The Branches

My two postpartum saving graces

A post from Emma, Studio Director.

When my first baby was 6 months old, I heard the word “matrescence” for the first time, and my brain lit up with recognition. Matrescence is the idea that becoming a mother is a process, much like the process of adolescence, which is becoming a teenager or young adult. Just like adolescence, matrescence doesn’t happen overnight, it can be awkward and confusing to go through, and there can be big impacts on one’s body.

I gobbled up everything I could find on matrescence, particularly the work of Jessie Herald, a women’s coach and doula who does a lot of writing and offers wonderful programming on this topic. Jessie believes that the process of becoming a mother, of making that complete identity shift, takes 2-3 years minimum. Hearing that was such a relief. At that 6 month postpartum point, I felt completely adrift. I felt like my body was falling apart, I had so many conflicting feelings about mothering, and I couldn’t remember what brought me joy (this was also during pandemic lockdowns so that was definitely a compounding factor).

Fast forward to now; that first baby is three and a half, my second baby is 16 months, and I am feeling stronger and happier than I have in quite a few years. I have reconnected with my body and I feel a new sense of groundedness in myself. I attribute this experience of groundedness to two things: community and strength training.

One thing that was really different about my second maternity leave, compared to my first, was the presence of in-person community. Because of COVID lockdowns, my first baby and I were alone most of the time. But during my second maternity leave, I met mamas in the Parent & Peanut class at The Branches, at the library, and in the park. Unlike during lockdown, this time I was able to host mamas and babies at my house, and the drop-in space in my living room became a weekly event. The group of moms that showed up became such a supportive and nurturing community. Week after week we’d connect about the huge range of issues affecting us: the politics of healthcare and childcare, the misogyny of our overculture and how evident it is when you become a mother, the challenges of self-image postpartum, and the many anxieties of raising children in a world descending into climate chaos. I feel like my identity as a mom was strengthened and challenged in those conversations. And I continue to see and experience others growing into their own unique identities as mothers alongside me.

Returning to strength training was also a community effort. My body felt like such a mess postpartum, I’d been struggling with really painful plantar fasciitis for years, and when I picked up my baby it often felt like my insides were going to fall out. Attending Nicole’s Strength Essentials class and getting her suggestions and advice about how to slowly rebuild my core strength was really reassuring. When I returned to work at The Branches I played around with the kettlebells on my lunch breaks, and got lots of tips and tricks from Leena and Leslie, who are always down to talk shop when it comes to strength training. I am lifting weights 2-3 times a week now, and it has made such a difference to my day to day. My foot pain is almost completely gone and my body feels capable and agile again. This makes my yoga practice more enjoyable, which makes my teaching more connected and lively. I am so relieved to be able to enjoy being in my body again.

Matrescence is a radical life change, and I am just now beginning to appreciate the many more processes of change in my future. Life changes don’t quit; they arrive whether you expect them or not. For now, I am feeling bolstered by community and a trust in my returning strength. When I think about it, community and embodiment practices seem like a great recipe for supporting ourselves through life changes. I guess that’s why I made this my life’s work. I am grateful to be rediscovering this and seeing it anew.

One thing I am so thrilled that The Branches is now offering is Postnatal Yoga with one of our favorite human beings, Lisa Beraldo. Lisa is an amazing convenor of community, and her prenatal and parent and baby classes are lifelines for many folks in our community. Postnatal Yoga is a place to gently reconnect with your body and meet others at a similar point in their journey of becoming a parent.

Whether you are, pre-, post- or never-gonna-partum, I hope to see you around class or in the neighbourhood. In-person community is my favourite thing in the world and I’m overjoyed that it’s possible to gather so regularly again.

Emma

How dare you photoshop my thighs!

Branches Co-Director Leslie shares a dream she had…

The other night, I had a dream that I was participating in a yoga photoshoot, held at the foodcourt of Conestoga Mall (naturally, dream logic right). All around me were media professionals, and the other “models” who were a bunch of local yoga teachers, business owners, and people in the wellness and health education sector. We were glammed up, outfitted in our finest gym and leisure outfits, and happily socializing between takes.

I was called over to take a peek at some of my photos, in which I was shown posing in utkatasana, chair pose.

When I looked at it, something struck me as funny, not ha-ha funny, but off. Then I realized what it was: post-production editors had already photoshopped my body. My thighs were changed to look much thinner than they are in reality. I felt a seething hot wave of rage boil up in my belly, and I unleashed it, shouting with clenched fists for anyone around me to hear, “I built these thighs in the squat rack! How dare you!” Standing nearby, antiracist educator, former yoga studio owner, and friend of the Branches, Selam Debs offered her solidarity – yeah, how dare they?! The dream ended, or at least that’s all I remember.

