Last week I went to my third yoga class in as many years. It was free (they were having a promotion of some sort) and our teacher, a soft spoken grey haired man, was talking about how certain hip opening poses can make you emotional because they utilize muscles we may not have used in a long time. We cary around our emotions in our hips; I was thinking the illacus or gracillis. I kind of giggled, because I was self-conscious, and “hip opening” at the time sounded unnecessarily graphic. It didn’t seem to make sense. It doesn’t make sense to attach hefty feelings to your pelvic muscles.

But sure enough, when I’d rearranged my limbs, it happened just like that. A rather quiet and bountiful cry; I tucked my chin into my chest as my arms were occupied. My eyes were closed and my mouth was open. I fumbled into savasana and while I was briefly on all fours I instinctively shook my head and upper body a little as though I were a wet dog. My head was soaked with sweat. All of my moving about was magnified because of the wooden floor and the echoey room. I wanted to leave then but I decided to stick it out until the end, peeking discreetly at the person I’d come with when the poses allowed it. Then later, when we all had our legs tucked underneath us and our foreheads nearly kissing the floor, I heard our teacher walking amongst us, touching his hand to our crowns.