my one little word for the year - wholehearted

 

When you choose the word “wholehearted” at the beginning of the year you had no idea what it would entail. In your head you conjured up images and ways you would use your heart to guide you in your relationships, your work, your thoughts, and actions.

Sitting on the other side of the year, you see wholehearted also means brokenhearted.

For much of the year you sailed over smooth seas. Mama Alice moved through the year in health after putting the smack down on stage 4 cancer.

You did more of what you love, teaching and learning in beautiful locations. The Outer Banks (twice), Tulum, Mexico, Santa Cruz & California (three times!). You visited the beach with BFF and Asheville in the winter and fall. You made a commitment to spending your time, energy, and money in ways that moved your whole heart.

You led filled to the brim, sold out retreats at Shaker Village and Tulum. And did more of what you love love love by leading yoga teacher training in Corolla and Sonoma.

You spent lots of time with your mentor friend soul sister in Santa Cruz and finished your life coaching training. After years of wanting a spiritual teacher and actually giving up on finding one, you found just that, a teacher that resonated with your whole heart. Jenn Lee interviews you on her Business Summit.

You dreamed up a new website, a way to expand your teaching in the world. You declared yourself a yoga teacher, life coach, and spiritual hillbilly. You especially love the spiritual hillbilly part. Then you worked with Alexandra Franzen on a new website that you were giddy about.

On June 25 you got the biggest, sweetest surprise of your life when you saw two lines on a pregnancy test. You lay on the bed with your husband and went out for Mexican food. You sat there eating; chatting, living life knowing your world has totally changed with those two pink lines.  After years of never knowing if this would happen, it was, and you were ecstatic. You felt like your life was starting all over again. Fresh. New. You thought that anything is possible. You felt that with your whole heart.

On September 6 your life changed. You drove to your husband’s school, his place of work to tell him his father is dead. You sob and drive and try to find your way…..to the school, to the unimaginable words you’ll have to speak to him. Your heart is breaking. His heart is breaking. Hearts are breaking.

One week later you fly to Sonoma for the first of 16 days. During the day you teach students the intricacies of triangle pose and truthfulness (satya). In the evening you call grief counselors and massage therapists. You try anything to console your husband from afar. You lay in bed at night, rubbing your belly, counting down the days, the moments till you will be back with your husband.  Your whole heart is a broken heart.

You arrive home late. It’s a Sunday. September 30.  You finally rest in the arms of your Love. Together, you rub your belly. The next day we learn yogababy is a boy. The first thing you ask your midwife is, “Is he ok?” She says “He’s good, there’s just one small thing.”  You stop hearing what she says and you weep. Actually, you sob.

One week later, October 9, your baby is dead. They have a wheelchair for you to take you to labor and delivery. You refuse. You walk through the doors and read the words “Labor & Delivery”. You are numb. You wonder if this is really happening. You pray it’s a bad dream and you try to wake up.

It’s not and you can’t. But you go on. One day at a time. You get by with each breath.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

You relish moments of peace. They are few and far in between. Yet they come. And you know that healing will come. It has to. It must. You won’t accept anything different, any less.

You take healing trips - one with Andy alone, one with your family, then a major healing trip at Christmas. You find a day here and there were there are no tears.

The heaviness is lifting, the fog dissipating, the joy returning. You’ll live. You’ll love. You'll grow. You'll learn. You'll teach. You believe with your whole heart.

Brene Brown has inspired me so with this idea of wholehearted living. She says,

“Wholehearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It means cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up in the morning and think, No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough. It’s going to bed at night and thinking, Yes I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am also brave and worthy of love and belonging.

At the beginning of the year, I had no idea what this really meant.  I wanted to live wholeheartedly, but I wanted to do it on my terms. Don’t we all? I wanted to it be pretty and perfect. I knew there would be times of imperfection, but I wanted to know when to anticipate them. Then I’d be equipped. I’d do what I do so well…. set an intention, make a plan, roll up my sleeves and get to work.

But then you suffer two major losses in one month. Two surprising, shocking losses that you could never anticipate, never plan.  The blows come hard and you fall to your knees. Your days look like this….

Weep. Sob. Rage. Repeat.

You struggle to see your worth outside of being an entrepreneur and inspiring and motivating others through yoga.  You have no plan. Your new coaching site sits there unfinished.  You feel fat and empty. Death becomes your new best friend and you wear sorrow like your favorite sweater.

Then one day you realize this is it. You are stubborn, hardheaded, but you are learning.

