Ke cha? Life lagyo.

Well. Then. Can we say "emotional whiplash?!" No, no one's fault. It's just that life lagyo.

Before I begin, I hesitate to write another post mentioning yoga. While I doubt anyone wants to read posts on my struggles to mentally extricate capitalism from feminism, the idea of a yoga blog seems even more self-indulgent. Oh, well.

Ok, my new yoga teacher is insane! She had us attempting to do the splits in class! Downward dog is my least favorite pose. I'd rather do camel pose any day. Yet, we must do downward dog at least 20x/session. And, I like yoga for its pensive movement and deep breathing through the exercises...this instructor has us wildly switching into pose after pose before I complete a breath cycle! She barks things like "engage those abs!" and I think, "engage those abs?! What is this, pilates?!" It's like suburban chic yoga instead of the granola I know and love. Help. She is a good teacher (albeit a rather gruff New Yorker who teaches like a drill sergeant), and it's really challenging me, but it's not the holistic spirit I'm looking for. Unfortunately, I can't go back to the Thurs night class until Esposo's schedule switches back in a few weeks so that he has off Thurs nights, so I'm stuck getting up super early and trudging in below-freezing weather and ice to this one instead. It is, however, somewhat balanced by the other class I'm in: meditative exercise, which is right up my alley--though an inter-disciplinary class, not yoga proper.

Things rather spiralled out of control recently, and I didn't even realize how it had affected me until last night. I'd been sticking to my new resolve of a few posts ago--taking better care of myself, making some progress on outstanding issues that needed attention (yes, I had that dental apt--tooth luckily doesn't need fixing after all!--and had that eye exam, and that dr's apt). In fact, I'd made so much progress that I thought maybe I'd been tethering my focus and mind on too short of a leash. I released it to go off and play where it would, but instead of playing, it was like a destructive puppy that chewed up a piece of furniture.

"Life lagyo" is an expression we developed in Nepal--"lagyo" meaning approximately "touched" or "felt." But really it means "got to me." You can say "khusi lagyo" which means "I feel happiness," but it literally means "happiness touched me." You can say "disa lagyo," meaning a stomach bug touched you--ie, got to you. One day in Kathmandu, I developed a crushing headache and our program director asked me "Nepal lagyo [has Nepal gotten to you]?" I immediately burst out laughing at that, and ever since, sometimes I and my friends from Nepal talk about "life lagyo." I've always thought stress begets more stress, thus we should all avoid it as much as possible. Yet, it's not always possible to avoid it, especially when a lot of it gangs up on us as once and tries to upset our daily balance. Minor circumstances--an anonymous person slamming into your sideview car mirror and running off, losing part of this blog post when the web signal disappeared for no apparent reason, a comment on facebook setting you off--that's when you know life lagyo.

You see, for a long time now, I've been feeling like I'm not entitled to any problems/issues other than Himal's HLHS. I don't know why I feel this way--a perception, I suppose. Either due to internal or external vibes, I feel like I don't want to detract from it, or maybe that everyone has their issues and we're all sort of entitled to a very finite amount of empathy/support...I don't know. I don't hold others to that standard, though--so why do I hold myself to it? I've always been hesitant to reach out for support, even when I know there are those out there who are willing to give it. I either don't reach out at all, or I reach out to the wrong people. There are people in my life, many of them, who think I have nothing to complain about other than the HLHS--that I live a kind of pollyanna-ish existence. but this is only because I have tried so hard--so hard!--to overcome my upbringing, to avoid drama and stress, to carve out a calm family life for myself with a wonderful man, to stick to my values, to pursue that which really matters...and sometimes this makes me rather insular. Despite my sometimes aloof attitude, though, I've been blessed in my life with many good people to inspire me.

