Have I mentioned I teach yoga? I do. I have been teaching Pilates at the local college for almost 4 years, and this year my boss asked me to start up a yoga class. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I have to empty out the bank of thoughts that holds my mind hostage and become a chipper and motivational spitfire whose biggest problem is balance, proper breathing and perfect posture.

            Today’s class in particular, was very difficult. My mind was elsewhere and it wasn’t focused on yoga. I found myself in plank position, thinking how metaphoric it was. I am literally on the tips of my toes with my palms pressed against the (door)mat that has become my life looking for something that is simply not there.

            I come home to myself. There is no one waiting for me when I walk through the door with even so much as a smile that you couldn’t slap off. I come home to a house where the shades have been drawn all day and natural light is not welcome because with it, comes a warmer house. A hot house results in my needing to turn the air conditioning lower and let’s face it: my power’s been shut off this past week already. I can hardly afford the bare minimum. I have acquired an appreciation for a ceiling fan on full-blast, while keeping every light off in the house, save for the room I happen to be sitting in. I often have to leave Abbi and Lyv alone for 3 minutes because taking the garbage out has become my job.

            Everything has become my job. Yet, I don’t have time to get one full-time.

            When they take a bath, I find it difficult to sit there and watch them like I used to; I now have to use that time to transfer the wash into the dryer. I will ask Abbi to feed her sister as a favor to me, while I throw a salad together (don’t think everything has changed; salad is still the staple of my diet). I now have to wait until I put them to bed just so I can eat dinner without Lyv picking the croutons off of my salad and Abbi putting on dance shows and commanding my attention. After they’ve fallen asleep, I have the urge to wake one of them up just to have someone to talk to.

            They are six and sixteen months. What am I thinking?

            I come home to silence. I miss the noise and the lights on in every room; I guess I didn’t care about the environment when I was married? I come home and instead of having someone waiting for me, I have things waiting to be taken care of. I have two daughters that can’t see their mother breakdown. I have one in Kindergarten whose teacher expects me to participate in Crazy Hat Day, the PTA Pizza Party and Hispanic Heritage Month, all in the same week. I have another who attempted to eat ants off of our floor with a fork after I had just swept the crumbs out from underneath their table. I have to be in five places at one time because expectations are high, standards higher.

            I have Joe Cocker promising me that I will get by with a little help from my friends.

            I come home to a place where I know my needs are secondary to my children’s, and sometimes I just don’t want to be the line leader. What I would give just for five minutes. I want to be able to step back and have someone step forward. I miss standing not just by someone, but behind them. My daughters have become a haven for me, where laughing, hugs, and first words are what keep me light on my feet. What I would give if just for an hour I could have someone sweep me off of those toes, instead of stepping on them. To have someone say those first words to me that are so lovely they could almost be mistaken for a foreign language, in which case I wouldn’t even want or need the translation.

            I was laying in corpse pose tonight in class, thinking about how alive I am. I am right here, searching for something that maybe never was going to be found.  I instructed my students to release all of the tension from each muscle, starting with their toes, ending at their neck. It was only until I asked this of them, that I realized:

            I, too, need to let go.