Oooooohhhh! Sounds juicy. As I have been sitting with this symbol, I have noticed many synchronicities with the current developments in my life.  Of course the first obvious one is spending time with important Leo people… my little baby, Joseph, is already quite the expressive Leo. I also have found a fulfilling creative synthesis of my interests and skills in motherhood and in my work as a counselor. I feel renewed inspiration to bring to fruition some of the creative projects that have been percolating in my mind the past few years. And this inspiration has been fueled by the opportunity to collaborate with some creative and passionate people.

So, what does this all mean… It is very likely that this will be the year the Reclaiming Beauty Project becomes more than just a notebook in my office!

The work of the Strength/ Lustre card centers on the archetype of Beauty and the Beast. It reminds us to use our beauty- our unique gifts, talents and resources- to tame and reign the beasts within our nature. I can’t help but get excited about how this card reflects my ideas for the Reclaiming Beauty Project. One of the project’s intentions is to broaden participants’ definition of beauty to include themselves. We will do this by challenging our culture’s narrow definition of beauty and connecting participants to their inner uniqueness. The beast of negative body image and low self-image will be tamed by the participants’ own beauty.

Another aspect of this journey is Strength. Arrien states, “We cannot be in our lustre, our radiance, if we are not also in our strength.”  At the heart of the Reclaiming Beauty Project is the belief that joyful, positive experiences in our body give us direct access to our Self. Embodied movement is incorporated into each session with the hopes that participants will develop a personal practice of movement in their life. Strengthening our relationship to our body, we strengthen our relationship to our life. And then we shine, shine, shine…

With it being my Strength/Lustre year, I imagine I will be having a parallel process of Reclaiming Beauty in my life. I am excited to see what is in store for me… what beasts will be tamed. Of course, knowing me, I do like to keep a few untamed beasts around…

For the project, I will be partnering with the inspired Katherine Dowdney of Blissful Body. We hope to start the first group of women on this journey in the spring. Stay tuned for further developments and information on how you can be involved.

Shine on!

There is nothing like birthing to bring a woman into full embodiment of herself…

Enjoy!

Joseph Kilen Houser

Birth Story

August 9, 2009

11:32pm

7lbs 10oz 20 inches

As we prepared for the birth of our son, we had lots of hopes and fears about what birth would be like. Right from the beginning of my pregnancy, I had to accept the fact that the birthing wouldn’t be the at-home-water-birth-attended-by- a-midwife that I imagined. At our first appointment with the midwife, we were quickly labeled high-risk, thanks to a previous surgery to remove an extra ureter and high blood pressure history. We found the OBs at MAHEC thanks to a referral from a friend, and they were an awesome combination of medical with Asheville-mindedness.

One thing I was sure of… I welcomed the experience of laboring. I have witnessed several women in my circle completely transform after their experience of laboring into motherhood. I wanted that ritual, that feeling of breaking down the old Heidi to prepare the ground for mama Heidi, working with my husband by my side to bring our dream into the world. I wanted to cross over to the other side and be able to say “I birthed!” ~ no matter what the birthing looked like. I wanted to know I was that strong.

To prepare for childbirth, Kelly and I had taken the Bradley Method childbirth classes with Susan Mooney in Fairview. These classes were fun and very informational. They gave us the information we needed to confidently navigate all of the decision points along the birth process; the first decision being whether or not to be induced. This decision was tricky because at 32 weeks, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I had made the appropriate changes to my pregnancy diet, was taking a small dose of glyburide daily and was having weekly non-stress tests to monitor the growth and well-being of the baby. Because of this diagnosis, the doctor was concerned about letting us go too far past Joseph’s due date of August 1st. We had learned in the Bradley class that the average first pregnancy lasts 41 weeks and 1 day, and that inducing labor before the baby was ready to come into the world often led down a slippery slope that could end in a c-section. For this reason, when our OB started recommending induction, we continued to ask her for a little more time.

