Wanderingyogilee explains why yoga is her place of belonging…

Dictionaries describe ‘home’ as “the physical structure in which one lives, a place of residence or origin”.  The verb means where we aim to return to, (like geese returning to the same place).  Either as a noun or verb, home is about a place of connection to us, to others. We make it representative of whom we are, ‘occupy’ it with people, treasures we adore.

We like to feel safe in our homes (ask anyone who has been burgled and the shocking sense of self-violation).  We are ourselves, without artifice (except I don’t leave my bedroom until I have mascara on, my little vanity). We smile, we cry, we throw tantrums at home, we allow ourselves to show emotions not always seen on the larger public stage.  We feel warmth, when we think of home.

As a global dweller, home has multiple meanings.  The place where past memories lie, where my child is, where I have lived with partners of life, this place where you live now.  Home can be friends and community.

As I questioned the physical and emotional structure of home, lost and started new friendships, I realised that yoga and its concrete representation of the mat, was the constant place I could truly call home.

Yoga is like home

If you practice with us (or others), those first few opening sentences encouraging you to breathe and notice how you feel, are the welcome mat. ‘ Nowhere to go, no one to be, just you and yourself for the next hour.’  The door is opening.

Like a home, where we have to air the pillows, give the floors a good clean, even swap out décor, yoga undertakes internal housekeeping, ventilating and moving on unwanted thoughts, replacing them with much more positive ideas and self-beliefs. Safely and with compassion.

Like a home which is more than the latest funky furniture, our body houses more than our physical organs, muscles, bones and blood.

Our homes hold our loved ones, dreams and hopes; our body holds our love for ourselves WYogiLee

Yoga is always there.  Anywhere, anytime, if I feel a little out of kilter, not quite centred, all I have to do is ‘go to the mat’.

Yoga gives me the sense I am physically rebuilding. My hips and back have never felt suppler, I have great arm tone.  I don’t care much about which body shape is in fashion, either. Yoga seems to let me accept me in my best natural form.

Life appreciation

My yoga practice has changed my perspective off the mat.  I notice nuances of colour around me. I see a woman in a knitted hat, smile at her and for a nano second, get a smile back. I am more connected to my breath, and notice I connect more deeply with others.  I like it.

I am now fierce in showing the complex facets of me. Instead of turning them into pieces of performance art (always a good way to truly deflect from the worst aspects of ourselves). People didn’t run away much and my friendships reach into my heart.

The world has become much safer, and more open, thanks to my yoga.

When the demon sisters of self-neglect and self-destruction begin to play, I go to the mat, to work them through. Like taking refuge in the home when outside is chaos, yoga gives me the headspace to focus and regain calm.

My great aunt lived in a house made of recycled material long before it was fashionable.  It had three floors, and the third floor you could only get to with a ladder. My great uncle was a grand inventor, but stairs were not his strong suit.  Naturally, this was the floor that all the cousins and myself preferred to play in. There was nothing better than climbing up that ladder at night, giggling, settling into our makeshift beds, knowing that there was NO WAY anyone could get up or we could get down until morning and someone came to put the ladder up.  We were completely safe from any night creatures.  We all slept soundly.   I recall that feeling regularly when I go to my mat.  I call it home.