I always cry during yoga.
Nobody knows but my yogi, and I would happily keep this to myself, but today I’m wondering why.
Is it because the lights are low, the room is quiet, and we are encouraged to look deeply inside ourselves as we meditate and stretch?
Is it because I’m stretching muscles that have gone unused for far too long, and as they cry out I do too?
Is it because I have so much trouble with the poses, with my cancerous right breast, the pain in the upper chest and shoulder (from carrying it?), bone pain in my arms and legs and tush (from the Taxol chemotherapy), and now a popped knee (from Sunday’s walk)?
Is it because my yogi is so nice to me, modifying the poses just for me when I need it, nodding when she sees me use the strap to hold my knees, since my right arm won’t cooperate?
Is it because she is simultaneously so nice to the others in the room, modifying their poses to accomodate their masectomies, their ports, their bone pain, and their weaknesses?
Is it because here I feel surrounded by the strength and the weaknesses of the dozen other cancer patients in the room with me? Each one is sick, each one hurts, each one is fighting for her life … but all of us are here, actively working to regain strength, calm, and balance.
Or is it because here and only here (and in the chemo unit) I focus entirely on fighting the cancer? Here I am able to put aside thoughts of my little boys, my family, my friends, my fears and their fears, and I can relax and let the toxic tears go.
I still don’t know. But what I do know is that when I come out of cancer yoga at The Wellness Community each week, I am relaxed, refreshed, and oddly hopeful.