We tried all of the recommended natural induction techniques… lots of walking, swimming at our friends’ Patrick and Sandi’s pool, spicy food, sex and of course, castor oil. On Monday, August 3rd, we had an appointment with our OB, Dr. Currens, and she hesitantly let us leave without taking her induction recommendation. She stated that medically she would strongly recommend us to go in for an induction, but she understood from our birth plan our desire to have labor start naturally, and was honoring this choice. We returned on Thursday, August 6th, our 4th anniversary, and the OB noted that my blood pressure had been creeping up. She was concerned about possible development of preclampsia, and again strongly recommended induction. She agreed to give us over the weekend, IF we would do a non-stress test, an ultrasound and a 24 hour urine test to check for signs of preclampsia. We “passed” the non-stress test and the ultrasound, and left with the gallon jug for urine collection. That night we went out to eat for our anniversary at Pomodoro’s with Kelly’s parents. Kelly was born on his parent’s anniversary, so we thought this might be good encouragement for the baby to come that night, but no luck.

On Friday, August 7th, we went in to drop off the jug-o-pee. They sprang another blood pressure check and non-stress test on us and stated they would call us with the results of the 24 hour urine test. It was obvious that the pressure was on, so that night I attempted the grand castor oil cocktail induction recommendation we had from Susan Mooney. This procedure involved taking a concoction of 2 ounces of castor oil, 2 ounces of vodka and 2 ounces of orange juice. After shooting this down, I was to take a hot shower, and then repeat this process every hour for 2 more times. Susan said if it didn’t work after the 3rd time, it was a sign my body was still not ready for labor. I will spare the details about the effects of the castor oil… but despite this grand effort, I did not go into labor that night.

The next morning the 24 hour urine test came back that I had developed preclampsia, and all of a sudden it was urgent for us to get the baby into the world. Kelly and I packed our bags, had brunch at the Sugarbeet Café (our last meal out without a baby in tow), then headed to the hospital. We made the highly anticipated call to my older sister, Katie, who was our doula, and to our excitedly a-waiting families in Chapel Hill, Charlotte and Knoxville. Katie arrived to the hospital just a little after we did, and we sent her to Greenlife to get us some contraband snacks.

We were induced with pitocin on Saturday August 8th at 2:30PM. During this beginning stage, Kelly and I made lots of rounds walking the hospital. We were excited, joking around, and even convinced our first nurse, Liz, that we were going to name our baby Turd Ferguson (from a Best of Mike Myers SNL skit we watched the night before). It took awhile for the contractions to get going. When the pitocin finally kicked in and the contractions started, not much movement happened. Upon checking my cervix, I had only dilated 1 cm.  It was discovered that I had cervical scar tissue that was preventing me from dilating. Our night nurse, Amy, went to search out a Foley bulb, which is a device used to manually expand the cervix. At this point, the contractions started to become pretty painful. Around 5am, I got to go into the birthing tub for about 1 1/2 hours. That was one of the best parts of laboring because the pain was much more manageable in the tub and I was able to really go with the rhythm of the contractions. I closed my eyes when the contractions came and just let them wash over me. I could have stayed in the tub the whole labor if they had let me.

But being in the hot water shot my pressure up even more, and the baby’s too. At this point, which was about 7am in the morning Sunday August 9th, I still had only dilated 1 cm.  The doctor put me on magnesium for my blood pressure, which I was very resistant to because I knew it would make me feel even worse. The doctor explained that she didn’t feel comfortable letting us labor too much longer, but I knew that my body was just not ready to open up. We told her we were afraid that if we did an epidural too early, it could stall the already slow labor and lead to a c-section. We felt it was a timing issue. She explained that due to the blood pressure issues, we were already on limited time until a c-section would be necessary.

She left to let us continue laboring and contemplate our choices. At this point I was having back labor, which was crazy painful. This part of the labor was the most challenging for me. Every time a contraction came, I leaned over and moaned “this is not what I wanted” while Katie and Kelly put pressure on my back. Our nurse during this time, Rachel, was a god send.  I felt like she came to us right from the pages of Anita Diamant’s novel “The Red Tent.” Having her and Katie by my side helped me cope with the pain and accept the direction the labor was going.

