Change

Change isn't always noticeable. Not to oneself. You're there doing the hard work, therapy, yoga, meditation, journaling, self-reflection, yet you don't always see your progress day to day.

I did, yesterday.

I sat in my new yoga training, in the same studio I had been in a previous training the year before. Back then, I had been so congested, so head-just-above-water-but-often-going-under-and-getting-water-in-my-nose. When I was asked to close my eyes, I would get agitated. Sitting up was hard. Going inside myself was hard. My eyes would remain open, my brain would continue to be on overdrive. I dropped out of the program halfway through.

Yesterday, I sat in the same room. Went right inside myself when my instructor asked us to close our eyes. There was quiet there. Sitting was doable. Being still was doable. I noted this was all possible because I do all this everyday. At home. I used to think I'd never get to a place where I had a "home practice" and now, my home has a yoga corner which is brimming with things: bolsters, straps, incense, books.

Don't get me wrong, there is still plenty of things I'm working on. Plenty of tumult. But the point here is there is also plenty of stuff I have worked through, or have made a dent in.

And that, to me, is so important to notice.

This bad-ass yoga teacher in this bad-ass program I'm in said, "Yoga reveals. It reveals your shit (my words, not hers), it reveals the work you need to do. It reveals things as you're ready to receive them."

I have plenty, plenty work left to do. And today, I just celebrate the work that's been done.

I celebrate each thing that is settling in, taking root:

~ my beautiful, beautiful apartment

~ building friendships, slow and steady

~ new mentorships, healing and grounding

~ starting and stopping and starting and stopping and starting to budget, eat better, exercise

~ a new business- what? Yes.

~ new classes in all the things I dream of teaching

~ new ways of being, interacting- even when the old ways want to jump in and take over, always noticing the new options at hand, implementing them even though the old would be so easy to slip into

It sounds dreamy as I write it here. It is hard as a motherfucker. There have been tear, sobbing out loud many a night (perk of living alone). There will be many more sobs. Many more bright moments. More and more roots setting in.

"For how long?" I often ask my therapist. "How long do I have to do this hard work?"

Can you guess her answer?