My Yoga Journey
When I began to contemplate practicing yoga, I was terribly ill and had been bedbound for years. I’d lost my family, my independence, my career, my friends and my pride.
At twenty-three, having nursed my mum through cancer, having looked after my family, I thought I would finally have the opportunity to build my life, to travel, explore and live life to the absolute fullest. I was incredibly fit, active, bubbly and hopeful.
And I was wrong. Overnight, I went from full of life to barely alive and no one knew why.
After years of what can only be described as a living hell, I turned to yoga in desperation and terror.
I knew that if I didn’t try to do something, anything, I wouldn’t make it. I was traumatised, broken and on the edge of the abyss. It felt as though, either my sprit would crash and burn or my body would. And, as I didn’t particularly fancy either option, I began to wonder about all the remarkable people in the world, all those inspirational souls you hear about, who have managed to thrive in the midst of the most awful and challenging of circumstances.
That’s what I was aiming for, the ability to thrive in the midst of hell. Mentality, physically, emotionally and spiritually.
Aware that I would have to relinquish my old worn dreams, which I had clung to for years, ever hopeful I would return to my old life, and replace them with something else; something other than everything that had gone before – I groped in the dark, trying to find a shred of light. I felt like I was drowning.
Nothing. I literally begged my doctor, the consultants and various alternative therapists for suggestions of self-help practices to guide me to place of wellbeing, away from the trauma and darkness. They just booked more appointments and asked for more money that I didn’t have.