This was the pivotal moment because I felt like we had the information we needed that prevented us from having a c-section. I continued to measure only 1 cm of dilation. We thought an epidural at this time would help my body relax and hopefully help the laboring more effectively open my cervix. Despite our hopes and preparation for having a natural childbirth, choosing to have an epidural at that moment was the right decision for us.

We summoned the Nurse Anesthetist for the epidural. Despite the pain, I was with it enough to recognize that the Nurse Anesthetist was a hottie, and wondered if I could set him up with my sister, Katie, before I noticed his wedding ring. Katie was asking him a lot of detailed questions about the procedure, which was making me cringe. I had to ask them to stop being so specific about what was going on in my back. The epidural relaxed me so they could go in and break-up the scar tissue. After that procedure, I was able to get a little sleep. From there I dilated pretty smoothly and was able to start pushing around 8:30pm.

During the pushing stage I felt strong and very in tune with my body. The physical structure of the pushing sensation felt just like doing cat/cow in yoga, curling my tailbone around the push. Because I had the epidural, I didn’t have much sensation in my legs, so Kelly had one leg and Katie had the other. Kelly was a rock star during this part of the labor. He was so supportive; encouraging me and cheering me on. Our nurse at this point, Brandy, sat at the end of the table like a catcher in a softball game. She was very experienced, maybe a little too complacent in her role. She kept taking cell phone calls from her kids and at one point I told Katie to ask her to take her phone calls outside of the hospital room. She left the room and came back in, checked our progress and said there didn’t seem to be enough movement for how long we had been pushing and that she was going to tell the doctor.

She left to find a doctor, and I was glad she was gone. I felt confident that this baby was coming out though the birth canal, and in my mind there was no room in that hospital room for anyone who doubted me. In spite of a lifetime of self-doubt, in this moment, after all we had been through in the labor, I felt so confident in my body and in my self. And I felt unstoppable with my kick ass support team of my husband and my sister at my side.

A doctor eventually came in, one of the MAHEC residents, and she was able to guide us through the final stage. The excitement built as the baby’s head made small movements with each push ~ 2 steps forward and 1 step back. Kelly started getting really excited when he saw the crown of the head, and he helped me reach my hand down so that I could feel the head as it peeked out. This action helped encourage me to keep up the intensity of the pushing. I felt fortunate that I could still experience the sensations of the baby coming through the birth canal despite the epidural. Joseph finally made his appearance Sunday night, August 9th, at 11:32pm. Kelly got to cut the cord and I got to hold my sweet baby right away (after he was cleared by the neonatal nurses). Overall the labor was 33 hours.

Those first few moments holding our beautiful baby boy in my arms was an indescribable feeling.

Love. Amazement. Exhaustion. Happiness.

You see, I have boob issues. There is a hilarious song by Deirdre Flint called “The Boob Fairy.” She sings in the chorus, “The boob fairy never came for me.” But I fall into a different category… the boob fairy was obsessed with me! My husband says that the only person who cares how big my boobs are is me. And in a lot of ways, I know that this is true. However, I do have memories and experiences that prove otherwise.

I first started realizing my breasts were bigger than the norm my senior year of high school. I remember going shopping for prom dresses with my younger sister, and her comment that most of the dresses made me look as if the weight of my boobs would take me over flat on my face. My time for running a mile in soccer practice changed drastically that year; I could not break 8 minutes, where as the year before I had been running it in 6 minutes 30 seconds. I blamed it on my boobs. And playing co-ed softball… a friend let me in on a humiliating secret that the boys always let me get that first hit so they could see me run to first base. Huhhmmmmmpppffff… At that time I also started to encounter some of the big breasted women stereotypes like “the bigger the boobs the smaller the brain” and assumptions about big breasted women being easy.

