Slightly Snowy Sacred Seven

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Removing the Second Arrow How Yoga Helped Me Overcome Trauma and Housing Loss and Discover Who I Was at Last By Jennifer Stanely I fear I may give the wrong impression when I say that yoga helped me overcome homelessness and my biggest adult trauma on the show, especially if your brain is wired like mine. You might think, “Oh, she started a yoga studio that was so successful that she dug herself out of the hole.” Yeah — the reality is nothing like that. As I write these words, we have yet to make a profit, yet my life has improved beyond my wildest dreams. No, yoga did not transform my financial situation. What it gave me was something far deeper and more powerful than money: The emotional and spiritual healing space I needed to get over my past trauma, the resulting alcohol abuse, and my own toxic behaviors that led me down a path of ruin in the first place. I want to share my healing journey of the past few years to set the record straight. I also feel my story could help others because, even though I’m now more privileged than I could have ever dreamed of a few years ago when writing “Welcome Home, Poe,” I didn’t have these advantages during my healing journey. I mostly had a yoga mat and YouTube, which is why I now use these mediums to try to give back as best I can for the many blessings I have received. I hope that sharing my story will lend similar glimmers to those who read these words while in a dark place. I also want to add to the collective knowledge base. Autistic individuals are more likely to experience homelessness for many reasons, and there’s also a lot of misconceptions about how we think and feel. I’m not a scientist or researcher, but I can offer my first-person perspective, which can perhaps inform earlier interventions and support so that others don’t experience my suffering. While there are sadly no guarantees, it’s been my experience that mindful practices like yoga can help you overcome hardship. It isn’t easy. However, by engaging in this daily routine and practicing self-compassion, you can transform past, negative, ingrained reactions into thoughtful, intentional responses to life’s inevitable hardships. This is how yoga helped me overcome the trauma of my past, my housing battle, and adult trauma, and discover who I truly was at last. Just the Facts, Ma’am — a Brief History of What Happened I’ll skip the gory details. Suffice it to say I had an, um, interesting childhood (“interesting,” here, means, “traumatic, confusing, lonely, and terrifying”). I was raised in an extremely narcissigenic environment. I’m also a late-diagnosed autistic, and what I didn’t know then was how profound my social deficits were — and in my case, they truly were deficits, not mere differences, given their impact on my life trajectory. I reached adulthood not fully understanding how to be a human, let alone an adult one. My gender protected me, as early marriage spared me from having to master skills like how to balance the checkbook and ensure the bills got paid on time. Sadly, I also had no idea how to be a good partner. A series of shattered relationships, many of which mirrored the abusive, toxic patterns of my childhood, nearly ruined me. The guilt I feel for my role in these partnerships will never fade. To my exes: I am sorry. As the years passed, I developed far worse health problems than the migraines I endured since a car accident at 17. I now know that autistic people are more prone to certain chronic health disorders. Back then, all I knew was that my body was falling apart. It was interfering with my ability to work and support myself, even as I tried different jobs, went back to school, and tried to do everything, anything, to stop my decline. But every time I went to the doctor, I was shamed for “exaggerating” my symptoms. Only, I wasn’t faking or seeking attention. Visiting physician’s offices is sheer hell on my sensory issues, but I was trying to do what people tell you to do when you’re sick. Those with chronic illness know that office visits can be a lot like going to the mechanic. You gotta limp the car to the shop first, and, of course, the worst of the “funny noises” never occur while the expert is under the hood. While doctors discovered things like white matter damage, an arachnoid cyst, mitral valve issues, they insisted these findings didn’t explain my inability to function. It didn’t help that my partners dismissed my needs and fears as often as my doctors. Don’t even get me started on the American healthcare system and how it destroys finances. As a result, every bank account and every 401k from every job I had ever managed to hold onto for more than a few months was already drained when the first housing crisis hit. When it did, I was living alone for the first time in my adult life. What Tim Fletcher calls my Big T Adult Trauma appeared in the form of an unpaid sewer bill on a townhouse I had rented with an ex but lived in solo after the split. He was responsible for paying the bill but hadn’t, apparently ever, and I had forgotten it existed. He didn’t tell me he had neglected it, and of course, I wasn’t exactly a whiz at the executive function part of adulting. So it sat unpaid — until the city threatened to put a lien on my landlord’s property for the unpaid amount. As a result, I received an out-of-the-blue eviction notice months after splitting up. Long story short, I had 48 hours to come up with $3,000 to pay the city or get out. And I had no money. I had nothing left after years of navigating American healthcare. My only alternative was to hit the streets with what I had — three cats and a Jeep that didn’t even lock. My ride still lacks a driver’s side window today, courtesy of another bad ex who punched it in. He never replaced it, and I scrape by with a scrap of fiberglass to this day. Saving that temporary roof traumatized me and kicked off years of housing insecurity. Of course, a few months later, amid the pandemic, my landlord raised the rent. Being forced to move as the first vaccines hit was also life-shattering. However, my property management company assured me that my new building had remained under the same stable ownership for years, and I would be safe. Not quite. A few months later, that stable, long-term owner sold to a foreign corporation. My rent went up again, this time by $1,200 a month. It was a lot to deal with. I almost couldn’t cope with the sewer bill. I almost didn’t. I almost ended my life then. But I didn’t. Something — to this day, I don’t know from what inner or outer wellspring it came from — stopped my attempt. And I am so grateful. Because during the intervening years, despite the subsequent housing shakeups, I gained an absolutely invaluable coping skill that made subsequent catastrophes more bearable. Only in Sedona Yoga Is Born Walking away from the cliff’s edge after the sewer bill trauma didn’t solve my problem of needing more money. Although I worked, I was unable to find anything in my hometown at my price point. I also lacked the requisite funds and a trustworthy enough car to relocate. To top it off, my credit was not good. It was a trifecta of poor fortune I had no idea how to handle. However, before truly talking to my mat, I had long done yoga as a form of physical exercise. I first earned a fitness instructor’s certification at 16 and have taught various class formats for much of my adult life. I had stopped teaching as I got sicker, but I still had the knowledge base. I noticed other people seemed to attain success by instructing such