Over the last year, my life has been in a near constant state of flux.
I have imagined myself, at times, standing on tectonic plates, a ragged crack right down the middle, one foot on each side. Attempting to balance, surfing on what is supposed to be solid ground.
As many of you may know: my work and my practice is Rest.
It started out as something I resisted to my core. I remember my first yin class viscerally: it was a full moon workshop, two hours of long holds. I hated every single second of. My body pulsed and throbbed. My mind raced. In my first restorative class I cried, for the full 90 minutes. I did my best to hold back heaves and sobs.
I not only resisted, I actively couldn’t stand these practices, full stop. And yet: people wanted me to teach them. From the moment I opened my mouth as a (vinyasa) yoga teacher people could barely hold themselves back from screaming the words YOU SHOULD TEACH YIN in my direction. It’s wild in reflection, because at the time it all felt imposs…
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