My breasts got bigger and bigger and with every life transition it seemed I would go up a cup size. I first considered breast reduction surgery in college. My parents had purchased US savings bonds for my sisters and me and we were allowed to use the money for whatever we wanted once we hit college age. I contemplated using the money for breast reduction surgery. But Lacala Hall, a friend’s wise mother who was a big breasted woman herself, pulled me aside one afternoon and gave me some good advice. She said, “Someday, Heidi, you will find a man who will love your big breasts.” That advice helped me make the decision to use the money for an Outward Bound trip rather than a breast reduction surgery, which was a much better choice for the positive experience of self that I was seeking.

In my mid 20’s I started considering breast reduction again. I had traded running for a yoga practice, mostly because my breast size was taxing my back when pounding the pavement. In this way, my big boobs were a gift that led me to my yoga practice. But whenever my back issues would flare up, I found myself thinking about the surgery again. My biggest fear in getting the surgery was that something would go wrong and I would not be able to breastfeed. I knew I wanted to have children one day, and that breastfeeding was important to me for the benefits it would have for my baby and me. One day after I had spent time journaling about the dilemna, I ran into a friend and her new baby shopping at Earthfare. I asked her how things were going, and she shared that she was struggling with breastfeeding because she had breast reduction surgery in her early 20’s. It was a sign from the Universe that calmed my breast reduction wonderings for awhile.

Fear led me to start considering breast reduction surgery again a couple of years ago. My husband and I were gearing up to have our first child, and I was afraid of the possible size of my breasts while I was pregnant and nursing, and afraid that they would be too big to breastfeed. This fear finally led me into the office of a plastic surgeon for a consultation, which was a horrible experience for me. I briefly met with the doctor and explained to him that my main reasons for considering the surgery were practical ones. I wanted relief from back pain and manageable breasts for my pregnancy/nursing experience. I also wanted information about the risks the surgery posed to breastfeeding. I explained that it was very awkward for me to be in his office, since my daily work involves encouraging women to accept and embrace their body, no matter the size or shape. He must not have been listening, because all he kept saying to me was that there was nothing wrong with having a perfect pair of breasts. He and the nurse left the office and told me to strip down to my underwear. The nurse came back in and stood me in front of a full length mirror while she took my measurements and drew lines on my breasts. She also circled other places she saw as “flawed” which I imagine was intended to drum up more surgery business. This process was so vulnerable and uncomfortable for me. When the doctor came in and started to explain my breasts’ flaws and what procedures he could do to perfect them, I became so angry and tearful. I put my clothes on in the middle of his spiel and left the office in a storm.

I am sure that there are plastic surgeons out there who are not like the one I saw and can tune in to the unique intentions of what brings a person into their office. And I am not saying that someday, after I have my babies, that I won’t reconsider breast reduction surgery. But this traumatic experience made me realize I was not ready to take a risk like breast reduction surgery before I had my babies.

So here I am with my 12 week old son. I am savoring the experience of breastfeeding. I love the moments when he pulls away from the breast, looks up at me, and his eyes light up while a huge smile comes across his face. Or when we are nursing in the bed, and his little arm gently lays across my breast when he finishes. These moments are so precious to me. I remember again the advice I received from Lacala Hall, and I know that man she was talking about, the one who would love my big breasts, that would be my little boy Joseph. And I am thankful for the functionality of these big ole boobs.

For your listening pleasure, here is Deidre Flint singing “The Boob Fairy”

Thanks for all the love and support during our nesting time.

Last week I had a pre-natal visit scheduled and before the appointment found myself obsessing about how much weight I have gained in pregnancy. I am thankful that there has been a shift from when my mother had children and doctors stressed minimal weight gain to a focus on providing the nourishment needed for mother and baby during this time. However, in my childbirth classes, we were given a range for healthy weight gain, 25–35 pounds, and I was anxious that I would get on the scale and it would be a number higher than 35 pounds of weight gain.

As I became aware of this anxiety, I also became aware that this feeling was probably a signal that there was something deeper going on inside. It was time for some reflecting.

