So, a door closed on me a little while ago.
Some might say that rather than a door closing, that I was “let go”. Or I suppose you could use the word “made redundant”. Harsher still, I was fired. The door was shut over a five minute telephone call. One pot-holed with awkward silences because I had no idea it was coming. Meaning I had no ammunition to defend my space or negotiate a response. The conversation finished on a forced social nicety filled with promises that I knew would never happen. Because when you do yoga, it’s all about rainbows and unicorns.
And yogis don’t loose their shit and get angry.
I made my peace with the closing of the door. I stepped away with dignity and focused on creating my own doors and building my own plans. But then a few days later, someone asked me what had happened. They asked me why I wasn’t standing where for years she had always seen me stand. She made the door creak open again a little. To let me see how I had been replaced on the other side. I saw who stepped into what had been my space for so many years, like rubbing caustic soda into my silently festering wounds. I began to bleed a little more as I let myself indulge in some darker feelings. But I continued with my practice. I continued with my journey. Because when you do yoga, it’s all about rainbows and unicorns.
And yogis don’t loose their shit and get angry.
Last night, I was shown another side of business. A side that some might say is strategic and others might say is downright below the line. They showed me how the essence of my own practice had been mirrored and how my own definition of connection had been copied. It made me finally understand why the door had been closed. It made me finally understand who had actually closed it. The wound that I had been trying to breathe into and move out of just didn’t have time to truly heal. Leaving that raw feeling you get by continually having the scab picked off. So much so it was unconsciously starting to become infected and beginning to feel too exposed and too vulnerable. And even though in yoga, it’s all about rainbows and unicorns
I couldn’t help but loose my shit and get angry.
Think standing strength series, breath of fire and mudra.
We’ve all had a few doors close for us as we navigate the path of our journey. Some doors we step away from, and we choose to close them down immediately. Some we linger in front of for a moment, to see what happens if we watch from the other side. And sometimes doors will be closed for us. Making it feel like nothing less than a slam in the face. It’s hard when you don’t see it coming and it hurts when you don’t want them to close. Because you don’t know why they’re being shut. Or because you don’t know if you can walk the next part of your journey on your own. You can read a million self help books that tell you that when one door closes there’s another one there waiting to open. Doesn’t make it hurt any less and doesn’t make it easier to hold your head up. Especially when you live in a small town and all our doors can be so transparent.
Making everyone around you witness you loosing your shit and getting angry.
This week I watched as a concept that has defined me for over 15 years of teaching, being picked up and used by another. And while my pride was sore from all the doors that had recently been closed around me, it was my heart that hurt so deeply when I saw my stories being shaped by someone new. I’ve tried to continue with my practice. I’ve tried to continue with my journey. But my heart is really, really sore. The wound now so deep and so coarse it’s just so much work to stem the bleeding. But work I am, and heal I will. Because when you do yoga it’s not just about rainbows and unicorns.
And yogis know how to get back up and be strong.
Oscar Wilde said that “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”. Which puts a positive spin onto the conscious or unconscious presenting something that you have as your own even though it has been taken from another. We all have our doors. Just like we all have our journeys. It’s just that I share mine as stories as an incentive for you to practice.
Because what you do with your own stories will always be your own.
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