranayama techniques designed to calm the nervous system, even if that barely took the edge off.  It helped the tiniest bit, and making the choice to put everything I know, teach, and trust into practice at one of the most devastating times of my life is a true testament to their power, and to my dedication to myself.

It's why I do what I do, teach what I teach; because I know it works, it's profoundly life-changing.  If this loss had occurred prior to my life of yoga, it would be a whole other scary story.  (Scroll to the bottom and find a few ways that you can join me on this journey of self-development and growth).

But here's a twist for you: even with this devastating loss, I've identified plenty of blessings.  To pretend they aren't there would feel so ridiculously untrue, ungrateful and selfish.  They are there in plenty.  And it still hurts.  Both are true, it doesn't need to be either/or.

Thanks for reading this far, and thanks for the messages of love from those who follow me on social media.

Sending love right back to you,

Emily