CLAIRE:
2 months earlier:
"How would you assess your progress?" Dr. C asked sitting across the table from me at the coffee shop that had become our usual meeting spot.
"I completely despise it", I huffed, tracing the black marble design of the table with my eyes, thus successfully avoiding her intense gaze.
"Claire, I asked how would you assess your progress not how you feel", she elaborate on her question.
Honestly, after spending so many years together, my mind as if on command, like the Pavlov's dog, started thinking about how I feel. It's such a familiar action that often times I even start thinking about the question as I make my way out of the car. Yet I still haven't come up with a set of standard answers to get me off the hook. But every once in a while when she changes her initial question, it throws me off my routine. I'm a creature of carefully developed habits. I can't help it. Thinking on the spot, I gave her the best answer I could come up with at the moment: I shrugged.
"Hmmmm...." I began a few moments later not really knowing where my thoughts were taking me and how exactly I'd be able to phrase it. Being on the spot was one of the things I completely hated. I tried really hard not to overthink it because the second I start to overthink my anxiety kicks in and the messiness of my convoluted thoughts would come out as word vomit.
Trying to buy myself some time I took a sip of my rose latte and cautiously continued, "well I do stay for the duration of the entire class, so in that sense it's a good start. I haven't talked to anyone yet and when a few people attempted to, I first escaped to chat with the instructor and then I made it into the habit of showing up exactly 2 minutes late. Small talks completely avoided. In that sense, I feel pretty accomplished. I still can't make my way to the locker room though. Even when I come in for tennis, it's straight to the indoor/outdoor court, depending on the weather. It's the exact same thing here," I finished taking another sip of my latte while internally cringing at the dam of thoughts I wasn't able to carefully contain. Next time I need to remember to adjust my sugar level and start thinking of multiple potential first questions Dr. C might ask at the beginning of the session.
"Why do you hate it then? Sounds like you've developed quite the routine," she commented in her usual neutral tone. I proceeded with caution. I knew she had more to say but at the moment, she refrained from doing so, probably giving me a chance to vent before saying her bid.
"I don't know how people practice yoga in a group setting. I just think it shouldn't. At every session I can't concentrate so it doesn't bring me the same feeling anymore. And what type of people do yoga in the middle of the day? I'm used to do it in the mornings or nights. That way I can start or finish my day with a completely relaxed mindset, but ever since I joined the class I haven't experienced the usual sensation of peace and it's been making me restless and grumpy. My time to reflect and calm my mind is gone and it's slowly making me frustrated."
"It's also just so loud," I continued. "Every move from people attending the session or occasional loud bang or noise coming from outside of the studio has been driving me mad. I know it's not anyone's fault. The fact that I cannot concentrate is completely on me. However, with each session I've been getting more and more frustrated. I know I should fix how I'm responding in the given situation but the disturbance in my routine has been making me constantly irritated," I paused taking a sip of my sugary drink. The more I drank it the more I realize it's not my style. It was just way too sweet.
"It should be about you listening to your body and connecting your body with the inner state of your mind. It was the routine I relied on to get my mind organized. So often I have so many thoughts rushing through my mind that I can hardly keep up but during my yoga sessions I found a way to bring my thoughts to a reasonable speed. However now that I have no break my body feels so exhausted due to the lack of emotional release and it had been making me extremely sensitive."
YOU ARE READING
With You
Teen Fiction"I'm a twin", he finally blurted out. I repeated myself again, "what do you mean?" "I have a twin", he repeated himself slower as if suddenly we weren't speaking the same language anymore. Too dumbfounded to form a coherent thought, I asked again...