classes online, and I figured I could record videos when I felt good. Also, in practical terms, I had what I needed to get started with zero capital. So, with the help of my amazing partner, Ed, we launched Only in Sedona Yoga. I have to laugh when I look back at how grandiose my delusions were. Back then, I genuinely thought I was poor because I was just lazy. Even though I had worked multiple jobs and gone back to school to try to save myself, that childhood refrain remained in my head: “If I just put my mind to it.” If I worked really hard, I would achieve overnight success, get Ed and me the financial resources we desperately needed, and launch my nonprofit, just like that. Yeah. Remember what I said about having been raised in an extremely narcissigenic environment and being autistic? Delusions? I had them. My entire adult life, no matter what I did or accomplished, inside, I always felt like a failure, a loser, a fraud, and a fake. I manifested these qualities externally as well, for which I feel incredible guilt. Deep down, I’ve always believed my hardships were my fault, and in many ways they were . I just wasn’t able to connect the dots between my outward behaviors, my seemingly constant troubles, my past, and my neurology. I’ve often described my autism as being punished my whole life for not being able to see the board — but nobody ever suggested that hey, maybe I needed glasses. As it was, I had to find my own specs. For that, I have my yoga mat to thank. While my endeavors, as of this writing, have yet to bring financial rewards, they provided something much deeper. Yoga Mats, Psychology and Autism, Oh, My As I worked to build Only in Sedona Yoga, I spent a lot of time on my mat. Hours upon hours of practice, first to get myself limber enough to perform many of the poses — my flexibility lagged over the years and I was nearly 50 when we started. However, that time was necessary. It taught me without words how yoga is much more than a physical discipline, but a mental, emotional and spiritual one. It truly does mean “union” in more ways than I can express in what is already a lengthy tale. During this time, I also got sober. I look back with shame at how much I used to drink, how badly it made me act, and how poorly it affected my psyche. Alcohol was a constant in my household, and in my adulthood, no one close to me ever suggested I had a problem with booze. On the contrary, people often plied me with drinks to “make me loosen up and have fun,” as ordinarily, I’m quiet and avoidant AF. My intimate partners often drank as much if not more than I did, making me feel like I was rocking it in comparison. Boy, was I stupid. What finally convinced me to put the bottle down was watching Doc Snipes , one of my favorite “ Doctor YouTubes ,” and learning how it affected my various neurotransmitters. I didn’t want that. Fortunately, it wasn’t physically hard for me to quit drinking or put myself on a rigid, straight-edge-style program that my inner autistic child no doubt loved. At the time, the intended purpose was to show my doctors that no, I was not faking my symptoms. My goal was to eradicate anything that could damage my health. I ate a strict, primarily plant-based diet free of the ultra-processed junk that passes for food these days. I got off ten different prescription medications, keeping only one to help with sleep. I used the time I no longer spent drinking and doom-scrolling for yoga and digging into my other new special interest: figuring out why I was so messed up. I spent hours on my mat, practicing yin and restorative poses while watching various licensed mental health professionals on YouTube. The journey began with Dr. Daniel Fox’s YouTube channel, which I highly recommend. I came across the first video quite by accident. It dealt with borderline/narcissistic relationships, and it was like viewing my past partnerships on screen. Explaining how my autistic brain works is a bit hard, but I see patterns. It takes me a loooongg time to grasp concepts at times, but once I do, I don’t just see that narrow portion of the idea I was taught. It’s like a whole new universe opens up, and I see how this new knowledge connects to everything else, giving me a much deeper understanding. It also makes me a whiz at standardized tests. I’m not quite Rainman in that I can count the toothpicks at a glance, but I could tell you exactly what pattern they fell into and recreate that design with a new box without looking back at the original. The emotions I went through watching this video were intense. It was also chocolate ice cream with pickle sauce. I could see the patterns of behavior that my parents and past partners had were toxic AF, which was like, “Hooray, all this time, I knew it was wrong and bad, but I didn’t know why. They kept telling me they were right and I was wrong, but their behavior was actually toxic! Man, I feel validated, yay!” At the same time, I could also see that I had acted just as toxic , which filled me with deep, immense shame. I had also uttered many of the same phrases in my adult life, flung many of the same insults, engaged in the same passive-aggressive actions. The difference was that I had never harbored the malicious intentions that those with certain personality disorders presumably have. I manifested many of the behaviors, not because I was scheming or trying to one up anyone. I was trying to meet my sensory needs and imitating the only patterns I had ever learned. When something had gone wrong in my household growing up, there was no sober discussion of how to manage the resulting emotions or even the situation itself. There was screaming and chaos, substance use and hurtful words, unjustified blame and painful blows. I now know that autistic people often engage in copy-and-paste behaviors to mask their differences and try to fit in. However, this mimicry is utterly unconscious and forget about controlling something if you aren’t aware you’re doing it. Echopraxia — the unconscious imitation of other people’s facial expressions and physical movements , and echolalia — the meaningless recitation of words in familiar patterns, often to relieve stress — are exceedingly common. And my favorite role model, whom I imitated the most, was not mentally healthy. Please note: I’m not trying to escape the blame I deserve; I'm only trying to understand. I know I have said and done lousy, unforgivable things for which I will always feel deserved guilt, and I accept it. In my estimation, the pain it makes me feel doesn’t nearly repay my karmic debt. At the same time, knowing autistic traits run in families makes forgiveness possible. Did my dad truly believe in the hurtful things he said and did, or was he copy/pasting the toxicity he himself experienced? I may never know, but understanding my own pain and why I behaved so badly makes me less critical of others, even if I don’t accept their behavior. I can also see why many autistic women are misdiagnosed with personality disorders. I at first suspected my issues were due to BPD. In a way, I guess I have my relative poverty and lack of early healthcare access to thank for never getting that particular misdiagnosis. What made me suspect something else was afoot was that everything I had learned about personality disorders suggested that they were ingrained. One does not simply decide to stop behaving badly. Just like people didn’t merely stop drinking after learning how it affects your neurotransmitters. These weren’t in line with the stereotypical patterns of human behavior as I was coming to understand them. What was going on? Then, I