Inner Strength

There is a pose in yoga called Tadasana, otherwise known as Mountain Pose.

In Tadasana, we move to the top of our mats and just stand there straight and tall.

Nothing fancy. No twists. No binds. No balancing. We even get to close our eyes. 

Sounds simple enough to just stand there but, actually, a lot is going on.

I always feel as if I am building this pose, bit by bit. The instructor usually runs down a checklist of the body. First, we stand as tall as possible with our feet rooting into the ground and our necks stretched long. Then, we are told to press our shoulders down and reach our arms along our sides. We are reminded to face our palms forward and reach through the fingertips.

We draw in our bellies, close our eyes and breathe.

I find this pose fortifying. It makes me feel relaxed but also makes me feel strong. It gives me a sense of myself and makes me feel at peace.

I was lucky enough to have grown up in a nurturing family which fostered a strong sense of self. But, it has been a long time since then and, in my adult years, I have sometimes needed to resurrect this sense of self.

It is always inside, but here and there, I have to go back to rebuilding it, bit by bit.

Tadasana provides a hidden inner strength in most yoga poses. So, we can be in an inversion and find Tadasana while upside down. We can be in Plank and find Tadasana while horizontal. We can be in Extended Side Angle and find Tadasana on a tilt.

No matter the position, there is a bit of Tadasana holding us in place.

Self doubt is the nemesis of inner strength and, here and there, I have found myself in times of doubt which have made me feel upside down or, at the very least, on a tilt.

It can be a challenge to find my footing again, but I have done so by going through my own checklist of sorts. Sometimes, finding my footing involves retreating a bit for some time on my own. 

I remember when I was a new mom at 25. None of my other friends were moms at that young age. After a couple years, we moved to the suburbs, and I joined a playgroup and finally met some other moms.

It was there that I realized I was out of sync with the others in my decision to wait another year before sending my first to nursery school. She could not even talk yet, and I wanted her to be able to tell me about her day.

That was the first time I had some doubts about a direction I had chosen.

I left the group early that day and remember going home and pausing to stand in my foyer, finding my reasons again for my choice.

I had to tap into myself, and I stuck with my decision.

We usually arrive at Tadasana after working up quite a sweat in the practice, and it can be a welcome reprieve. It is kind of like standing in my foyer by myself, with myself, providing the chance to regroup before continuing on.

It is strange how it has taken yoga to make me realize that I can take Tadasana at any time; that there is always the opportunity to rebuild my sense of self when I believe it has gone missing.

It is always there, inside, even when I have my doubts. 

Standing Tall

Standing on your hands in class does not make you a better yogi; instead, standing on your feet in the chaos of the street is what makes you better.

These were the words of the New York City yoga instructor one summer morning when my daughter finally, triumphantly, nailed a Handstand.

Surroundings can impact us.

Many emergency rooms are painted in greens and blues, colors that studies have shown to induce calm.

Some restaurants have patterned floors to make diners eat quickly so the tables turn over faster.

People display in their homes what makes them feel good: Pictures, books, memorabilia.

I have even heard a decorator explain that the colors in the home should match what looks good on the owner – so the owner feels at home!

The walls of the yoga studio where I have practice are painted in beautiful shades of blue and accented with murals of a giant Buddha, an oversized Ohm, several bamboo shoots and butterflies.

It is calming.

From my mat, the poses provide various vantage points, and I have memorized the murals and could probably have drawn them in my sleep.

Most days, when I move my mat to the wall for inversions, I find myself in front of the bamboo.

The brown shoots stand tall and straight, divided into segments and stacked one atop another.

I actually visualize the bamboo as move into Handstand, stacking each part of my body, one atop another.

To teach Handstand, the instructor would often refer to Tadasana, or Mountain Pose.

In Tadasana, the feet are together, big toes touching.

The body stands tall, the neck is long, the shoulders are down and the arms are by the sides with hands splayed out, palms forward.

All points on the body are stacked, one atop another like the bamboo in the mural.

Feet and legs are lined up directly under the hips; torso and shoulders are lined up directly above.

Handstand is Tadasana upside down.

 

For months, my daughter had been working on her Handstand.

A dedicated yogi, she practices several days a week and joins me for class on visits home as she did this past summer.

She had spent quite some time conquering her fear of inversions and, after finally tackling Headstand, was now working on Handstand.

The challenge was twofold: Overcoming the fear of inverting and landing the balance in the pose itself. 

During the inversion segment of class, the instructor came over to assist, demonstrating a step which would allow her to linger upside down and feel it for a moment.

Alongside my daughter, he placed his hands on the mat, lifted one leg to the ceiling and tucked the other one in, bent at the knee.

He lingered there; hip points and shoulders stacked, all but one knee in line with the rest of his body, upside down. 

Just practice like that, he said, encouraging her not to complete the Handstand and to instead leave one leg bent.

This step would invert her without the fear of going overboard while also letting her stack the rest of her body in order to linger upside down.

After several attempts, my daughter felt the linger, telling me afterwards that doing so had made it worth waking up for the class.

By summer’s end, on her triumphant day, my daughter called while running hectic errands through the jewelry district in Manhattan.

Amid the sirens and chaos of the city, she sounded happy, calm and collected as she proudly described her Handstand triumph. 

Amazing!  You stood on your hands!  You are getting better and better!  I exclaimed.

Mom, she said proudly, I am a better yogi for doing my day on my feet, not for standing on my hands!