This is where wholehearted living begins. Right here, right now, with all the questions and the state of imperfection.

It’s enough to just get through the day. You are worthy.

It’s ok that you’ve put on weight. You are beautiful.

Your goal was to get through that class without breaking down. It’s enough.

You are allowed to sit at your table and make an art journal for your dead son on a workday. You have permission.

You can be brave and uncomfortable and sad and happy on the same day. At the same moment if it’s needed. You belong.

So this is what I’ve learned and continuing to learn about that one little word I started the year with. These are the questions I’m living into:

How can I embrace wholehearted living during all of life’s ups and downs?

Can I feel my worthiness when my passions and purpose hide like the sun on a cloudy day?

Can I live and love with my whole heart, even when I feel out of control?

I know I will. I’ll continue. Try my best. Do my work while looking in and looking up.

And looking forward to a new year. I'm ready. May the Universe bring it with softness, ease, and joy.

gift from the sea

“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach – waiting for a gift from the sea.”  ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

 

Yesterday evening I stood at the waters edge and witnessed one of the most amazing sunsets I've ever seen. It was simply amazing. It's the photo directly above these words. The one with varying shades of orange, pink, blue, black, and white.

 

I've been blessed to visit with the ocean and sea seven times this year. Truly a gift for an ocean loving landlocked Kentucky girl. The pictures above are from my visits to the Atlantic Ocean, Pacific Ocean, Gulf of Mexico and Caribbean Sea.

 

I've gotten the best of both worlds....some trips were purely for fun and pleasure, some were for work, some were a combination of both.

 

I can't pick a favorite, but this trip I'm on now feels very poignant for many reasons.

 

The ocean is a place of miracles for me. I stand at the edge of water and it's hard for me to believe that such beauty exists in the world. After losing so much this season, I am slowly finding myself with each walk and each wave that washes to the shore. Each sunset whispers something new to my soul and helps me to feel connected to the loved ones we've lost.

 

This is the most precious gift of all this Christmas season, the most prized gift from the sea.

saving grace

 

Little moments they come and go, sweep away the heaviness of my heart, and save me daily. Thank you grace.

 

Thank you for healing trips to the mountains. Time to heal alongside Andy. Time with my family and amazing views of the mountains. A Christmas trip to the beach with family. Wishing, hoping, praying for more healing.

 

Thank you for that sweet dog that came to us on my birthday, just two weeks before we got pregnant. Nico has left my belly yet he remains in my heart and I think of him each time I snuggle Zoe close.

 

Thank you for the option of staying close to home. For sitting at our table, crying while I cut ultrasound pictures and paste them into an art journal. For sipping hot tea and looking out the window while the world passes by. All on Monday, a workday.

 

Thank you for quiet mornings in a cozy bed. Hot liquid goodness that lifts my spirits. Sleeping dogs. Rilke poetry and the way it makes me feel normal when he speaks so intimately of death. Putting pen to paper and writing letters to Nico.

 

Thank you for friends. The one who understands why I can't hold her newborn baby right now. The one that gifts me with the words by Mary Oliver. The one that sends me a video of her singing "O Holy Night" and reads to me, "I want to fly" and I bust out in a fit of laughter. The far away long ago friend that sends a candle that I light each night in honor of Nico. The one that supports all of me and helps me to see I get to choose my truth.

 

Thank you for the late evening walks in the cemetery with Andy, the dogs, the moon, and the stars.

 

Thank you for inspiration. And action.

 

Thank you for books and words and emails that soothe my soul and awaken joy.

 

Thank you for the treehouse that embraces me like a warm hug each time I enter. For the students who bring themselves and their All to our classes. For the teachers who are beyond a doubt the best, most dedicated, most wonderful people I could ever hope for.

 

Thank for the light of candles, the sparkle of the trees. Santa on a sleigh. Buying the perfect gift. The painted bird from India. An ornament with Nico's name hanging on the tree. Frank Sinatra holiday music and mexi mocha hot chocolate.

 

Thank you for the student who writes an email that sings like a song. And the one who sends an Oscar the Grouch poem that speaks of "broken and beautiful, fractured and rare, missing pieces that used to be there."

 

Thank you for a husband that loves me when I sob, weep, and rage. And when I dance, laugh, and love.

 

Thank you Yoga, for keeping me deeply connected to my head and my heart. For being patient, waiting, staying with me while I do this work. For willing back to the now.  For stretching my body and my heart. And helping me to love wide open.