watched Dr. Kim Sage , read the book “ Unmasking Autism ” and a host of others, and, just like Saul on the road to Damascus, the scales fell off my eyes. Finally, someone handed me that long-awaited pair of glasses and the entire world sprang into focus. So many of my struggles from my earliest memories all of a sudden made perfect sense. My pattern-recognizing mind did its thing, and all the mingled horror and ecstasy puzzle pieces of my experience fell into place. I saw the problem. I also saw how I was already, unconsciously, working to make it better, and how my new conscious knowledge could inspire my continued growth. Everything, Everywhere, All at Once Meanwhile, while I was undergoing my internal transformation, the clock was ticking. Even though I had survived the eviction notice and subsequent rent increase, I nevertheless had one year from December of 2021 to find another place to live. I think we all remember what was happening in the real estate market then, as the ripple effect continues today, affecting countless suffering souls while governments do little but treat the most vulnerable with increasing cruelty instead of aid. That’s what I mean when I say yoga helped me go from homeless to housed, and I feel shame and must sincerely apologize if I’ve made a misimpression. No. I wasn’t literally sleeping on the sidewalk. I was, however, next door to it and terrified, the kind of terror that makes it impossible to eat, sleep or think straight, that leaves you endlessly nauseous and shaking. The kind of terror I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I had messed up adulting so badly that I had no resources left to stop this horror from happening, not even a proper vehicle to live in or good enough credit to get one. I had no money left to move, nowhere to go and there was nothing in my hometown for rent for people of my income level. I also lacked one other critical element, one that sounds hopelessly stupid in retrospect but was insurmountable at the time: I had no idea how to ask for help. Asking for help wasn’t a behavior I ever learned to copy/paste. Such behavior was considered the ultimate in shamefulness in my family of origin. Admitting vulnerability or fallibility meant risking rage, ostracism, verbal abuse, screams, tears, and, sometimes, physical violence. Also, I literally don’t know to this day how to handle certain interactions. What words do I say? How am I supposed to behave? Like an actor in a play, I wouldn’t only have to be told “reach out for help,” but to rehearse my lines and ensure my audience could understand my delivery. I tried to get help in my way, acted out plenty, and ineffectively, bemoaning my fate on social media — but it quite literally never crossed my mind to start a GoFundMe. The farthest I got was calling 211 at one point. I quickly got the impression that having any income disqualified me from aid, and in my defensive reaction, I said thank you and hung up instead of inquiring further. The idea of reaching out to other adults certainly also didn’t occur to me because as an undiagnosed autistic person, I had never established a sense of myself, let alone one of community. When I was a kid, if you needed something, by golly, you worked for it, and that’s what I kept trying so desperately to do, in any form, even when it traumatized me. I wonder how many of my family’s generational troubles spring from the same dynamic, the same inability to reach out and form the connections with others we all need in this crazy world. However, fate intervened. I met an incredible man who would go on to change my life. At the time, he was stationed overseas. We met when he was home on leave and spent the next several months falling in love over the phone. We spent hours talking, never judging each other. With him, I felt the sense of connection I had been so desperately missing without knowing it. Meeting in person cemented our union, but our souls had already bonded while we were half a world apart. I honestly don’t know if I would have made it had we not met. He helped me with expenses and renting a temporary space. One of my happiest days was buying Lora, my camper, to live in. Having that stability is what allowed me to continue my healing journey. While I had a Plan B, C, and D when we met, they would have been far less pleasant, and I’m so forever grateful he gave me the space, grace, and comfort I needed to continue to heal. Additionally, my beloved is also neurodiverse. Communicating with him is like magic. All the frustrations I had formerly felt trying to talk with neurotypical people just — didn’t happen. I understand him. He understands me. We take each other’s moods in stride. We don’t beat each other up or criticize each other for being human. It’s glorious. He’s also survived past abuse. Our relationship is a beautifully, continuously woven tapestry of love and healing together. We help each other improve in so many ways. With his help, I also started therapy and obtained my autism diagnosis — at age 52. Fortunately, though, I feel no bitterness over not knowing earlier, only joy at having the right answer at long last. I always felt “different.” Even going through the autism evaluation stirred childhood memories of when I was four. My mom wanted me admitted to kindergarten as I would be five soon. I was taken into a room with a giraffe and given an oddly similar test, after which, they labeled me as “gifted.” Not quite, doc, but hey, at least you picked up that there was something way back when. Removing the Second Arrow From an outsider’s perspective, life probably looked at least somewhat okay during these years. Inside, emotionally, it was a storm, one that still rages within me, although the winds have gone from Cat-5 hurricane force to mild tropical storms. You guys, I don’t know how to express it in neurotypical terms, but all that stuff psychologists say trauma does to your brain? It’s real. It’s so real, and I feel it every day. I literally feel it, like any other physical pain. Trauma’s grasp on me is slowly loosening, but healing isn’t an overnight process. It takes time, especially if you endured years of abuse, invalidation, and dismissal. Even though I no longer wanted to participate in toxic behaviors, I still had a whole lot of big feelings from my childhood and adult trauma that I had no idea what to do with. I missed so many essential lessons for autistic kids. Not just how to balance the checkbook but how to identify emotions beyond feeling “good” or “bad” and what coping strategies to use to handle them. I shudder to think how easily I could have destroyed my recovery by engaging in toxic old patterns. And it’s so hard not to sometimes. My learned reactions are — not good. And being autistic, I already have to go through a layer of mental math to process any social interaction to begin with. Then, I must pass my words through the trauma filter, “Is the harsh way I’m phrasing this reflective of the harshness of the reality or only hinder communication with someone who has never experienced such traumas?” I’m the first to admit, I don’t always get it right. However, I continued to cling to my yoga mat and YouTube, and I put those bad boys to work pretty much every day. Although I eventually eased my monk-like routine, daily mindful practice is a must for me. And while nothing soothes me to sleep like a good yoga nidra body scan at midnight, the only way I can ease my “big feels” long enough to sit with them is to add a bit of physical movement to mitigate those cortisol levels and promote clarity of thought. I think that’s one