I’ve been practicing yoga every day for three weeks straight. Those who know me know this is a big deal, because I’m good for starting fitness habits and quickly abandoning them out of boredom or just plain lack of commitment. But yoga has been different. It’s been good for my body, my mind, and my spirit. I’ve gotten to that powerful place where, when I wake up in the morning, I no longer negotiate with myself about whether I will do it. I simply get out of bed, shower, and head to the mat.
Conscious breathing in and out through the nose is a critical part of the practice, but this is especially true during challenging movements. Focusing on your breath helps you hold difficult poses longer. I’ve also noticed that, after deep stretches that may put added tension on the muscles, the instructor suggests I “shake it out.” Sometimes this means swaying from side to side. Sometimes, it’s making circles with my wrists or arms or legs. Other times, it’s literally a gentle shake of the hips or shoulders. These movements are supposed to help return the body to its neutral state – to release the tension built up during preceding moments of intensity.
This week, while reconnecting with a fellow helper, I shared how I believe that many women, especially Black and brown women, are holding onto so much intensity right now that we’re unconsciously inhibiting our growth. We’re righteously determined to fight the fights we deem worthy and—because there are so many—our bodies are anchored in place, our heads are on a swivel, and our minds are digging into every facet of every transgression. Our livelihoods, our civil rights, and our access to social services are under attack, and it seems our freedom to live and lead according to our values is fraught with risk. It’s natural to entrench.
But what happens when the only two hands we have are busy holding sword and shield? When the tension calcifies in our shrugged shoulders, our elbows glued to our sides, our fingers wrapped mercilessly around the things we’re clinging to in absolute desperation?
I’ll tell you what I believe. I believe that this fierce fight to stand our ground is threatening to hold us there—that the burden of responsibility to be “unyielding” means we can’t go anywhere at all. And if we can’t go anywhere, we stay mired in the battle, unable to experience the expansiveness of life that is our birthright.
Our righteous rage has become our armor, and while it may indeed keep us from harm, it may also be keeping us from happiness. It’s hard to be creative from a place of protection. It’s hard to be curious or compassionate or loving or collaborative. It’s hard to take risks or try new things. It’s hard to open your eyes to scan the environment for next-level opportunity when they’re shut so tightly in a reluctant brace for impact.
If I could offer advice to my younger sisters, I would say this:
Every now and then, at least for a time, set down your sword and your shield. Life will invite you to clench your teeth and ball up your fists every single day, but you don’t have to accept every invitation. Decline. Then, put down your phone and go outside. Call a friend and laugh at something silly. Write or sing or paint or dream or play your instrument. Read a book that centers joy and possibility. Take deep breaths. Head to the mat. Shake it out.
The arc of life is long, and if you want to survive intact, you must fill your cup with equal parts rest and rage, fun and fight, peace and preservation. We need you.
Wishing you a long and possibility-rich voyage. I’ll be traveling alongside you…with my mat in tow.
Tara Jaye Frank
