Sunday Morning

I used to do yoga every morning and every night. Two houses ago, we had an attic and I used to wake up at 6 a.m., sneak upstairs and do 15 minutes of yoga.
Then in the evening, after I'd tucked C and the girls to bed (J wasn't here yet), I'd go upstairs and do 45 minutes of deep relaxation.
That regime kept me cheerful and happy with myself, feeling i'd done something for me, and be ready to face the day.

After my years of depression, soul searching and finding my way back to Jesus Christ, I had tried, almost forced myself to go back to yoga, something that i knew would make me feel good. But it just didn't work.

I'd make a big anouncement on my blog, trying to commit myself in front of my audience, blame it on the kids for littering every space with their presence.


Then one day after the pressure had mounted and I felt like crying spells were coming back, I walked up to the telly room, pushed the sofa back, put a rug on the floor, and picked a tape. I chose one I hadn't used before, from an instructor I knew was gentle, who wasn't bossy, and would make me feel better.

And so I started again. As a complete novice. No expectations.

And so this morning I woke up. Did my yoga practice. Felt quite happier. And moved on.

{Current Yoga tape:Geri Yoga With Katy Appleton}