Like many American suburbanites, my mom is a big fan of yoga. I have accompanied her to the studio since I was eight years old. Our Sunday morning ritual included 9am vinyasa in our neighbor’s makeshift basement meditation room and a trip to the farmers market for the local baker’s special salty focaccia loaf.
In 9th grade, I wrote a poem titled “Salutations” to express my gratitude for the practice. I cringe as I read it back now, but at the time it served as a manifestation of the crucial bond yoga strengthened between myself and my mom. Yoga was good for her because it helped her stretch out her injured shoulder and she found comfort in routine; I was captivated by the challenge of stability, the discomfort in deep stretch, and the mental clarity of savasana.
Today, yoga and meditation are high on my list of go-to self-care activities for towing myself out of a mental rut. I identify as an introverted, introspective, internalizer—which basically means I love to set up camp inside my own head. This, like most personality traits, can be my greatest strength or my worst enemy depending on how I wield it. It feels natural to allow my emotions to munch on my mind, like parasites punching holes in any sense of logic or reasoning I have ironed out. I am working hard to view emotions as a passing train instead; waving out the window, dropping off materials and picking up baggage, passing through to the next tunnel without a trail of destruction. I don’t know if any of that made sense, but if you’ve ever felt out of control of your own mind, you probably get the picture.
I used to get angry when friends and family members suggested I take up meditation. There is something to be said for being in love with your own misery, and I didn’t want mine to be snatched away. I didn’t know who I would be without anxiety or self-destructive thoughts, tendencies which had become so deeply enmeshed in my personality. Anxiety about my future helped me do well in school, anxiety about food and running kept me in good shape, anxiety about friendships and relationships turned me into a people pleaser, which made it hard for anyone to actively hate me. Some of the best advice I have received, however, is to always think of what I can add to my life rather than what I need to get rid of. Instead of trying to relinquish anxiety from my life, I could accept that it has taken up real estate in my mind and do my best to diminish its territory by adding in things like meditation, journaling, yoga, and requisite time for watching New Girl.
I certainly don’t have any of this all figured out, and I don’t pretend to. I am blessed with many privileges in my life, one of which is a mom who always answers my call and an able body for performing sunrise salutations. There’s an old adage from early 2000s Tumblr culture which for some reason keeps coming up on my TikTok: If you feel like everyone hates you, sleep; if you feel like you hate everyone, eat; if you feel like you hate yourself, shower; someone out there feels better because you exist. It’s cliche for a reason. Speaking as someone who just got out of the shower, I’ll do whatever little thing it takes to feel marginally better than I did a minute ago. Perhaps now it’s time for a nap.
~ Meredith Thomas ’25
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