reason the mat worked so well for me. The other is that it is a judgment-free zone to practice mindfulness. To be autistic is to endure constant judgment, often harsh. You don’t smile right or often enough, you don’t look people in the eye, or seem fake when you do (for years, I used the “stare at their forehead” trick until I read this made you look like you have the psychopathic glare!). You never talk enough or always talk too much. When you do speak, you’re too blunt and direct. Everything about you seems to subtly rub neurotypical people wrong. While I hate the “othering” dynamic, some neurotypicals aren’t at all subtle about pointing out your differences and mocking or outright hurting you for them. There’s a huge overlap between autism and PTSD for a good reason. Spending time on the mat lets me work through my ugliest of uglies without anyone judging me for making the wrong facial expressions. I can cry, scream, surrender hopelessly in child’s pose, even sob and rock myself in cradle, and let myself feel that shame, that guilt. I lay down the burden of what has been done to me and what I have done to others and go through that baggage, taking however long it takes to iron each shirt and return it to the correct drawer. I sometimes refer to my time on the mat as “removing the second arrow.” According to the Buddha, in life, you will sometimes encounter arrows or negative events. They can pierce you and wound you. However, getting hit by a second arrow hurts even worse. That second arrow is your reaction to traumatic events. Yes. Many, many bad things happened to me in life. But I followed every one of them with a second arrow — my poor reaction. That’s what ultimately caused my suffering. Spending time on the mat let me reparent myself, teaching myself healthier coping skills. So when future arrows came — like a $1,200 rent increase — I was better psychologically equipped to deal with them without turning to the bottle and having a full-on meltdown. Engaging in this practice daily kept me from going off the rails during this tumultuous time, even though on some days, I came so, so close. Even though I was only a secondary player, relying heavily on my man to secure permanent housing, we were very much partners every step of the way — and there were many roadblocks in this market. Now my challenge becomes figuring out how to use my blessings to help others, which is what I’ve always dreamed of doing. Only Sedona Yoga provides a good starting point, and I’m excited to see what good eventually grows from this endeavor. In the meantime, I’m determined to keep working that soil, planting seeds, and tending my weeds on the mat, just as I clear them from the little acre I hope will someday grow sustainable foods for my family and others. Rebuilding My Mental Health and Finding Myself by Talking to the Mat My process of healing and becoming better on the yoga mat is by no means over — the process is as endless as the life cycle itself. What my journey has also taught me so far is that there is no perfect time to change your life. Change starts with deciding you want it, that the old patterns are no longer tolerable. It’s an ongoing process that requires constant work and upkeep, but it pays off in rewards beyond measure. I certainly don’t want to give literal thinkers — like me — the wrong impression. No, starting a YouTube channel didn’t magically fix my financial woes. Much as I hope Only in Sedona Yoga will flourish and grow, I have no idea what will ultimately come of it. I hope building it in a spirit of advancing mutual healing will result in even more and more goodness, maybe even fulfill my original dream. However, if my words or work on the mat help even one other soul, I have succeeded in life beyond measure. I can’t go back and undo the years before I began talking to my mat in earnest. I can’t make younger me get sober earlier so I might have realized what was happening more quickly. What I can do is take what I have learned these past years and use it to help others who might be in similar dark spots. That’s what Only in Sedona Yoga is all about. Guiding yoga classes on YouTube and in person helps me in my healing journey. I can only hope it helps others remove their second arrows, too. I’ll continue doing it in that spirit for as long as I am able and hope sharing my story can help others find strength. You can have a rough start in life. You can experience trauma. But you can also overcome it with mindfulness, self-compassion, and love.

Written by Jennifer Stanley. Your bones are among the toughest structures in your body, but they’re still living tissue. You can damage them or make them stronger, depending on your life choices. If you’re an older adult, maintaining your skeletal health is one of the best things you can do to prevent physical decline, especially if you’re a menopausal or postmenopausal female (like myself). Can yoga improve your bone density and strength? You might have guessed the answer to that question is yes. While many physical activities improve bone density and prevent the weakness that typically accompanies aging, yoga has unique advantages. Here’s what you should know about yoga and your bone health. Bone Health Trouble as You Age Nearly everyone has an older friend or relative who has “shrunk” with age. Osteoporosis affects roughly 10 million Americans. Please don’t think this disease only strikes after retirement. One in three adults over the age of 50 has some reduction in bone density , called osteopenia. This condition elevates your risk of break, the recovery from which can keep you off your feet, weakening the rest of your skeleton. Osteoporosis doesn’t only bend your spine and make you lose inches. Partially broken and collapsed bones in your spine can cause excruciating pain that hinders your mobility. This limitation also creates a negative cycle, where inactivity continues to reduce your remaining bone density further. What Causes Osteoporosis? It might surprise you that your skeleton continues growing after you reach full height. Bone is living tissue, meaning each day, some cells die and are replaced by new ones. Osteoporosis occurs when the rate of replacement fails to keep up, causing your bones to weaken with time. Certain factors increase your osteoporosis risk , including: Sex: Osteoporosis strikes women more frequently. Age: Osteoporosis tends to get worse with age. Family history: Your risk increases if one of your parents has the disease. Hormone changes: Low estrogen or testosterone increases risk. Diet: Low calcium and vitamin D intake in youth may increase your osteoporosis risk. Other medical conditions: Those with rheumatoid arthritis, endocrine diseases, cancer, HIV/AIDS and anorexia face elevated risks. Medications: Certain prescriptions may raise your risk — talk to your doctor. Lifestyle: A sedentary lifestyle increases risk as exercise improves bone density but a lack of movement weakens them. Furthermore, chronic alcohol and tobacco use heightens risk. Traditional Treatments for Osteoporosis Doctors typically treat osteoporosis by prescribing medications that either slow the rate of bone loss or help you rebuild new tissue. However, they’ll also recommend lifestyle modifications. You’ll need to take extra precautions to lower your fall risk, as your bones will break more easily. Other lifestyle modifications include improving your diet and getting regular, moderate exercise. That’s where yoga comes into play. Here’s how this activity can improve your bone health. How Yoga Improves Bone Health Yoga improves your bone health in several