Some days in midlife, it feels like we’re moving through a fog — juggling the endless to-dos while quietly wondering who we even are anymore. The dishes pile up, the laundry basket overflows, and underneath it all is this constant hum of “Am I coming apart at the seams?”
We’ve all been there. And sometimes, the smallest moments — a pause in a yoga class, a few words from someone who really sees us — can shift everything.
This story from Kelli captures that beautifully.
The moon is approaching its fullest state. The sink is filled with yesterday’s dishes. The laundry hamper is spilling over, unable to hold one more thing. And you are quite certain that you are going mad. It’s just another day in the world of you, a woman who’s in that middle phase of life, not really sure where she belongs and what to even call herself; another reason you are certain you are going mad.
I wish I could say that as the moon begins to wane and the dishes find their way into the dishwasher, your sense of sanity would be restored, but it’s not quite that simple. You see, you are no longer young, but you are most certainly not old. So what are you? And more importantly who are you?
In an effort to answer that question and so many others, you find yourself headed to this afternoon’s yoga class.
Surely there you will find some peace and some sanity? But then about five minutes into the class, you realize you brought that crazy person with you. So now what?
Since the voices in your own head are not really helping, you decide the only thing to do, at least for the next hour, is listen to the instructor. You like her; you’ve been in class with her many times before, so maybe she can shed some light on what is happening to you.
Before she really begins to call out any postures or give any directions for the movements you suspect are coming, she asks each of you to begin to ground through your seat, feel the earth holding you steadily in place, and then as you are ready, gently close your eyes. And if for no other reason than to shut out the distractions your eyes are darting toward around the studio, you comply.
Then she asks you to place your right hand over your heart, and cover that hand with your left.
“As you begin to gently breathe in and out,” she says, “think about how much effort it took for you to be here on your mat right now. How many plans you had to orchestrate to fit this time into your schedule, the kids you had to arrange care for, the dogs you had to tend to before leaving them on their own; even right down to finding your water bottle and filling it up on your way out the door.”
She pauses.
The room grows completely still and quiet.
“Now as you gently press onto your heart with those hands, tell yourself how grateful you are for all that effort: for doing whatever you had to do to be here right now. See that effort. Honor that effort. And then I invite you to see the person that I see; the one who did all those things. The person who is here, right now, on their mat, ready to receive whatever this practice has for them today.”
As she goes on to cue a few rounds of breath, you realize that something has shifted.
You are not quite sure what it is, but something has definitely shifted.
“How did she know?” you think to yourself. “How did she know how much effort I really did have to make just to be here?” And then you start to notice how absolutely lovely it feels to have someone actually validate your effort.
The movements begin, but you cannot really remember exactly what posture was offered at what point in the class that day. The thing you do remember, and you remember it well, is that someone really saw you that day.
Someone really saw you.
“Has she felt as crazy and coming apart at the seams as I have felt lately? Is that how she knew I needed to be seen and recognized for the efforts I am making?”
And as the class begins to draw to a close, the instructor asks all of you to make your way to your backs and once you arrive there, place your right hand over your heart again, covering it with your left.
“I saw you today,” she says gently, almost in a whisper. “And now, as we lay here preparing for the beautiful posture of Savasana, I only ask one thing of you… see yourself in the same, non judgmental, compassionate way that I saw you today. See yourself as you intentionally offer yourself complete rest. There’s nothing to do; no more effort to give. Just be.”
That day you began to realize that yoga is not just this thing you go do a couple nights a week; yoga is this full living experience of embracing all the parts of you, even the parts that struggle on the day of the full moon and the parts that don’t quite know who you are as you go through this phase of being in the middle right now. Even the part that leaves the dirty dishes in the sink for a couple of days.
Yoga, you realize, is a gift.
It was a gift on that day and it can be a gift that you commit to keep giving to yourself, one breath, one showing up effort at a time.
Yoga helps you to feel seen and for someone stuck living in the middle right now, it’s a pretty amazing feeling to take with you as you leave the mat and head home to do something about that overflowing laundry hamper. But this time, you don’t feel quite as mad, quite as coming apart at the seams.
Something has shifted.
And that something is you.
Dr. Kelli Sammis is a retired educational leader, 500-E RYT, certified Meditation teacher and Ayurvedic coach, and founder of The Bridge Yoga Studio in Texas. She wants all people to be well, but the group that she is most committed to is the group to which she belongs to right now…women living in that middle part of life, trying to understand who they are!