In my work I am surrounded by women struggling with the false belief that their weight, the number on the scale, determines their self-worth or happiness level. Of course, this distortion is common among many women living in our present society that values thinness. For people who struggle with self-esteem issues, or upbringings that did not provide positive mirroring for their true self qualities, weight is a seductive, tangible way to measure their self-worth, albeit misguided. I also know from my life experience that low weight doesn’t equal happiness. One of my most broken times of life, when I moved to Asheville from California in 2002, I was at my adult lowest weight and it was my lowest time personally. I feel part of my higher purpose in being in this work environment is to be an example of a woman who does not buy into this false equation of weight = worthiness or low weight = happiness. A quote from Gandhi reminds me of this role I have chosen, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” I wish to see women embody their power and express it in the world, without negative body image as an impediment.

But I can’t say that I am not impacted by the daily work of helping women change this ingrained, false belief. And times when I am feeling vulnerable, these belief systems seep into my own, and I have to stay mindful and question what my belief system truly is and what is my clients’.

So thinking on these things, I was driving from my work in Brevard back to my pre-natal appointment in Asheville. I pulled over for a mid-afternoon ice cream cone.

Walking into the store, there was a man about my age leaning against the counter talking to the ice cream scooper. He looked over at me and immediately said, “I know you. How do I know you?” We went through the typical list of places where we may have crossed paths. Nothing triggered any memories until he asked if I had spent much time in downtown Asheville. I immediately remembered my first summer in Asheville working at Café on the Square, a restaurant located in the heart of downtown. This man worked at Bonnie’s Cigar Store, a little market right on the corner of Patton and College, three stores down from the Café. I often went into that store before my shifts and remember having conversations with him. He said he had worked there for 15 years before it closed a few years ago.

To be honest, I was shocked that he recognized me. At the time when I frequented Bonnie’s Cigar Store (not for the cigars, by the way), it was the summer of 2002. I was at an unhealthy low weight from the sadness I was experiencing in my life. And here I was now, 7 years later, almost 8 months pregnant. I expressed my disbelief that he had recognized me and he said, “Oh, it’s your eyes. That’s what I remembered.”

I left the store with my scoop of cookies-n-cream ice cream and a warm feeling inside. I knew this guy wasn’t hitting on me, because no one hits on a super pregnant lady, and he also didn’t have that vibe. He remembered me because of my eyes, a truer reflection of my spirit. It was perfect timing for me to run into a person who saw people in a different way, not by their weight or appearance, but by their essence. I was reminded of one of my favorite bumper stickers, “Change how you see, not how you look.” I was thankful for this encounter with a person who lived by this philosophy.

Of course, I have the good fortune of being married to a man who also lives by this philosophy. And I could go on and on about the usual joy of embodying the goddess body of a pregnant women. But this was the lesson of the day. And in its honor, I am coming out with a pregnant belly picture. May you see the joy and bliss in my eyes.

The 1st trimester was rough. It was challenging for me to be fully present in myself when it meant facing chronic nausea and fatigue. My life consisted of going to work and coming home and sleeping.  I did not have much energy for anything else. I struggled not to check out of my body to avoid the discomfort. But I knew that using this coping mechanism would have caused me to miss the process… so I did my best to stay present to the nausea. Despite all positive nutrition intentions, my sick tummy feeling was mainly soothed by a combo of Chik-fil-A lemonade and waffle fries- throwing the chicken sandwich in for good measure. I am convinced my baby is going to be coming out saying ‘Eat more chicken!’ With help from the wise women in my life who have taken this child growing journey before me, I learned in the 1st trimester you do what you have to do to make it through.

I started feeling better a few weeks into my 2nd trimester, and it was a welcome return. Now that I am here at 20 weeks, I am enjoying the embodiment of pregnancy. What a mystery and miracle that is happening inside me! This is a time where I feel no guilt responding to what my body is telling me it needs. I have been enjoying long afternoon naps and responding to my pregnancy cravings. I am embodying the mystery of creation, and I want to honor that mystery.

I love my belly and have been able to embrace the changes my body is experiencing. I know a lot of woman struggle with body image issues through this change. For me, it is making it even more clear that my body has such a divine purpose that is beyond size, shape, weight and objectification. It is truly liberating.