ways. It’s a weight-bearing exercise that doesn’t involve impact, making it accessible for those with joint conditions who find other exercise forms intolerable. Furthermore, it strengthens and maintains flexibility in surrounding connective tissues, improving mobility even in those with arthritis. Its most profound effects may come from balancing various body chemicals that promote tissue healing, including your bones. Cortisol plays a crucial role in healing, but if your body is already burnt out from an overabundance of it, you could have a longer recovery time. 1. What Science Says About Yoga and Bone Health Several studies support the use of yoga for improving bone health. One recent study, the results of which are slated for publication in 2024, shows that this practice improved both the mental health symptoms and bone density of adolescent females with eating disorders. Anorexia nervosa harms bone health by depriving the body of the necessary nutrients for maintaining your skeleton. Many earlier studies suggest the efficacy of yoga as a preventative medicine against osteoporosis. A 2023 meta-analysis of 39 trials featuring over 2,000 participants found that this practice may be an effective therapy , particularly in the following areas: Improving bone density Bettering bone mineral content Helping the function of the lower extremities Reducing pain and fear of injury Increasing quality of life Nor must your practice take much time to produce results. One earlier 2016 study showed that just 12 minutes of daily practice reversed osteoporotic bone loss. How long should you hold each pose? An even earlier 2009 study suggests that bone cells begin to create new bone after 12 seconds and stop after 72 seconds. A nice hatha vinyasa to restorative flow contains the perfect balance of holds and active movement to rock bone density as long as you hold each asana for roughly 30 seconds. 2. Yoga and Thinning Bones: Poses to Avoid While medical science encourages yoga for bone health, there are some postures you should avoid, especially if you have a bad back. Please avoid the temptation to push yourself , especially if you have a trauma history and your adaptive response is to endure what you should not. In general, you should avoid moves that focus heavily on flexion and extension. Doing so can lead to injury , which can keep you from the mat. You also want to avoid deep twists. Finally, remember, everyone’s bone and muscle configuration varies, so don’t force. Use extreme gentleness and caution with the following poses: Forward folds: Keep your weight on your toes while simultaneously focusing your attention on the hamstrings. The emphasis is not to get your hands to touch the floor but to open up the big muscles on the backs of your legs. If you feel any tugging in your lower back, straighten it by pressing your palms against your calves or thighs. Drop-backs: Drop-backs are an Ashtanga move that those with degenerative discs should avoid. Wheel: I’m a fan of a rock star or wild thing, a gentler way to get into a backbend. Camel and sphinx are also safer alternatives. Seated forward folds and butterfly: These moves can put tremendous pressure on your lumbar spine. The best advice is to keep your back straight, making your body resemble more of a tilted letter L rather than rounding through the spine. My preferred alternatives these days are to perform forward fold standing or supine leg raises. Twists: In general, easy seated or supine twists shouldn’t cause pain as you only twist to your level of comfort. Use caution with Matsyendrasana twists and bound twist poses that put external rotational force on the spine. 3. General Tips for Practicing Yoga With Thinning Bones When practicing yoga with thinning bones, keep mindfulness at the forefront of your practice. Sure, it’s fun to jump back into plank, but not at the risk of an achy back for a week or more afterward. Keep your practice low impact and modify poses to suit your unique body. The beauty part about yoga is that unless you’re doing a completely different routine in the front row of a crowded studio, you’re free to add variety. In fact, it’s encouraged — part of mindfulness practice entails tuning into sensory cues, including the interoceptive ones from within. Inversions are a tricky vixen. In some patients, they ease pain, but many find the risk of neck injury not worth it. I personally avoid inversions, not because of my spine but because going upside down does something very wonky with my equilibrium. However, others choose to incorporate them as the benefits they receive from easing spinal compression outweigh the risks. You can also invest in specialty headstand trainers or take to the sky with aerial yoga for the spinal perks. Your Bone Health and Yoga Yoga can play an important role in helping you maintain bone health as you age. The weight-bearing component increases density, while non-impact flows protect joints damaged by arthritis or disease. Keeping your bones healthy through yoga is an excellent choice to make as you age. Doing so reduces your risk of fracture and the lowered quality of life that often follows injury. Whichever style you choose, adding yoga to your life can lead to healthier bones

The veil between the living and the dead is particularly thin for me this year. However, by deeply meditating on death, we learn the secret of life. My world shattered this past summer. Poe, the hero of my first fiction book but a very much real-life cat, crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Anyone who has lost a beloved knows the devastation. Poe was much more than a pet to me. Yes, he was a cat. But he also saved my life. He came into it in my darkest hour, giving me one bright thing to look forward to every day. That little bit of goodness — seeing his cute, cropped ear arrive at the back door for food, gradually gaining that little feral’s trust — was the only thing that held me back from crossing the bridge myself. I had lost everything: my health, my ability to work, and with it, my life’s savings. I also lost a marriage, much of my mind, and was about to lose housing for the second time in my life. In desperation, I turned to the only profession you can do lying in bed, no degree or certification necessary. The degradation and self-loathing I felt made me honestly believe the world would be better off without me in it. The only thing keeping me here was a little cat who needed me. And now, he is gone. But he is also always with me. Coming to terms with his death was the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and I’ve been through quite a lot. While some people turn to their family or the church, I went back to my healer for solace — my yoga mat. Here is what I learned through my meditations. What Happens After We Die? I can’t answer that question. Anyone who says they know is either deluded or intentionally trying to manipulate you, absent proof; no one can raise Lazarus and interview him. All any of us can do is make a reasonable guess, based on what we know of what science knows. Many people claim to know what happens after we die. And, please understand, my purpose in writing this piece isn’t to convince anyone about what the afterlife is like or challenge anyone’s religious beliefs. Death forces us to confront our beliefs, to either find solace in them or come to a deeper understanding. It pierces the veil of our illusions, our fear, our desolate sense of loss, of never again, is a perception. We might turn to what we believe, but we realize belief isn’t knowing . Death is the great equalizer, but it