Emotion

In a desperate attempt to a) do some exercise and b) stop fretting, I asked for a yoga DVD* for Christmas.

Santa duly responded and I now have 90 minutes of beginners workouts which promise a healthier body and mind.

I have done them a couple of times so far and firstly, good lord I'm weedy if these are for beginners and secondly, I've realised what a gigantic bundle of stress and worry I really am.

To be fair, I think I was aware of both of these things, but I was astonished how it took just five minutes of a nice lady in lycra telling me it was okay if I couldn't do it all and it was okay to congratulate myself on what I could manage before it hit me.

I was even more astonished to find I shed a few tears.

Now, I am the first to admit that I am hugely emotional and apt to weep at anything even vaguely approaching sadness/joy/achievement/bravery/sacrifice/betrayal. Or, in fact, particularly touching adverts.

Set any of these to a soundtrack of stirring music and there's no hope.

But generally the waterworks are on someone else's behalf.

However, a few words from someone telling me that actually it's okay to just be gentle with myself was all it took for a few tears.

Not loads, not enough to drench the towel masquerading as a yoga mat, not enough to drip on the cat unhelpfully trying to get in the way of the downward dog.

But enough to make me realise I really need to look after myself. And that maybe I am worth a few minutes of kindness. 

But most importantly that kindness has to come from me. With or without lycra.

:: Emotion by Helen Reddy

* Yes, we still have a DVD player. We still have some cassette tapes too. Although admittedly nothing to play them on. A sentimental case full of them is in the loft.