However, to be totally honest, it has been challenging to accept one part of my pregnancy body – my breasts. Now I know most women are excited about their breasts getting bigger during pregnancy. Not the case for me as I have already been blessed abundantly in that arena.

A funny thing happened at work one day that helped me to reframe my ever increasing breast experience…

I was leading a body image group where I instructed everyone to draw a picture of their bodies with their non-dominant hand and with eyes closed. They then had to describe different parts of themselves. One client made a comment about her ‘malformed mammaries, ‘ but somehow what I heard her say was ‘mouth-watering mammaries.’ First of all, I was so happy that she saw her breasts in such a positive light (not to mention the clever alliteration). Secondly, I told her how much I appreciated her view of her breasts personally. As I was grappling with my breasts growing with pregnancy, thinking about their function and the life they would soon be bringing to a little being helped me deal with any negative feelings about their growth. It was an aural Freudian slip for sure, and we all got a good laugh out of it. I have definitely reminded myself of mouth-watering mammaries whenever I feel their increasing heaviness effecting me physically, mentally or emotionally.

To mouth-watering mammaries!

Although Bikram classes 4/5 were the exact same format, poses and languaging as the first 3 classes, they were very different experiences for me. The initial shock of the heat and detox process was starting to wear off, but I still felt such harshness in the practice. My mind was able to tune more into the languaging of the teacher… and much to my surprise, she wasn’t running the class like a boot camp, she’ wasn’t callously pushing people past their limits, she wasn’t commenting on poor form and “junk bodies” (a quote from the man, Bikram, that utterly offends me.) So I began to wonder… where was this experience of harshness coming from? And of course it didn’t take long to realize, it was my own mind, my inner Joe Moretto.

Joe Moretto was my junior high soccer coach when I played with the Huber Heights, Ohio Warriors Soccer Club. He was rough, callous, totally insenstive, and 100% masculine archetype. He had a daughter, Mary Moretto, who was the toughest girl I knew. She scared me, but she also scared our opponents, so that was good for our team. I loved playing soccer, but was not at all an aggressive player. Both my sisters were soccer players who started playing young, but I was hesitant because of the roughness. Soccer was in our family blood, so it was inevitable for me to start playing. But I was who I was, a sensitive girl, and when I’d get roughed up, I’d usually cry.

I’m reminded of Tom Hanks coach character in the women’s softball league movie A League of Their Own bellowing to one of his players, “There’s no crying in softball!” That was Joe Morreto trying to deal with me.

A childhood memory… a particularly physical soccer game… lots of pushing… yellow cards flying… half time… tears running down my face… Joe Moretto shouting at me, “You’ve got to toughen up!” as he’d push me down on the field, I’d get up, he’d push me down again, “Stop being a baby!” he’d yell, I’d get up, he’d push me down… more tears… then I started seeing red… and off the field I walked.

So here I am in the present, in my yoga class, and my inner Joe Moretto is cracking the whip. I have been practicing yoga for 10 years, and my practice constantly changes. In 2005 I had a mysterious infection that caused me to take antibiotics for 6 months. I was eventually diagnosed with a ureter/kidney infection, and surgery followed. After the surgery, I couldn’t even do a child’s pose without pain. I was toxic city from the antibiotics and the anesthesia. My yoga practice hasn’t been the same, and it has been hard on my ego! So at this point in the Bikram practice, I am face to face with those critical voices. Poses that at one time were natural and easy for me freak me out, make me feel sick, and just plain hurt. That old familiar voice, “Toughen up! Don’t be a baby!” begins to ring loud. It is the shadow side of the masculine archetype haunting my mind.

I say shadow side because of the lack of compassion in the voice. Although my experience with Joe Moretto was a little developmental trauma for me, it was also an experience that taught me a lot. His method was effective in that it helped me access my anger, my boundaries, and as much as I hate to admit it, to toughen up a bit. But again, here’s where the balance comes in… because I need the warrior of the masculine paired with the compassion of the feminine. It really does no good if I am all feminine on the outside, but all masculine inner voices. Developing mindfulness of this external/internal imbalance, I am able to bring some compassion into the places where the inner Joe Moretto fires up.