 

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Saving Grace.

 

 

the sacred pause

 

I drove to the coffee shop full of angst. I knew the time would come when I have to utter the words “I lost my baby.” I stepped up to the counter and ordered a soy latte. “Oh, you’re drinking caffeine. Is your baby already here?” asked the barista enthusiastically.

Her enthusiasm immediately met my sadness as I stood there and spilled out some words about him being gone.

I quickly escaped to the bathroom where I stood looking at myself. I took a picture to remind myself that I was still breathing, still living.

This time was a moment to literally catch my breath. It was a time and a place for me to breathe and be with all that I was feeling.

It was a sacred pause.

In every yoga class I teach I have students come back to mountain pose numerous times to take a conscious sacred pause. It’s a time to regroup, recenter, come back to stillness, and access feelings in the moment.

In the moment I’m living my life in this container of the sacred pause. At this point in the year I’d normally have 2013 mapped out. I’d have unearthed new dreams for the New Year.  My planner would be filled with all things work related….retreats by the beach, yoga teacher trainings in faraway places, workshops and trainings I wanted to participate in. In true Sharon fashion, it would have exclamation points by trips and random stickers placed on special dates.

I bought a planner for 2013 but it remains mostly empty. I’ve hit the pause button.

My coaching website is nearly finished. All it lacks is a few finishing touches. I’ve hit the pause button.

Healing, connecting with Andy, and planting seeds for joy, hope, peace, and possibility are taking up my time and attention. This was not my original intention after losing baby Nico.

Part of me so desperately wanted to get back to get back to my life as I knew it. I wanted to get far away from my feelings and experience of loss. I wanted to busy myself. I wanted to get back to planning, mapping, corralling, and controlling my life. Not having a professional goal I’m diligently working towards makes me nervous, very uneasy.

Yet some part of me knows the only choice is to let it all go. I must live and dwell in this place of chaos, uncertainty, ongoing questions, and lingering sadness and trust that it’s lifting me to a better understanding of myself and my life.

It’s not easy. I fight it most days. It’s messy and it’s extremely hard work for me.

Tara Brach defines a pause in a way that deeply resonates with me. She says, “a pause is a suspension of activity, a time of temporary disengagement when we are no longer moving toward any goal.”

I’m also thinking of this in terms of the holiday season, a time that can be overscheduled and leave us feeling frantic and exhausted.

I’m wondering where the sacred pauses are for all of us in the season. Those of us that are dealing with loss and sadness as well as those celebrating a bang up of a year.

Before taking a drink of my soy latte I pause and smell, relishing the delicious scent.

Before opening a work email, I take a deep breath.

At night Andy and I light three candles on our mantle. One for Joe (my amazing father-in-law), one for Nico, and the unity candle from mine and Andy's wedding. We pause and say a prayer.

I pause during meditation and take note of my thoughts.

I pause on a walk and connect to the peace I feel, as well as the sadness.

I pause and make a wish on a star at night.

I pause during a conversation with a sweet friend and rest in quiet still space.

To do all of this and be truly in the moment, without any expectation, without strategizing, without working towards any goal is worthy of time.

It’s praise worthy.

And possible it just might save our soul this holiday season.



learning how to bend without breaking

Greetings Dear Soul,

Tonight I'm thinking about creativity, unexpected relief, the difference between grief and mourning, and what it's like having your heart broken over and over each day.

Yea, it's realllly fun living in my head these days.

Luckily for you I'm sharing my world of creativity over the weekend. And the art of bending without breaking. Something I make no claims on being an authority on.

Weeks ago I signed up to participate in two days of virtual programs with Jennifer Lee, author of The Right Brain Business Plan (in which I'm a facilitator).

I went back and forth over whether or not I'd have the energy to participate. I sent Jenn an email before we began and explained the head (and heart) space I was in.

I made an agreement with myself that I'd participate with no expectations. I'd hold each day and the process very lightly. I'd take as many breaks as I needed. I'd quit, call it a day early if needed.

This my Friend is not how I would have approached this in the past. I would have stuck to the schedule because that's what "good" students do. I would have forced my focus (and been upset with myself if it was less than I expected). I would NOT have quit early. Not. An. Option.

Damn straight, I'd have been miserable first.
Silly, I know.

Due to recent circumstances, I had no other choice. I had to give myself freedom. Wiggle room.

The truth is, I don't have the energy to force anything these days.

