Read the full article by Jenine Durland here on the Huffington Post.
With a great deal of bipolar disorder in my immediate family, I’ve watched depression’s dark tentacles wrap themselves around our hearts in the most insipid and life-altering ways. I’ve seen and felt the shame of mental illness as it rises up to challenge the American creed of one’s right to the pursuit of happiness.
Read the article on the Huffington Post here.
We are lying in savasana — corpse pose — legs splayed wide, arms flopped down, palms facing the sky, and I close my eyes. My friend is beside me; my yoga teacher has come to crouch at my head.
“Do something for me,” Pete says, pausing with his hands on my shoulders, “Do this for yourself,” and I nod, eyes still closed.
“Bring one hand to your heart and one to your belly,” and I do, slipping my left hand onto my chest and resting the thumb of my right hand in the hollow of my belly button. I take a deep breath and feel my stomach rise, willing my body to relax.