The righteous rage I felt in that dream is in direct correlation to how much I love the feelings of strength and confidence I get from lifting weights, and how fiercely I want to protect my sense of integrity from the influence of the negative aspects of fitness culture. The focus on appearance and size in the fitness/wellness industry is such bullsh*t. I realize that I benefit from being perceived as “fit” simply because of my size, whether I’m actually stronger or better conditioned than someone in a bigger body. But, appearances really don’t tell you much about a person’s abilities, knowledge, wisdom, experience, or teaching skills.

Appearance and size are, of course, real aspects of each of our lived experiences, but they don’t matter a bit when it comes to you being welcome to participate at The Branches. We aim for our space and classes to feel welcoming to diverse shapes, sizes and abilities – no fancy yoga pants necessary.My hope for students in my athletic classes is that they get to cultivate some of that same confidence that I feel when I’m racking up some heavy weights for a back squat, the knowing that it’s worth it to try, and the wisdom that success means showing up.

The next opportunity for folks to join me in getting delightfully nitty-gritty into the feeling of their bodies moving is my course, Beyond Flexibility: Stable Core & Supple Spine, which is a brand new iteration.

Rather than focusing on an appearance of 6-pack abs or dramatic yoga backbends, in this course we’ll work towards moving with more confidence and fluidity, exploring strength, stability, and flexibility together.

Details and Registration are here.

Something I don’t often talk about…

An invitation from Emma, one of The Branches’ co-directors.

In one of my favourite podcasts, the host starts every interview by asking, “What identities do you lead with?” I have been thinking about this question, and wondering how I would answer it in relation to The Branches.

Here at the studio, I most often lead with the identity of co-director and teacher. I sometimes bring in my identity as a mother (since I have many cute stories of my toddler to share). But I notice that my racial identity is not something that I center or share when I’m teaching or relating to students. I realized this only recently, as I’ve started to engage in more spaces with people that share a mixed-race identity. Suddenly, there is a part of myself and my experience that comes out, and it both surprises and enlivens me.

In the back strategy room of The Branches (which is just the Ground Studio with our folding tables), Leena, Leslie, Wendy and I often talk about and consider race and racism. To us, everything is political and has political consequences, and who shows up in our space to practice yoga has everything to do with how those politics are playing out. As we design our programs, write our newsletters and make silly reels for Instagram, we consider accessibility, ableism, racism, casteism, antisemitism, Islamaphobia, privilege and power. We wonder: who does our message exclude? Who does our message privilege? Who will feel comfortable or uncomfortable coming here as a result of our expressions, programs, ideas and jokes?

One place where I feel more able to lead with my identity as a mixed race person is in our Yoga Teacher Training Program. I feel like I can acknowledge and share from that experience more readily. This is because race, racism, power and privilege are important themes in our YTT, and I feel relief and joy in that being part of the culture we create together.

Being in the space of the YTT, among folks who readily acknowledge the influence of white supremacy, capitalism, colonialism, patriarchy and heteronormativity, I can breathe easier. I can become more embodied because more of who and what my body is and is affected by, is spoken about. And I think I am still at the beginning of realizing what embodiment that includes my mixed race identity feels like.
* * *
I want the larger community of The Branches to feel invited into this depth of conversation. And so, for the first time, we are opening up particular sessions in our YTT to the wider community. We have invited some amazing speakers to add nuance and perspective to our understanding and practice of embodiment, and we invite you to join in and learn from them as well.

Here’s the rundown of speakers:

The Branches’
Virtual Speaker Series
So You Want to Chant Om? Context for OM & Namaste
with Tejal Patel
Fri Feb 23, 7-9:30pm
Equity, Access & Representation in Movement Spaces
with Robin Lacambra
Fri April 12, 7-9pmYoga for Trauma: Embodiment & Recovery
with Nicole Brown Faulknor
Sat April 13, 3:30-5:30pm
Bio-psycho-social Impacts on Movement and Mental Health
with Chris Bourke
Fri May 3, 7-9pm
Racial Justice & Racial Trauma: Accountability in Community Wellness Spaces
with Carla Beharry
Sat May 4, 3:30-5:30pm

If you live in a body, these themes are relevant to you. We believe that centering these conversations can help all of us understand how different bodies experience yoga and movement spaces, and how politics shape all of the spaces we inhabit. Through this series, we can even begin to explore the power we all have to shift the internal culture of the spaces we participate in towards the dream of overturning the larger systems of oppression we are all affected by.