Something shifted for me this weekend and I felt more energy and excitement around work than I have in a long time. This was totally unplanned and unexpected.

I'm not sure what it was....
The awesome people I met and interacted with all over the world.
Jenn's fantastic facilitating.
My excitement about work.
The space I allowed myself.
The permission to bail out early.

The truth is since the (still)birth of baby Nico I've had to make a conscious effort NOT to use planning for the future as an escape mechanism, a way to gloss of my loss. This is my "blindspot", my go to pattern, my particular way of escaping pain and any other unwelcome emotion.

"Nothing to see over here. I'm not sad. I've got things to plan and places to go."

What I noticed this weekend was that I wasn't using my creativity, my planning to stuff my feelings and emotions. I was not over riding, skipping over sadness. My work upstairs in my sweet sacred (and messy!) space felt authentic and in the moment.

 

 

 

I'm oh so grateful for that time and now I'm wondering....
How might my energy, aliveness, and the process in general shift by holding the process lightly.
What if I give myself permission to try then bail out as needed?

Most of all, how can I continue to bend without breaking?

thank you beautiful people

Of Love 

I have been in love more times than one,
thank the Lord. Sometimes it was lasting
whether active or not. Sometimes
it was all but ephemeral, maybe only
an afternoon, but not less real for that.

They stay in my mind, these beautiful people,
or anyway beautiful people to me, of which
there are so many.

You, and you, and you,
whom I had the fortune to meet, or maybe
missed.

Love, love, love, it was the
core of my life, from which, of course, comes
the word for the heart. And, oh, have I mentioned
that some of them were men and some were women
and some — now carry my revelation with you —
were trees. Or places. Or music flying above
the names of their makers. Or clouds, or the sun
which was the first, and the best, the most
loyal for certain, who looked so faithfully into
my eyes, every morning.

So I imagine
such love of the world — its fervency, its shining, its
innocence and hunger to give of itself — I imagine
this is how it began.
~Mary Oliver

I'm sitting here at the treehouse, preparing to teach my first class in what has been my longest hiatus from my/our beloved yoga studio.

I can't help but be filled with thanks and gratitude for all the beautiful people in my life and the amazing support shown for Andy and myself.

We've received cards and flowers. Flowers that took my breath away for a few moments because they were just that glorious. We've received angel wings, journals, sparkly pens, food, phone calls, messages, daily texts, and more.

Guess what?  We even got a poem. A poem that I've printed and posted on our fridge for us to see every day. Maybe one day I'll share it here.

Sweet souls offered us with their time and energy and gifts. Healing sessions, massage, and more. And these amazing treehouse teachers (plus Erin and Lisa) who swooped in quickly, graciously, lovingly to take care of all things Barefoot Works? I adore them, love them, thank them.

And for all the friends who didn't quite know what to say. The ones who thought they would say the wrong thing. The ones who stayed away because it was all just too much.... Andy and I felt your love and we know you too were simply doing the best you could doing unbearable times.

For this and more I am eternally thankful for the beautiful people swirling around in my universe.

It's taken my mind and heart a few weeks to catch up with the beauty and bigness of all of this love. Of all of You. But little by little, day by day, I'm getting there.

Such love in the world.
Such love of the world.

If yoga is really all about union and connection.
Well, I think we've got that covered.

Thank you.

xo,
sharon

 

don't grieve, anything you lose comes around in another form

 

Little did I know what the year would hold when I scribbled these words on a napkin on the first day of 2012.

I can’t say I’ve listened to Rumi’s advice of “don’t grieve”, but the latter portion is serving up daily support.

A reminder to look everywhere I go, eyes looking, heart opening to the possibility of this idea…..

What you lose today comes back in another form.

The flowers in my garden look like they are dead. They are brown and brittle, lacking any signs of their former vibrant life. The tulips come up early every spring and for several weeks they fill my heart with such simple joy. When they wither and die I feel a little sad. If only they could blossom year round, I occasionally think to myself.  

Letting go is not easy for me.

Yet they are burrowed deep in the earth, dead to my eyes, but some part of me trusts that come spring they will once again make their miraculous and beautiful appearance. Undoubtedly they will appear different than the year before. The size, shape, and shade of color will depend on the nourishment they received from the rain, sun, and such.

I love the fall season when the leaves put on a dazzling show for all to enjoy. The trees are adorned with red, gold, yellow, and orange leaves. What is it about a bright orange leaf on the ground that causes us to pause, take a longer look, tilt our head back and for a moment appreciate all that is right in the world.

