NOTE: This starts with yoga, which will shut some of you down.  Keep reading; it’s about a lot more than yoga.

I had an epiphany.  Sort of an awakening, if you will.  Well, even if you won’t, really. Because my awakening isn’t up to you now, is it?  And really, that’s the heart of the matter.

A dear friend of mine, an incredible, accepting, hospitable soul named Casey, has opened a yoga studio.  It really is a wonderful place: beautiful, comfortable, and uncluttered, it sits as an oasis of acceptance and sisterhood right in the middle of downtown. (Yes, there are men who go, but I don’t feel sisterhood with them.) 

Casey’s friend and business partner, Nichole, has chosen to make herself vulnerable through “The Class,” a unique yoga class experience in which this beautiful heart shares her own pain, struggles, healing, and triumph in sync with the physical practice of yoga. 

What results is something that words can’t really convey. And yes, I know that sounds cheesy. But whatever. You go to The Class, and then we’ll talk.

So, I’m in The Class.  And much of what Nichole is sharing really isn’t my pain. 

I can hear others in the studio responding emotionally, and I’m truly appreciating the moment, but it’s just not resonating in me the same way.  As we near the end of class, Nichole makes an intentional decision to push us physically.

Now, one of my very favorite things about yoga is the constant emphasis on honoring my own body, worrying NONE about what someone else’s practice looks like, and just being where I am physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. 

Meeting MYSELF on the mat. Not you or anyone else.

But as much as I love that part of yoga, it’s a struggle for me to be ok with doing “less than” others.

So, we’re doing a yoga-style burpee series. (It’s brief. Don’t let that scare you away from The Class.) I have this stupid back issue, so I don’t do high impact. So while everyone else in class in jumping, hopping, and planking their way through, I’m doing my own sort of thing. 

Nichole is great. She gives permission for all this (which you don’t need, but which certainly makes you feel better about things), reminding everyone to honor their bodies while giving it all you’ve got.

So I’m feeling stupid and bad about myself, being the only one in class who can’t do what everyone else is doing – which isn’t supposed to matter – but I’m truly doing my best.

I mean, they don’t know why I’m not doing what they’re doing.  What if they think I’m just being lazy, or that I’m not strong enough to do the exercise unmodified?

And somewhere between being upright and planking, it hit me.

I AM ENOUGH.

I know, I know, it’s a t-shirt. It’s a meme.  But it’s also a truth. It doesn’t matter whether I can jump, or hop, or plank, or do burpees in their purest form.  My burpee-esque version of movement, my own practice… IT IS ENOUGH.

See, my whole life, I’ve worried about whether or not I’m meeting expectations.  Am I doing enough? Am I smart enough? Am I working hard enough? Do those I’m leading want to follow me? Do those around me approve of what I’m doing?  Do people like me? Am I making life better for others because I’m here? Do those around me approve of who I am?

But in that moment, I realized it doesn’t matter. 

It doesn’t matter what I achieve or accomplish, or who I impress or disappoint.  It doesn’t matter whether people know my name or like my resume or sing my praises.  I am enough.

Just the way I was created. Imperfect burpees, bad back and all.

I am enough, just the way I am.  And you know what? So. Are. You.