Before Yoga: A Special Soul’s Point of View

Before Yoga:

A Special Soul’s Point of View

Let me paint you a picture…

The lights are too bright.

Not just bright… buzzing.

Like they’re flickering even when they’re not.

The music is loud.

Too loud.

It feels like it’s inside your head instead of in the room.

Someone laughs. A cart slams. A phone rings.

Every sound lands at the same volume.

Nothing fades into the background.

Your brain tries to grab onto one thing…

but everything keeps interrupting.

Your body feels tight.

Your chest feels weird.

Your hands don’t know where to go.

You don’t know what’s wrong…

you just know it’s too much.

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Then you hear it.

Your comhab worker says,

“Next we’re going to yoga with Katie.”

And something changes.

Not outside.

Inside.

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Because your brain likes knowing.

It likes when things happen the same way.

When you don’t have to guess.

When you don’t have to prepare for something new.

Yoga with Katie is always… familiar.

Not exactly the same.

But safe the same.

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You start thinking about it.

The hammock.

The lights.

The quiet.

Your body starts to slow down before you even get there.

Because it remembers what happens next.

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When you walk in, nothing attacks your senses.

The lights don’t hurt.

The sounds don’t crash into you.

No one is rushing you or telling you to hurry.

You don’t have to defend yourself here.

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Movement first.

This part helps more than people realize.

Because when your body feels stuck…

your brain feels stuck too.

Moving gives the energy somewhere to go.

The buzzing, the tightness, the extra… it starts to move out instead of building up.

And no one is telling you you’re doing it wrong.

So your body can just… be a body.

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Then the hammock.

This is the part your brain really likes.

Because the world gets smaller.

And smaller is easier.

You don’t have to look at everything.

You don’t have to track every sound.

You don’t have to figure out what everyone else is doing.

You are in one place.

Your place.

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The pressure of the hammock feels good.

Like your body has edges again.

Like you know where you start and where you end.

That matters more than people think.

Because when everything feels too big…

having something hold you makes it make sense again.

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Then the breathing.

It gives your brain something to follow.

In.

Out.

Simple. Predictable. Repeatable.

Your thoughts don’t have to run the show for a minute.

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The tapping helps too.

Because sometimes your body feels far away…

or too loud… or confusing.

Tapping brings it back.

“Oh. That’s my arm.”

“Oh. That’s my leg.”

“I’m here.”

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Then the words.

You are safe.

You are okay.

You can handle this.

At first, they’re just words.

But over time… your brain starts to recognize them.

And your body starts to believe them.

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Then the story.

This might be your favorite part.

Because stories make things make sense.

Real life is confusing.

People are confusing.

Feelings are confusing.

But in a story… there’s a path.

There’s a beginning, a middle, and a way through.

And when your name is in the story…

it helps your brain connect it.

This is about me.

I can do this too.

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The character feels overwhelmed… like you.

The character doesn’t always understand their body… like you.

But the character learns.

What to do.

How to pause.

How to feel better.

And your brain holds onto that.

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That’s why it works.

Not because it’s fancy.

Not because it’s complicated.

Because it makes sense to your brain.

Because it doesn’t fight how you experience the world…

it works with it.

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So when you hear,

“Next we’re going to yoga with Katie,”

you don’t just hear a plan.

You feel relief.

Because you know what’s coming.

And for once…

what’s coming feels good.

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And maybe that’s the biggest thing of all.

You don’t have to change who you are to fit into the space.

The space was created… to fit you.