The colors of the leaves, the way the light dances across the sky during the fall season make me swoon. Undoubtedly, when the trees are naked, standing in all their glory, I can’t help but feel a little sad. If only we had more time to witness the magic of the color of the fall season.

Letting go is not easy for me.

Yet the leaves that fall to the ground, the ones that rest on the bed of the earth in their dazzling colors will turn brown and brittle. They appear dead to me.

Yet each day I am seeing that they are not dead. Some leaves hold the seeds that will become future trees. Some leaves provide a home and nourishment for other life. All of them will decompose and contribute to the livelihood of future trees and plants.

And so it is with Nico Joseph Tessandori.  Our “hello-goodbye” baby boy.

The lines of his beginning and ending are a blur and for this I’m comforted, I’m thankful.

His beginning was not his birth. Nor was it day 120 when the Vedas say the baby in the womb receives his/her soul. Nor was it Nico’s conception.

Was his beginning the moment Andy and I dreamed him up? The moment we were a full, enthusiastic, outright, “hell yea we want to have a baby!”

Or was his beginning part of our parents beginning? Or our ancestors?

And his ending?  It’s all even more mysterious.

All I know is that he feels more and more real, more present with me each passing day. He lives on in my body, my mind, and most certainly my heart.

Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk says this in relationship to death….

“If you are locked into the idea of a separate self, you have great fear. But if you look and you are capable of seeing “you” everywhere, you lose that fear. I have practiced as a monk. I have practiced looking deeply every day. I see me in my students. I see me in my ancestors. I see my continuation everywhere in this moment. I have not been able to go back to my country in the past thirty years. I left Vietnam in order to call for peace, to stop the killing, and I was not allowed to go home by many succeeding governments. Yet I feel that I am there, very real. I don’t’ have that kind of painful feeling of a person being in exile because friends of mine go to Vietnam, and new monks and nuns are there. I see myself in them. I don’t think that I am not present in Vietnam right now, just as I do not think that I will cease to be someday.”

Nico lives on by the ways he has changed me as a mother, wife, daughter, sister, and friend.

He lives on by the ways he has changed me as a teacher. While it’s certainly not clear for me, I know my trajectory as a teacher is changing and evolving each day.

Nico lives on by the ways he is serving, teaching, and healing others.

I lost count at 150 emails I’ve gotten from friends, family, and students. The majority of those were from other women and men sharing their story of loss with me. Many of them thanked me for “naming what it was they experienced.” Some expressed their regret in closing down during this time of being broken open. Nico’s story was helping them to bring closure to their own story.

A dear friend said this to me in an email, “I have been floating you through my mind in my yoga practice and tears have rolled down my cheeks as I imagine the pain that you and Andy are feeling. I have been angry at God and asked the Universe why? My own fear has showed up and I can tell you have a powerful teacher in your little one because his teachings are rippling out.”

Undoubtedly, I am sad that Andy and I didn’t get more time with our little one.

Letting go is not easy for me….

But each day I’m learning how to lean into letting go of “the Nico” I previously imagined.

 

Each and every day I practice letting go of the life I dreamed up with him.

Each and every day I keep my heart open to the lessons he is teaching me.

Each and every day I look around to see, hear, and feel Nico’s presence.

Each and every day I’m mustering up trust in the words of Rumi, that what we’ve lost will indeed come back around to us in another form.



inviting sadness, shame, & sorrow in

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

~ Rumi ~

Morning time is the hardest. I wake up and invariably the first thought I have is around the death of our baby boy. It’s either the dreadful words, “unfortunately there is no heartbeat” or it’s meeting and saying good-bye to him in the very same moment.

The thoughts I wake up to are mostly the same. It’s my feelings and emotions that change day to day, moment to moment, even breath by breath.

I’m trying to heed Rumi’s advice and “welcome them all”, something I’ve been working on for quite some time.

Some days there is sadness.

Other days there is shame.

Anger rears its head from time to time

Fear and worry have woven their way into my mind.

I’m simply sitting with the feelings and emotions as they come. Rather than stuffing, quieting, and resisting them, I allow them to be.  Sometimes I give the emotions permission to get bigger. I sob till I feel like the big blue house will come crumbling down. I stomp my feet till I feel like the earth can take back some of this pain. I write all the shameful stories and thoughts I have about myself and this experience. I listen to music that I know will help- my body to release the weight, the heaviness of the past weeks.

Then the timer goes off and I come back up for air.

