The first time I tried yoga, I hated it.
I was in Fiji at a honeymoon hotel resort, as I was travelling around the world on the way back from living in Australia for a year. I had started experimenting with drugs, sex and living vicariously, in a way that I hadn't done before, and I thought that yoga might be a nice addition to my list of new hobbies.
The class was a sunrise yoga class, in an absolutely stunning location (obviously, we were on top of a mountain on a Fijian Island) and I arrived bright and early. Admittedly, I wasn't feeling great that early in the morning but I was open to a new experience.
As soon as the class started I was unhappy. I couldn't do any of the poses, I was tired, it was boring, and to make matters worse there was a heavily pregnant woman two mats over from me who was doing everything so amazingly well. I was thinking; 'how can a pregnant woman be doing this so easily and I can't do it at all?'
So I just about made it through the class, feeling very angry and frustrated and then left. I didn't wake up again the next morning to try and go.
That wasn't the right time for yoga to enter my life. I still had a lot more steam to let off, energy to release and wildness to tame before I was ready to really start the journey of yoga. A journey that ultimately takes you inwards, and allows you to grow into the person you want to be. It's a journey that starts when the time is right for you, there's no forcing it.
I returned to yoga two years later, back in Scotland, and by that time I was ready. I was ready to find the peace that yoga could bring me, I was ready to begin a relationship of self-acceptance and love with my body and my mind. I was ready to go inside, quieten down, and grow.
Once I'd had my first class, I was hooked. I've been hooked since. I'm still hooked now, and I'll bet you anything I'll still be hooked whenever you ask me again in the future. But I had to wait until the time was right for me, and it all makes sense when I look back at it now.
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