And most of the time, I don't need a lot of support--save for the area of Himal's heart condition. But in the past week, I have, though no one would really know it other than a select few, and instead of talking about it, I let other, very minor things get to me that shouldn't. I'm a firm believer that many, if not most, people don't need someone to listen to them, or someone to help them work through their issues, or someone to give them advice--they just simply need empathy. I confessed to a friend that I'd gone overboard not once, but two times, on facebook; whether I was right or wrong, I'm not completely sure (one time involving getting very turned off by ignorant "impeach Obama" b.s., the other time taking a comment personally that maybe wasn't personal, but given the person's history, I think it was)--but either way I shouldn't have gone overboard. The friend expressed nothing but empathy. And I was so grateful--it was all I needed. It's when I realized that I wasn't dealing with the stress of the past weekend very well--thus today's yoga class and this blog post are attempts. Why write this instead of talk it over with others? I don't know. It's my way of cooling down, maybe. Maybe I feel that in this age, where people expect to have "real" relationships with people through a series of impersonal status updates and comments, we don't want to be bothered with anything more personal. Maybe I feel like I'm not entitled to stress when those around me seem to be dealing with so much more--although there are times when I feel it's because I try not to act theatrical about the stress of life whereas some around me live constantly at that fever pitch of drama.

Now that the dust has settled from pregnancy/birth/2 open heart surgeries/so on, there is *so much* Esposo and I need to catch up--from talking about finances to a freakin' parenting philosophy to just settling into family and married life without crisis hanging over our heads. We've done so much organizing and strategizing since returning from FL, it's amazing. However, it wasn't easy. There was a lot to talk about, a lot to sift through. Combine this with Esposo's work schedule changing yet again, and my momentum was totally thrown off. I forgot to give Himal his medications 2x because I was so distracted with other things.

Combine this with a disaster of an extended family get-together over the weekend--the ensuing fights and upheaval that I was naive enough to believe might be avoided--the drama has left me feeling toxic ever since, and it got to me more than I realized. Combine this with some late winter cabin fever and blahs, and Himal's current "terrible 2's"/tantrum stage, and I was starting to feel like there was no escaping the screaming.

I'm dealing with internal turmoil over my own health problem--"at least it won't kill you but there's no cure and we're sorry this medication almost killed you by giving you an irregular heartbeat and resting rate of 140 bpm...." the impatience and anger I have over it, the fact that I'm not supposed to drink coffee anymore but life has no meaning to me without at least 1 cup, and therefore they will apparently have to pry that one cup out of my cold, dead hands, the fact that I don't want to deal with it, don't want to think about what happens when you have a kid with a serious medical problem and the parent has their own medical issue management to worry about. I'm dealing with worry about how and when Himal is going to find out he has HLHS--it was fine to talk about it freely in front of him, when he was a baby, but now he's getting to be an age where he will come to conclusions based on half-overheard conversations...wondering how his next surgery might interfere with pre-school plans...the knowledge that I don't want to think about it, the pressure to plan for your child in the face of uncertainty, the pressure from pediatrician and therapist to get him to say words, the pressure from cardiology and nutritionist to get him to eat more...seems never-ending when all I really want to do is let him be.

This morning, I felt exhausted from all of this. The cat woke me up an hour early, and I laid in bed, stewing with annoyance until Esposo prodded me about trucking off to the early yoga class. I reminded myself that although I felt like staying in bed for an extra hour instead, the kinder thing to do would be to go and nurture my body and soul instead of moping, so off I went. After class, I decided that it was kinder to get on that treadmill and burn some steam than let myself off easy and throw in my gym towel for the day.

And--and...I am starting to feel better. I am a happy person, despite not feeling like one for the past several days. It's ok. I had a lapse. I need to re-focus once again, need to be kind to myself and take care of myself, and stick to my new resolve.

There. I'm doing what my old yoga teacher in Madison always said, one of the best pieces of advice I've ever heard: treat your emotions like guests. Invite them in and sit down for a cup of tea with them. Then send them on their way.

Instead, I'd been letting them pound incessantly on the door for several days.

Aside: someone should get "the memo" (yes, said in all its Office Space/Mr Smith to Mr Anderson Matrix drawl) out to that subset of men out there who self-congratulate themselves for being feminists of convenience. And by that I mean--the men who like the women around them to be strong so that these women can prop him up, and then as soon as it is convenient for him, he doesn't hesitate to degrade his female friends, coworkers, or women in general whenever it serves his ego or ambitions to do so. You are chauvinists, despite believing you're not. Wait--I did just get the memo out, didn't I? Now the q: do I need to express more empathy for the faminists of convenience?