I know myself well enough to know that once I go down deep into the emotions, I must have a container around it. Otherwise I’ll spend the whole day sobbing on my yoga mat. Andy would come home and find me a mess….and well it would be very, very bad.

That container is a time limit and a timer. The first day into my grieving retreat I could only experience (insert any heart wrenching emotion here) for about three minutes. Day by day this number has increased to ten minutes. The amount of time I need in between “breaking down” has also varied. But it’s happening on and off all throughout the day.

You might be wondering why I’m choosing to torture myself so?

 It’s because I refuse to let something so big happen in my life without breaking my heart wide open with the hope that I will be kinder and somehow a better human being as a result.

I refuse to sleep through this. I refuse to numb myself out.  I refuse to busy myself with work, to fill my days with useless activity.

Mostly I refuse to let the life of this little boy pass me by without changing me for the better.

I choose to accept the shame, the sadness, and sorrow with the faith that I am being cleared out for some future delight.

I trust in that.

I believe it with my whole heart.

 

my story of loss + intentions for healing

 

One week ago today, Andy (my husband) and I found ourselves in what felt like an impossible predicament. Andy was adorned with every token of good luck we’ve accumulated over our 14 year relationship.

In his pants pocket was our “magic rock”, a rock we picked up together on a small island in Texas. In his shirt pocket was a small cross the reads “Jesus Christ, a token from his father’s funeral one month ago. Around his neck he wore mala beads that were blessed by my teacher. On his forehead, a light dusting of ashes from a sacred fire that’s been burning in India for over 500 years.

Yet no amount of good luck, no magic potion, no token, no talisman could change these four words uttered by the doctor…..

“Unfortunately, there’s no heartbeat.”

In an instant, our world was rocked.  Our lives forever changed. Our precious baby boy was gone. My mind racing, “No it can’t be” while my body was already accepting that yes, it was indeed true. Dreadfully true.

A few days ago I found myself flipping through an old journal. I found these words scribbled, “Sometimes when our minds and bodies are shattered by life, it’s only the spirit that can knit us whole and keep us alive.”

My body feels defeated. My mind feels shattered. My heart, broken.

I’ve screamed. I’ve sobbed. I’ve stomped. I’ve shaken my fist at God more than once. Yet, even in my greatest moments of sorrow I can hear the quiet whisper of my spirit telling me I am not beaten, shattered, or damaged.

I pause. Draw my attention inward. Take a breath. And feel the peaceful, perfect presence of my spirit. Untainted, never defeated, always pure perfection. Then the reality of my loss sets in and I sob some more. Tis the way of grieving, right?

I’m blessed to have a team of teachers around me willing to support me. I’ve decided to take two weeks off from teaching to begin this journey to healing. To do so I will take a retreat unlike any other retreat I’ve ever taken.

Over the course of several years I’ve taken a variety of retreats….

Silent retreats, business retreats, retreats for cleansing, retreats to close out the year, and retreats to greet and set intentions for the New Year.

Never have I taken a retreat to grieve. Who wants to do that? Yet here I find myself with a complete knowingness that there is no way around this loss I’ve suffered. I must go straight through the darkness. The loss, anger, sorrow, and fear if I am to find my way to the light.

I’m armed with my intentions and a plan for grieving. It includes twice daily meditations, holding yoga asanas (poses) while literally letting go, self-massage, therapy, juicing, walking, reflecting, journaling, connecting with family and friends, reading poetry, taking long hot baths, talking to teachers and mentors, snuggling Andy and our dogs, and more.

I’m one day into my grieving retreat and I can tell you it’s been the most emotional and intense work I’ve ever done. I’ve gone through more tissues than you can imagine, burned nearly an entire candle, drank gallons of hot tea, walked my doggy’s legs off, and savored a delicious white chocolate truffle.

I can already say without a doubt, this is the most important work I’ve done in my entire life. It truly feels as if all the “work” I’ve ever done was just prep work for this moment. The trainings, the workshops, the retreats, the reflecting, the lessons, the learning, the practices, the tools, the yoga, the meditation….

All for this moment right now. I don’t intend to let any of it go to waste.

If you’ve read this far you might be wondering what all this had to do with yoga? Yoga is the full expression of the moment, right here, right now (atha). Yoga is being with the full range of life’s experiences and being honest about all of it (satya). Yoga is reflecting on that which presents itself in your life (swadhyaya). Yoga is coming up with a plan to move forward and taking action (tapas). Yoga is trusting that even in times of turmoil God, The Universe, The Divine (whatever you want to call it) has your back (ishvara pranidhana).