affects us all differently. Still, every human who has ever existed has wondered: what happens next? We know the physical body decays, but what about the stuff that animates us? The unique cosmic soup that makes up who we are? Where does the ephemeral force that pushes the flower through the green fuse go when our bones become so much compost? I thought of this question and the river analogy as I stood cleaning Henry’s tank, where Pleck still swims and Goldie once did. He was yet another family member, a goldfish, who passed away just yesterday, throwing me back into what some Buddhist traditions describe as the bardo, that mysterious limbo that skirts the line between life and death. As I refilled the tank, I watched as the water poured from the faucet into the bucket. I considered leaving the water running between dumps, but out of conservation concerns, I did not. However, that simple act made the mental connection. Where does each drop of water go once it flows from the faucet to the sink? It’s not gone, yet you can no longer taste it, touch it or perceive it with any of the traditional five senses. Yet you know it still is — somewhere. It’s like Thich Nhat Hanh speaks of when he makes the allusion to the cloud. Where does a cloud go when it disappears? We do not say a cloud died. We know it is still there, only it has become something else. Each human being is a unique biological creation that can only exist during this moment in time. They’re living flesh made of matter. Evolution shows it — while many people contain traces of Neanderthal DNA, for example, a full-blooded Neanderthal would have a pretty difficult time of things today. Who you are biologically depends on your DNA, but that isn’t the whole story. The science of epigenetics shows us how our life choices can influence our physical manifestation. Each tiny choice we make, from what to eat to how we relate with others, turns some genes on and others off, increases levels of some chemicals and decreases others. But there is something else, too. The decisions we make aren’t mere outputs of our biology: anyone who has kicked an addiction knows it takes a tremendous amount of free will to say no when every dopamine-drenched cell in your body screams, “Yes,YES! And right NOW!” Often in defining our limitations, we find our freedom. Humans are finite, bound by time. They are also mortal, bound by flesh. That mysterious force, the energy behind all of this, driving the green fuse through the big bang flower is the third portion, that which we don’t understand. Humans Have Limited Perspective Because we are bound by time and biology, we cannot possibly know everything or see all there is. All we know is what we can perceive through our senses. We now know there are many more than five , but every human has the same ones in varying amounts, and even that can change slightly throughout life. For example, our time-sense is limited by our biological mortality, which is why the last five minutes of class last forever to bored schoolchildren but each passing day seems progressively shorter as we age and things start moving way too fast. We know that other living creatures have differing perceptions. I remember many times gazing into Poe’s eyes, wondering how he saw the world. He was so good, so patient, so pure, never lashing out in anger, although his life had been every bit as harsh as mine in its own way. Like me, he had been abandoned, discarded, left to survive or perish alone despite being very small and utterly unprepared for the task. I don’t know how he perceived the world, but his example showed me that I could endure suffering with the same grace. That was Poe’s greatest gift, and the part of him that will forever live on: he showed me you do not have to carry forward the evil energy that flowed onto you undeserved. You don’t have the power to know everything in this life; no one does. You may never know why horrific things happened to you or those you love. But where your freedom, your choice comes in while you live is to not carry that energy forward. You are an alchemist while you live and breathe; you determine how you interact with the other energy directed toward you. If it is dark, you can join that sinister chorus — or you can choose to be loving and kind in spite of it, sending that energy forward instead of more negativity. That choice, that energy, is the third magical element that makes people, well, people. We are time-bound, interdependent on everything else happening in the brief 60 to 100 year span where we live and breathe. We are biology-bound, and how we treat our body influences how we act and the choices we make, but they can only influence. That third element, the part that decides, that’s how we take the energy that came before and push it into the future. Poe did it so beautifully. He took everything evil that was done to him and despite it all, was the most loving of cats. And in doing so, he brought out the love in me, love that was buried deep behind walls of defensiveness and ego. He changed the energy of hate into love and showed me how to do the same. See the interconnectedness, how one act of love can create a ripple effect? Our energy, made material through our choices while we live, creates it. What that third element, that green fuse force is, we may never know. Our perception may be limited by time and biology to prohibit it — I don’t know. However, we know it exists. And despite external influences like work pressure and internal forces like biology, we still use it to make independent choices, thus creating our future, and, through extension, humankind’s collective future. Energy Is Never Created Nor Destroyed An old Chinese experiment proved years ago that humans do have an energy field. While Western minds might find the idea of a bodily energy field curious , the stuff of a Sedona aura reading, it’s an integral part of Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). Although scientists haven’t classified exactly what it is, some of it appears to be a sort of near-infrared radiation. I remember saying in a yoga class or meditation once that you are your own nuclear reactor of energy. It turns out, that analogy isn’t too far off the mark. Western minds accept Einstein’s theory of relativity, but few mindfully meditate upon it. However, every school child who has taken a basic physics or chemistry course knows that energy is never created nor destroyed. It changes form, true, like Thich Nhat Hanh’s cloud, but it doesn’t disappear. Much of the stuff that is in you, at the elemental level , has existed for millions of years, nearly since the beginning of time. You might not feel that way when you climb out of bed feeling creaky in the joints, but it’s true when you get super teeny tiny, smaller than even the most microscopic cell. You need the unique combination of those elements to make what you think of as you, well, you. That’s why you are one of a kind. There are so many infinitesimally small elements that come together, and that precious combination only happens once. That’s why life is something to cherish, why it is so very wrong to take it, and why death affects us so profoundly. Once someone is gone, they are truly gone forever. What, Then, Remains? The loss of a one-of-a-kind, precious thing that cannot be replaced is enough to drive anyone to madness. Yet, have you ever looked around in the aftermath of death and noticed how life goes on? It stuns you — how can this possibly be? How can others enjoy their lives and possibly be happy? Don’t they know the loss that just occurred? That everything