One aspect of The Branches’ mission statement is “Building a better world, with Yoga as our common ground.” This is our one-step-at-a-time way of doing this. Please include yourself in this conversation. We want you there, and we want you to experience what community can feel like when more peoples’ experiences and identities are centred, honoured and integrated.

With so much care,
Emma

Flunking out of my first career

This post is by Branches Teacher & Director Leslie.

Failure is an old friend of mine. A few examples: I failed a good handful of university courses (one of them twice), my former marriage ended in divorce, and I completely flunked out of my first career as an intermediate-level elementary school teacher after about four years.

TL,DR: Wisdom earned through failure can be a good thing. Come to class – you are worthy of care.

— Teaching Was Tough, And I Was Not Tougher

Let me fill you in on my most recent failure, the story of my teaching career.

Teaching was the only job I ever saw myself doing. For more than a decade, all my life-plan schemes led me to the stair-step of teacher’s college, supply teaching, and then finally to the LTO that ended it all. (For non-teachers reading, LTO stands for long-term occasional, similar to a permanent teaching job, but without the secure employment status).

In the thick of my struggles, as I spent my evenings planning, marking, and strategizing classroom management tactics, and my nights losing sleep at the hands of relentless anxiety attacks. Leaving teaching ultimately came down to a reckoning with my deteriorating mental and physical health. I simply backed out of the LTO, and within the year, had quit teaching altogether.

Apart from an objectively toxic classroom situation, there were other factors. When I looked around me, some teachers in my community openly joked about their own coping strategies, saying, “Does your medicine come in red or white?” referring to wine. Functional alcoholism appeared rampant among the teachers I knew, including those who were supposed to be mentoring me.

Undiagnosed with ADHD, my marriage concurrently crumbling, and in over my head in a new level of professional challenge, I had also undermined my chances of survival by unintentionally drifting away from the things that brought me joy, wellbeing, and a sense of grounding like rock climbing and yoga. In retrospect, as my union rep had pointed out, I could have gone on stress leave, like the teacher I had replaced. But I couldn’t tolerate the shame of such a transparent admission of how poorly I was coping. Alienated from support, quitting simply felt easier and safer.

— A Celebration

Fast-forward to today. A handful of the folks who attend my 5:00pm Slow Flow 45 on Wednesdays are teachers. Even though class is short, I feel determined to help those individuals feel more human, more whole, more like themselves, more grounded, and more at ease after those precious 45 minutes.

Just last night before the 5 o’clock class began, it was as though they knew I was drafting this email. We had a small chat about the fact that there comes a time when you realize you’ve got to do something to protect and preserve your health – physical, mental, emotional and beyond.

I admire the fact that these folks show up, and I worry about them when they don’t. I whole-heartedly celebrate this group of educators who, unlike me, have not only realized the importance of tempering their professional and familial obligations with a protective and sustaining approach to their own health, but also (at least a little bit) have figured out how to execute it, partly through some regular yoga.

— Stay Tough & Stay Tender

There is a lesson in my story, that, at the time, I was unable to take in, but have come to appreciate through observing others.

You may have heard it before: Learn to rest, not to quit.

Education workers, I obviously see the extremely important value you offer our society.

Healthcare workers, oh boy do I see you, too!

Daycare workers, you are so important.

Transit workers, you matter a lot!

Parents, you are irreplaceable.

Insert yourself here – no matter what job you have or what role you play in your community, you matter!

If you are struggling or even “failing,” professionally or personally, I get it. If you have drifted away from the things that bring you joy, wellbeing, or a sense of grounding, consider this a personal nudge and a reminder that work will always be there, and that there is nothing more important than your health.

Is it possible for you to rest? To do just a little bit of the things that keep you afloat? Sure, you could tough it out, but what if you offered yourself a little tenderness?

Making It to Your Mat

When we updated our drop-in schedule this season, we wondered how we could make our offerings easier for folks to sneak into their days, right after work, before the business of the evening began. We specifically thought about teachers.

If you see yourself in this description, or in my story, I highly encourage you to pop into our early evening sessions after work:

Monday 4:15pm Strength Essentials (60 min): this is a beginner-friendly way to take some of your hot feelings out on a kettlebell and build confidence and strength over time

Tuesday 4:15pm Slow Flow 45 with Emma and Wednesday 5:00pm Slow Flow 45 with me (Leslie): these are moderate, mindful movement and embodiment breaks to soothe fried nerves and give your mind and body some gentle time to themselves

Cheering for your health, and for the ways you give yourself to the community,

Leslie

A love letter to death for the Solstice

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.– Rainer Maria Rilke

Content Warning: this letter from Leslie contains reflections on personal loss, death in general, and the overall state of the world. [ 8 minute read ]

An Initiation into Intimacy with Death
Today is the Winter Solstice. After the gradual decline of Autumn, the ground is now frozen, the leaves have fallen, we have arrived at peak darkness, the dormant pause of Winter, and the death of the year.