Thank you for allowing me to share my story. I am deeply appreciative. My heart goes out to you and any loss you’ve ever encountered. May we all learn from the past and move forward with a fierce and loving heart.

with love,

sharon

{I sent this email out this morning to people on our Barefoot Works newsletter list. The outpouring of love and support has been overwhelming in the sweetest of ways. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.}

helllloooo goodbye

 

Greetings Friends,

 

I'm just poking in to say hello.

 

And goodbye. I'm leaving tomorrow for Sonoma and I'll be back at the studio in October.

Craziness.

 

I've spent the last few days dedicated to caring for my self and getting ready for yoga teacher training. I'm leaving in the morning to spend 16 days at Sonoma Ashram. I'm looking forward to being in the sweet, sacred, and healing space of the Ashram. I'll miss my yogababy daddy. The baby bump is officially here. Clearly.

 

I'm packed my yoga props.

Gathered my books.

Folded all my yoga clothes.

Printed tests.

And done all of the other lovely tasks of getting ready for an intensive yoga teacher training.

While fully expecting I will get there and realize I forgot something.

 

Please think of the awesome souls I'll be gathering with to explore all things yoga.

I believe passionately, wholeheartedly, in this work we'll be doing.

It's important.

It's healing.

It's transformative.

And it's fun!

 

I'll be peeking in and hopefully posting a few words and photos. You can also look forward to reading guest posts from the lovely teachers at the treehouse.

 

Adios.

 

xo,

sharon

should i go to yoga?

 

I was thinking this on my drive hOMe last night after prenatal yoga.

 

In the hours/minutes leading up to class I debated going. I was in a bit of a cranky mode. And sometimes when you're in a cranky mode some part of you wants to linger longer for some crazy reason.

 

Should I go to yoga? I asked myself. Over and over.

 

Conversation with myself sounded like this....

 

"Do I reallllly want to go? I did yoga already this morning at home. Do I realllly need to go? Gosh, traffic is gonna be bad when I leave. What if my belly starts growling during class? My appetite is on overdrive these days. I'll probably have to go to the bathroom like 9,000 times. Do I reallllly want to do that? Or just go home and get cozy on my chaise lounge? Hmmmmmm."

 

Ultimately I decided I didn't want to stay in cranky town. What I wanted was to feel a mental shift. I wanted to spend some time with myself and with yogababy.

 

And you know what.....

 

My belly didn't growl.

I didn't have to go to the bathroom even one time.

Traffic wasn't crazy driving home.

 

Most importantly, I felt tons better.

I felt more at peace.

The pieces of me felt more whole, like pieces of a puzzle had been put back together.

 

Body, mind, heart, yogababy.....

All better integrated.

 

Not a surprise to me, but a wonderful realization in that moment.

 

Then I realized, not once can I ever recall leaving a yoga class feeling worse than when I started.

(Actually there was that one time years ago at a gym, but that was totally my own doing. That's it. Promise)

 

Has there ever been a time you left a class feeling like you shouldn't have gone? Or left feeling worse than when you started?

 

 



evolution doesn't move backwards

 

 

There's no such thing as

"the way things used to be."

Evolution doesn't move backwards.

 

Atha.

That's the very first word in the book of Yoga Sutras.

It means "now".

 

Yoga is all about being in the present moment. It's taken me years to really get that. For a realllly long time I thought it meant that yoga is about being in the moment AND it means showing up, being in the moment in a joyful, peaceful, perfect way.

 

You know, the yogi way.

 

Early this morning I was walking in the cemetery. It was the time just before the sun was rising. The air felt cool, brisk. The trees looked different. You could smell fall lingering in space all around.

 

In the moment I checked in and thought to myself, "I feel good. I feel happy."

It was true.

 

With that single thought I realized I'd been pushing down the reality of my very first tri-mester during this adventure called pregnancy. The truth is all that many times I said I felt good, when I really didn't.

 

It's no secret that I prefer to have my face in the sun like a flower blossoming towards the sky. I'm an optimist (many times to a very annoying degree to Andy, family and friends) and always choose to see the glass half full. Aren't all so called dreamers like that? ;)

 

That has served me in amazing ways throughout my life. In fact it's one of my superpowers. And I love that about myself. You give me most any situation and I can find the silver lining. I'll tell you exactly where the rainbow is.

