my friend cori’s blog. if you like yoga, and writing, and honesty, and real women, then you definitely want to check it out.

1) When I’m giving a book reading or teaching yoga.
2) When I’m at home in my sweat pants with my kids all day, baking breads and cookies, filling the freezer, taking care of the home.

Very different versions of happy. The first is an powerful version. It’s a high. I feel “amazing.” I love to connect with other people. I love to teach. To reach out, offer my knowledge and wisdom, and make a difference in my community.

Here I am speaking last week at Auburn University during National Eating Disorders Awareness Week.

And here I am teaching a special Valentine’s Day class last month…definitely feeling a little high, whee!

I also love surrender. I love the tenderness of my childrens’ sticky fingers crawling up my legs to be held. I love an empty day, one where I don’t have to answer my phone or email, and instead choose to be present with what is: child-rearing, house-keeping, and daily needs. This second version of happiness doesn’t come easy, though…

Because at risk of sounding like a cliche’d working mom, it’s not balanced. I’m always scrambling from one thing to the next, planning my class on the fly, picking up after my kids in a rush, barely squeezing in a shower (or not at all), somewhat distracted at every corner. And if I’m really honest, here’s another dilemma I’m grappling with: Version 1) of happiness almost always feels good. Version 2)? I sometimes resent it.

I hate that here I feel the need to interject how much I love my children. How I do feel gifted to be their mother. It is an honor, and a sweet one. But I don’t want to have to defend that point, because I want it to be okay that sometimes mothering is painful. It is exhausting. It is constant. There is little time left for creativity.

A moment of sweet chaos.

Every time I enter the room to teach yoga, no matter where I’m coming from that day, I allow myself to be transformed by the practice of teaching. I might start out distracted or even upset, but the act of sharing this practice with a group of students somehow shifts that. Every. Single. Time. And on the best days, not only do I walk away feeling better than I did before, but I walk away feeling powerful.

Go ahead, judge that word, powerful. Someone out there is going to remind me to take the ego out of my practice. Someone is thinking I’m not supposed to want or enjoy power, especially not as a yoga teacher! But I’m begging to differ, because I see it like this:

An empowered woman is a gift to the world. A woman who rocks from her center, who stands on her own two feet, who offers love from a place of strength and yes, power, is an inspiring woman. I know that I emanate this on my best teaching days. I know that I offer inspiration to my students when I’m teaching from that empowered place. I describe my classes as power yoga classes. But I don’t just mean that they’re physically challenging and we sweat. I mean that we uncover and reveal a piece of our own power in the process.

Here’s the next thing: I think surrender is powerful too. In a different, but very meaningful and valuable way. It’s just that I’m weaker at this version. I know that letting go, giving in, softening, melting, releasing defenses, etc., holds a healing sort of power, a power that allows for a version of happiness that is effortless, content, and peaceful.

It’s worth noting I’ve improved. I read this article today and related to many of her sentiments. I remember being anorexic, and having enough awareness to be grateful that I had such a nice, hard shell up against feeling–feeling anything at all. The idea of being full and pregnant was horrifying.

But when I was seventeen. Oh, when I was seventeen…let’s just say I came as close as I ever had to this embodied powerful surrender. Without switching between modes like I do today (yoga teacher/writer to at-home mom) I found a way of living that melded both together. Something about being seventeen. Liberated. Unaffected. Passionate without fear. Full of love. Full of confidence. Little concern for how others viewed me. Empowered. And, soft. I knew how to let go. I had time to be creative. In large part, this ease of living came because, well, I really had it easy. And it’s no coincidence that anorexia followed soon after. When grown-up life struck and I had to take care of myself, I learned quickly to protect & defend. Now, life now is full of responsibilities that I manage to respect and fulfill without reacting quite so dangerously. Thank goodness for that.

Peacefully powerful at my high school graduation.

But even as we grow to be responsible adults, do we have to lose our ability to access the happiness of seventeen?
I teach yoga because I feel powerful, liberated, and free when I teach.
I teach yoga because I connect with other people in an intimate and transforming way.
I teach yoga because it allows me to feel creative and alive.

But I can’t be up there all day long. I can’t teach, or practice, more than about an hour a day. Sometimes not even that. So the rest of the time, I’m scrambling to respond to emails, shop and run errands, clean my home, and care for my children who are young enough that they can’t dress, wash, or feed themselves.