just ended? Only, everything didn’t end. Life goes on because the essential elements that create it remain. The raw material doesn’t go anywhere. It still exists, as does the energy created through it. And if the clay remains, and if that clay is what’s necessary to create the animated form we think of as life, it only makes sense that life will rise again from it. It will never be exactly the same as what came before — but it will be similar. Everything exists in an intricately linked system; understanding that helps you care for it by performing your role in it to the best of your ability. Nor does the energy every living creature transmits during their time here cease to exist. It, too, goes on. Sometimes, it is destructive — we see this as war and murder and oppression continue — but the energy continues to flow. The good also continues — we see this in schools, street and town names, things that honor the efforts of those who have passed, in the way each new scientific achievement builds from the previous ones. It continues in each new generation. Even stars, when they burn through their energy reserves, don’t disappear. They become black holes, and what those mysterious beasts are, no one knows any more than they know where the energy driving all of it came from originally. Some scientists believe they go to infinite multiverses, a universe of universes, going on and on forever like an ever-growing chain. It’s fun to conjecture about what might be, but we have to stay grounded in what we know here on earth. Every hour, every minute, every second, someone dies. Yet every hour, every minute, every second, someone is born. It’s the transition between death and life — the loss of consciousness — that no one understands. Perhaps that’s a part of the beauty of life’s design — you have to be conscious to experience it. In nature’s infinite mercy, she only allows us mortals to perceive the decay of their bodies for so long before sweet oblivion takes over. What happens next, no one knows for sure. Many people believe the energy goes forward, changing into yet another form. Many children have memories of past lives when young that they forget as they age, just as older adults forget much of their youth as time passes. I was one of them. I was raised in a conservative Catholic family where even the mere mention of reincarnation would have been laughable (and diversity was not permitted in my family, so I’m pretty sure my toddler-self didn’t encounter anyone with a different belief system). However, my past life memories felt as real to me at age three or four as memories of the past few years do to me now. Death could be the Universe’s ether, a way of blocking pain when it is too overwhelming for this mortal body to bear. It’s like needing to be put unconscious to undergo surgery, only the transformation happening is that force seeking yet another green fuse to push open a flower. If having your knee or abdomen cut open is too painful to bear while conscious, imagine what it must feel like to shatter at the elemental level. Pain is sometimes necessary — but most of us seek to avoid the worst of it. Pain avoidance lies at the heart of every addiction, and both physical and emotional pain affect the same parts of your brain. It’s what makes broken-heart syndrome a very real phenomenon. Are the twin energies traveling together to whatever comes next, or is the phenomenon simply a physiological overload of stress on your cardiovascular system? Maybe it’s both. We don’t know. We only know what we can measure, what we can perceive. We do know that the Universe provides the ultimate ether as the elements that make up our physical selves break down. It’s why we say death is sometimes merciful in the case of people enduring long-term pain. Suffering can only happen while you are conscious, while you live. Death Unites Us in Our Shared Humanity There’s one thing all humans intuitively understand about death, and that’s its finality. When someone dies, they aren’t coming back to this life where you can see their smiling face, hear their comforting voice or feel the touch of their hand — or fur. They have shattered and spread while we remain whole, except for the empty space next to us where they once sat. We all know this truth, and none of us know for sure what happens next. I know I have my beliefs, but I’m also very aware that they are just that — beliefs. Even though I try to look at things from a scientific perspective, I’m also aware that I’m limited in my perception. And filling in the blanks is very dangerous, so dangerous it sparks wars, destroying precious, unique lives, robbing people of those they love, robbing us of our very humanity. People can now look to artificial intelligence to see what happens when people fill in the blanks of what they don’t know with random ideas. AI hallucinations can sometimes be amusing, but it doesn’t take a genius to see the dangers inherent in letting that information disseminate to the public as truth. While computers can compile research from what’s already known and scan information way faster than any humans, they can’t design and conduct replicable experiments to separate truth from fiction. It’s more vital than ever that people examine their beliefs about death in the light of what we do know, not what we don’t. Humans have created more powerful weapons than ever, capable of obliterating thousands of lives with a single bomb. These weapons would not even exist if people saw through their illusions and admitted that they don’t know what comes next. If each of us truly sits and takes time to reflect on life, how unique it is based on all we know, how each individual life is a one-in-a-Googol chance, we wouldn’t destroy it so carelessly. We would protect it as feverishly as we now protect our homes, gold or national pride. Murder, be it in war or in the street, is destroying something irreplaceable. It may come back in some form — but it will never be the same. And you don’t only kill the dead, but a valuable part of the living by taking from them something you can never give back, something reparations can never repay. When you stop and reflect on life and death in light of what we know — not in light of your belief system — you see how deeply wrong it is to destroy even one life. Because here’s the thing: we all experience death. That sense of loss you have when someone you love dies? The enemy you wish to kill has loved ones that will experience that same sense of loss. What if they are to act on their feeling of revenge and not forgiveness? You see how war continues forever in some regions, as world leaders continue watering seeds of hate, spreading it to others. When you reflect on life and death in light of what we know, not what you believe, you realize that if you want your children born into a peaceful world, then you must work for peace in every word and deed while you are here on earth. Maybe it takes going to a retreat and sitting down with your enemy in deep meditation. It’s certainly better than snuffing out hundreds of innocent lives with one bomb while you sit detached, discussing “strategy.” No matter how strategically you plan, carrying forward that energy of hate will carry forward war and destructive energy. If you want peace for future generations, you must work toward it now, here, while you live, even when it is hard and violence seems easier. Life is how energy changes. There is no other way to create a peaceful future that we know of today. I think about this now as I write these words. What drives me? It is the hope. The hope that people will