 

The downside of this, the shadow side is that I have a tendency to skip over the true nature of my feelings at times. Sadness, anger, grief, low energy, loss of focus. Nope, they've had little place in my adult life. I've restricted that space. I'm really good at being upbeat and positive, yet grounded and in control.

 

After this morning I realized I've been doing the same, not fully feeling my feelings all the way through over the past couple of months.

 

When I felt a loss of focus and motivation, I tried to will it, to force, to make things "the way they used to be". The way I used to be.

 

When I felt sad or confused, or emotional for any reason any newly pregnant mama might be....

I summoned gratitude. Joy. "There, that's more like it", I would think to myself.

 

The truth is, I believe we are powerful human beings who are fully capable of generating the feelings we desire. Awesome, yes?

 

But there is a place for confusion, sadness, and anger. They too have lessons to share. A voice to be heard. Ways to help us grow in the ways we most need.

 

If yoga is truly about being in the moment, isn't it about being with what presents itself in the moment? {Within reason, of course}.

 

The above quote has been my mantra since I read it a few weeks ago. I'm sorry, I don't even know who the credit goes to (but I thank them immensely).

 

It's my constant reminder that life is always moving forward. Regardless of what we have to say/think about it.

 

This isn't my first go round with this idea. I've felt myself clinging to the past in a variety of ways over the years. Wanting to re-live that awesome vacation Andy and I had. Wanting to relish in that retreat again. Wanting to experience that particular training, that moment, that meal, that conversation again and again.

 

Feeling a sadness hangover when I couldn't make it so.

 

I am learning today, perhaps more than ever, the power of the present moment. I'm getting that on a whole different level.

 

I can mourn the parts of me and my personality that are literally dying, while at the same being ecstatic about what's happening in the moment, and what's yet to come. I can make room for all of it.

 

I'm feeling a willingness to grow and stretch in all parts of my being, as my belly does the same. See above photo. :)

 

I'm wondering what you think? Not about me (I promise I don't need anyone "fixing" how I feel) but how you make space for all feelings and emotions? If you find yourself clinging to the way things used to be? If you feel you have to be any certain way as a yogi?

 

 



all things connect

Source: oprah.com via Sharon on Pinterest

One of the definitions of yoga is "union"
To unite, is to connect.

Driving to the studio today I thought of the many awesome connections yoga has brought into my life. Some of them so magical, so mysterious that words simply do them no justice.

At my second yoga teacher training (as a student), I met some of the finest women I know. I thought of all three of them as I pondered my many wonderful connections.

I can recall the moment Shelli called me as I was pulling into Barnes & Noble. I sat in the parking lot for a good hour and she gushed about the space that would soon become her yoga studio. Shelli has been with me to Mexico and North Carolina to be a part of my yoga teacher trainings.

I think of Jen and her love of cooking and how she wore flip flops to our yoga teacher training during a cold Cincinnati winter. I see her with me on the beach, on a paddle board, scribbling dreams in a journal, but mostly in a kitchen in the outer banks of North Carolina where she fed me and nine other ladies in the yoga mansion. We were well nourished beyond a belief. Jen is now embarking on her own culinary adventure, Kitchen 452.

I see Mia and her sweet cute self. I see her conquer her fear and perform a headstand perfectly. I see Andy and I driving for one day to Cleveland to see her get married. I see her recently at the studio for the first time. She is still taking notes furiously. Asking brilliant questions. So present.  Letting her guard down. Today I see her upcoming adventure. She too is following her dreams. I see Sarah and Misty connecting with Mia and I smile. Connections. They're just the coolest.

Debra was in one of my very first yoga classes I taught. She was the first person I ever had as a sub (long ago days at Hartland). She was in my very first yoga teacher training. We've spent hours over coffee, had countless lunches at Jo Beth Cafe, and spent a week business retreating at Maya Tulum. She was my connection to Grace, my coach, mentor and friend. A connection Grace and I still can't quite figure out..

Grace has traveled to Kentucky to be a part of my yoga teacher training. I've traveled to Santa Cruz to be a part of her life coach training.  I still have the very first email I sent to her nearly three years ago. It's safe to say, she is yogababy's fairy godmother.

These are just a few connections that have magically wound their way into my life through the doors of yoga. There are countless, priceless others.

A yoga student once said to me at the end of a teacher training that a little part of me would always be with them in their teaching.

I see it all as a big web.
Teachers I've had.
Students I've trained.
The students they've gone on to teach.

It all pretty fantastic.
All things are truly connected.