I’m not winding up to some great final point here. Only to say that I’m in the thick of the juggle-struggle. I’m exploring still. I’m digging deep still. I’m following what I love and owning what sucks. Some days I want to give up all my work and only be home with my babies. My children need me, and what greater gift than to give them, while they’re still so young, 100% of their mother?

But the truth is harder than this. Because the truth knows that I can’t live in the black or the white–I live in the gray. I live in the juggle, the totally imperfect balancing act of trying to follow two different versions of happiness at the same time.

Maybe the surrender here isn’t accepting the challenges of motherhood and letting go of “Power Peach” to stay at home full-time. Maybe the surrender…maybe the greatest way I can truly access that version of happiness is if I surrender to the imperfection. Surrender to the truth that it is not a perfect balance. Surrender to admitting that it’s hard, that I struggle to find a way to fit it all in, and that sometimes I wish for a clearer focus.

Here’s something else that’s interesting: when I lived in Sacramento, I practiced yoga at two different yoga studios. At Zuda Yoga, I took Anne Marie Kramer’s classes. I loved them. She inspired me to find a connection with myself that was deeply powerful, that truly transformed me. She reminded me to shine brightly in the world, to step into the light. I left her classes feeling high and alive. I also practiced (and taught) at Asha Yoga, with Cori Martinez. Cori is one of the top five most inspiring women in my life. She teaches from a deeply grounded center. I accessed a place of inner-quiet I never knew existed when I took Cori’s classes. She is subtle, specific, and intentional in her teaching. I left her classes feeling a heightened awareness for my body, and carrying a sense of calm and peacefulness I rarely felt otherwise.

It’s interesting enough that I deeply loved both these women and learned equally valuable lessons from each of them, but what’s extra interesting is that despite the fact that they teach different styles of yoga and both own studios in the same town within a mile of each other, they’re very close friends. They could be competitors; instead they are friends. Which makes me think, or somehow know, that my work is to find a way to let my two versions of happiness be friends. They need each other.

While I was off at work for a week, my willing & liberated husband donned the apron in the evenings to chase the rowdy kids single-handedly through their dinner/bath/bedtime routine. And I went to yoga classes and watched movies in bed. Ah yes, it feels good to be back at work!

this morning i’m opening my doors to a dozen incredible women to share a “mindfulness retreat” – two yoga classes, a gourmet vegetarian lunch, and a nutrition q & a with my knowledgeable dietitian friend.

my children now see the house as a playground for their own downward dogs…

my daughter, on the other hand, has lots of time for art.

i think this one looks like she’s dancing

can’t you tell!

five things my mom taught me:

1. just rest. you don’t have to sleep.
when i was a little girl, i’d lie in bed and whine i’m not tired, mama, i don’t want to sleep… to which my mom would reply, then don’t sleep, sweetheart. just rest. now, as an adult, this bit of wisdom means so much more. i use it on my own child, but i also use it on myself. if i can’t sleep because i’m anxious or if i can’t sleep because my children don’t let me, i recite my mom’s voice whispering, just rest, sweetheart.

2. mother the mother.
my mom made sacrifices for her children, but she didn’t sacrifice everything. she taught me, by example, that self-care is critical. she stayed home to raise us, but she also made time for herself to exercise, socialize with friends, and take breaks from mothering. she dressed up for parties and left me with babysitters. she traveled with my father to paris. she went to dance classes and took walks with friends. she wasn’t the arts-and-crafts type of mom, or the PTA type of mom. she was a womanly mom, teaching by example. i am deeply grateful for this. beyond words.

3. just be “good enough.”
sometimes, striving to be perfect really ruins things. when overachieving can’t cut it, just do ‘enough’. accept the imperfections and the consequences that come from that. it isn’t so bad this way, really, sometimes it’s best.

4. you don’t need to measure for pancakes or cookies.
somehow i’ve inherited the ability to make chocolate chip cookies and pancakes from scratch without pulling out a measuring cup or spoon. it’s weird, but i have my mom to thank for it.

5. the body matters.
i’m pretty sure i would not be a yoga teacher if my mom didn’t own a studio herself.

happy birthday, mom! i love you!

not sure i can survive without my morning cup of joe. or my evening brownie. i’ve decided these are good crutches, and i’m grateful for the abundance in my life that i have these two bitter (& sweet) treats every single day.

wise men count their blessings; fools count their problems.

Peter naps well, but still doesn’t sleep through the night.

He’s getting awfully strong.