Yoga.

I don’t know what I would do without yoga.

Leading up to vacation earlier this year, I was struck with overwhelming dissatisfaction in my body. I was feeling so insecure and overwhelmed.

I didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t want to wear anything I owned. I had anxiety about bathing suits.

Until the first morning.

I went out on our porch that morning to slow flow a little, to work out the kinks and aches from the long drive. It was so hot and humid, and I wound up taking off my tank top after a few minutes, just because I was so warm.

At first I was hesitant because I wasn’t perfectly curated (literally, I had on my leggings from the day before, a really old sports bra, and my hair was an actual birds nest), and I was nervous someone would see me.

I was sitting there like “I really should be watching what I eat. I should power flow. I should cover up. My arms look terrible and my belly is still so loose.”

But then, I was like, no, f**k that. I’m here, I’m showing up to my mat, and I have that to be grateful for. Which turned into: I’m going to put on a bathing suit shortly, and I’m going to go relax by the ocean. Because I’m enough. This vacation is a gift and a blessing to be enjoyed, and I’m not going to let fear or shame keep me from enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. Which circled back to: yeah. F************k that.

I’m so over insecurity.

I’m so over the awful self-talk I was taught.

I’m so over shame and guilt and fear of my body.

This is my body. It’s a good body. It’s a worthy body. This is where my soul has made its home.

This is where I have grown three babies. This is where my practice and worship comes to life. This is where I live and move and have my being.

This is where the Spirit dwells within me.

And that’s that. That is what yoga gave to me that morning.