One final aside… speaking of all feminine on the outside… My body shape is pretty much a reflection of the feminine archetype as well… voluptuos, round belly, sizeable breasts. There are many poses in the Bikram series that are challenging to me due to pure anatomical reasons. It is obvious this series was developed by a man with not much variation for a woman’s curves. There is one particular pose, Dandayama Bibhaktapada Janushirsasana (standing separate leg head to knee pose), where you stand with one foot 3 feet in front of the other, tuck your chin in, arch your back, suck your stomach in and touch your head to your knee. In this pose I basically feel as if I am suffocating in my own cleavage. I can’t help but chuckle at the irony of this experience in the backdrop of exploring the masculine/feminine balance.

Until next time…

Dr. Anita Johnston’s philosophy resonates deeply with me. As a person who was born with 99.9% feminine archetype, I have experienced the challenges of not fitting in to a culture that prefers the masculine archetype. In my own journey, I have experienced being labeled too sensitive, overly emotional, moody… When I was young, it was hard for me understand that there were gifts in these qualities. It was much easier to make sense of them through the idea that something must be inherently wrong with me. I had many hot chocolate conversations with my dad that centered around the question, “Why me?”

Self-image becomes a tangible place to focus this feeling of wrongness… ‘Oh, I know what it is, I must not be thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough…’ Until a person can honor the gifts that the feminine archetype brings to them, they will continue to struggle with self-esteem issues. Reclaiming a positive self-image is then linked to reclaiming the gifts of the feminine.

As I have learned to honor the feminine within me, I have also learned the importance of developing the masculine in order to create balance internally. My yoga practice has been a place where I have worked on this balance. When I am in balance, I tend to gravitate towards the practice of Anusara Yoga. This type of yoga incorporates an elegant blend of masculine/feminine with its focus on heart-centered, playful alignment and flow. In the yoga tradition it is the balance of Shiva, the male principle throughout creation, and Shakti, the female principle.

Remember, I said that is when I am in balance… which is not so much the case these days. Under stress I tend to revert to my default 99% feminine energy state, and opt for the more flow oriented and restorative yoga classes. But with Dr. Johnston’s reminder of the importance of balance, I decided to try something different, and headed to the newly opened Bikram Yoga Studio here in Asheville.

For those of you who are not familiar with Bikram Yoga, it is a style of yoga practiced in a room heated to 100 degrees. In every class you do the same 26 poses. The teachers tend to emphasize the results of the practice. It is a type of yoga that attracts Type A personalities. This description from the Bikram Yoga website illustrates its masculine archetype leanings: “Bikram’s Beginning Yoga Class is a twenty-six asana series designed to scientifically warm and stretch muscles, ligaments and tendons, in the order in which they should be stretched. Bikram Yoga’s twenty-six posture exercises systematically move fresh, oxygenated blood to one hundred percent of your body, to each organ and fiber, restoring all systems to healthy working order, just as Nature intended. Proper weight, muscle tone, vibrant good health, and a sense of well-being will automatically follow.”

OK… so the first class was torture for me. I sweated out my entire summer of Starbucks addiction… nausea, lightheadedness, and a woozy feeling followed. I spent the remainder of the day lying on the couch, drinking water, and nursing a killer headache. However, I was told if I came back soon, these side effects would subside, so I went back the next day. Day 2 I learned another important hot yoga lesson… don’t wear a white t-shirt to a Bikram class. The sweat through my white t-shirt made me look like an entrant in a wet t-shirt contest… The pay off came after my 3rd class. I made it through the class without the nasty detox side effects and noticed increased energy and decreased caffeine craving the next few days. I am looking forward to continuing my exploration of Bikram yoga as a tool to balance the masculine and feminine inside me.

Nature is mirroring this lesson tomorrow, September 22nd, with the Autumnal Equinox… when day and night, light and darkness, are equal in length. It’s the perfect time to practice the embodiment of this balance of masculine and feminine.