read these words and reflect mindfully. That they will influence others to walk the path of peace and love. Perhaps it's good that humans don’t know what happens after we die. All we know, collectively, every single one of us who has ever experienced a devastating loss, that there is no other pain like it. Even if you don’t die of broken-heart syndrome, you often wish you did. Can we use that shared pain to unite, not divide us? After all, if no one knows what happens after we die, we should all collectively fight to prolong life as long as possible, not destroy it. I don’t know what that looks like — if it means forcing warmongers into meditation retreats or simply keeping up the loving education — but I know what it doesn’t. It doesn’t look like getting so caught up in your egotistical beliefs about what might happen after death that you destroy life here on earth. Life Is Our Miracle, Our Chance to Change Our Energy Death, in its utter mercilessness, can be a great teacher. It can teach us how to be more merciful, how to tread lightly with one another’s hearts. Instead of hastening each other to earlier graves, not only through war, but through overwork, bad habits and dangerous practices, we can nurture each other through this life. And, as each of us nears our time of transition, we can offer comfort and solace, easing their passage with love. We know that matter is never created nor destroyed. What continues is what we do with the energy we are given throughout our lives within the boundaries of our bodies and time. It is a heavy responsibility, but also a great gift. We create the future, with each choice, with each word, each connection we form with others, each contribution. What we want that future to look like depends on every one of our choices — we are all interdependent. We can use death to bring people together instead of dividing us. Perhaps no place is as steeped in death and the bardo than the Middle East. As I took a necessary break in writing this article this morning for a mindful walk, I listened to a dharma talk by Thich Nhat Hanh, which is my practice for calming my mind. He spoke about having Israelis and Palestinians come together at Plum Village to meditate together. At first it is hard to simply sit and to deeply listen with those you do not even consider people, but enemies, demon-creatures you must destroy. Yet, by the end of ten days, all participants hold hands during walking meditation and break bread together at meals, joyfully, freely, because they recognize their shared humanity. They realize that all of them have suffered the same traumas, in the same way. There might be different actors, but death is death, pain is pain, suffering is suffering. That is what I mean by death is the great equalizer: It unites all of humanity in suffering. Yet, while we still live, while we still breathe, we have the power to change that. Each person who refuses to carry forth the energy of war means that one less child of the future generation will be born into a war-torn world. Each time you hold back an angry, harsh word meant to hurt, each time you restrain your hands from harming another living creature, you change that energy. Try a little experiment sometime. Get mindful enough that you notice when a situation between you and another living being can potentially turn negative. Then try manifesting the energy of understanding, of peace, of letting it go — perhaps make a joke. What could have ended up in an argument can instead unite and bond you with another. It all depends on how you choose to use your precious energy, that stuff that we can’t define with time or biology but know exists while you live and breathe in this form, here and now. Doing so creates the future you want to see and shifts that energy for those who catch it. Negativity can be contagious, but so can positivity. It all begins by reflecting deeply on death and marveling at the priceless secret it reveals: energy and matter may continue, but each unique life only exists once. Let’s use that shared experience to bring us together, and make this kingdom here on earth happy. We know that creating a brighter today begins with each one of us; let’s do the work, beginning with deep mindfulness and listening to each other, finding our shared humanity, even in the suffering of death. When Poe died, it brought everyone in our little Only in Sedona Yoga family together. He transitioned to what’s next surrounded by everyone who loved him and a caring team who delivered him with utmost comfort. None of us can avoid death. But we can all work together to make it possible for everyone to have such a peaceful passage. That is where our beliefs come in, not as a cudgel to destroy other human life but to ease the transition from here to whatever comes next. Coming to Terms With Death on the Yoga Mat Means Coming to Terms With the Unknown I don’t know what happens after we die. No one does. Living with the unknown is hard. As someone with severe anxiety, trust me, I feel it in every fiber of my being. Fear is an ever-present beast I wrangle, and no fear is greater than that of not existing. However, one thing managing an anxiety disorder teaches you is how to act in spite of “I don’t know.” How to find healthy ways to connect with other humans and handle the negative feelings inside of you that can lead to contention with others. I do trust in energy being never created nor destroyed. It is. It simply is. And because it is, we are. The energy that animates each one of us, that puts us in the driver’s seat of this human body we inhabit for a brief moment, has existed since the creation of the Universe — nay, even before, for what did that energy come from? Nothing truly dies, but everything changes. You can’t step into the same river twice, and you can’t hold someone in the earthly realm once their energy has gone from their mortal flesh to wherever it goes next. But you can treasure it while it’s here, and you can continue to spread the love they brought you long after they’re gone. The day before we put Poe to sleep, I spent the entire day with him just lying in bed. Just loving him. Petting his fur. Feeling him breathe. Building the love energy between us, the same love energy that sends tears rolling down my face as I write these words, sobbing the same desolate, inchoate cries from the depths of my being. And when the grief gets too much and the emotions overwhelm and I feel like I myself may die, I remind myself that what I am feeling is the love we created while he lived. The emotions are powerful because the love we created is powerful. That lives on through me. It makes me conscious that the choices I make daily reflect that love, my actions reflect the effect he had on me, and I want to honor his memory by being the best me I can be. I want to take the lesson of peace he taught me and share it with the world. I can think of no better way to honor his legacy. I can’t pet Poe anymore. I can’t see him. But oh, how I can feel the love we shared. And I can spread that love forward in what I say and what I do. Doing so might not answer the question of what happens after we die. Every day, I wonder where my beloved Poe is now. Every day, the raven whispers, “Poe is nevermore.” I know that is true in one sense. But to that raven, I quoth back, no, Poe is forevermore. His love was his legacy. All of this, all of us, all of existence, is forevermore. What that existence will look like, though, depends on the decisions we make while alive. Poe’s brief, shining moment shows us how to make that existence, our brief time here, beautiful.