Coincidentally, in just a few more days, it will have been 17 years since the Christmas Eve that my mom suddenly fell so ill that she couldn’t attend any of the holiday family events. And in another month after that, it will have been 17 years since her abrupt passing. I was 21. Since then, the dying of the year is forever tied to the most painful death I have experienced in life so far. Christmas cheer is always complex, and the increasing darkness on the way to the Solstice can sometimes hit me doubly hard.

Nonetheless, over the years, I have come to feel that her death was not just a loss, but also an initiation. Learning to look directly at death and darkness, or even embrace them, has become an important part of cultivating the wholeness that we might be seeking through our yoga practice.

I believe it would be wise to get more intimate with darkness, endings and death. This letter is an invitation for you to consider joining me on that journey.

Death in Yoga Practice: Savasana
Every time we do a formalized yoga practice on the mat, a cycle ends. Savasana, typically the final posture in an asana practice, is named in Sanskrit from the root word meaning “corpse.” In addition to simply resting, to me, savasana invites us into a symbolic and practical acknowledgment of the ending of a cycle.

During savasana, I observe downward trends like the heat dissipating from my body, my heart rate settling back down, and the subtle decrease in muscle tension. All of this illustrates the natural impermanence of each episode of experience, and by extension, of my life as a whole. By practicing the death-like state of stillness and withdrawal from my external senses, I get an opportunity to contemplate my own transience as an embodied being.

My felt-sense of both pleasant and unpleasant sensations arising and passing away during practice, and especially during savasana, calls me to more fully savour what I find to be sweet, and to take any bitterness in a long view, knowing that all things, good and bad, must pass.

Death in Every Moment: the Breath
Every time we breathe, a cycle ends. Looking at it on the scale of a lifetime, upon birth, we all kick off the adventure with our first lung-expanding inhale. And at some point, if we are granted the privilege of dying gently, one of our exhales will be our last.

When I have the presence of mind and a moment to focus, I softly and gradually slow my cycles of breath and observe what it’s like as I extend and finish my exhales, lingering with my attention in the empty dormancy of the after-exhale, the tiny endings at regular intervals. You might try this for yourself as you fall asleep at night, as you settle at the beginning of your yoga practice, or as you wait a moment before you transition to school or work or home.

Practices like savasana or simple breath awareness nudge me to acknowledge the fact that my time in this human body is limited. When I can connect to this truth, it brightens and strengthens my appreciation for life, and cracks me open to a deeper connection to its beauty. When I am brave enough to embrace these mini-deaths, the encounters spark the questions, What if this moment were my last one? Could I make peace with the life I’ve lived so far? If not, how can I live better?

Death and The Pain of the World
Integrating the grief from a loved one’s death is one thing. Attuning to the reality of your own death is another. Beyond that, there is a third call that I think would be wise to explore, which is facing the pain, death and loss of living entities, human or non-human, all around the world.

Reading that, maybe your mind jumps to the several humanitarian crises transpiring across the globe due to supremacy-driven political ideologies, or exploitative labour practices in service of more capital for shareholders. I know some of you will have immediately thought of our animal relatives, or the larger interconnected web of being that includes all living things, and the animate, ensouled world where rocks and rivers have personhood, too.

It is dark out there, but I believe that bravely witnessing the darkness has the potency to light up a fire in our hearts. An interview I watched recently was summed up by the host, Daniel Schmachtenberger, like this,

“When we are actually open to the beauty of reality, there’s a sense of awe, and a gratitude, and a humility that comes with that. But when we’re open to the beauty-of-reality being harmed, which is in the factory farm, and on the war field, we also feel the suffering of others, such that it’s overwhelming. And the overwhelm in the suffering, and the overwhelm in the beauty are related, because if the reality wasn’t beautiful, you wouldn’t care. And both of them make you transcend your small self, and both of them motivate a sacred obligation – the protective impulse.”

Just because death is inevitable doesn’t mean that we should ignore injustices that steal life or cut it short. I call on the truth of what Dare Carasquillo calls The Non-Dual Sacred, which they describe as “an ethos that holds nothing to be permanent, yet chooses kindness and collective wellbeing in each moment.”

Loving Kindness at the Death of the Year
This time of year, the annual death of the light with all its complications, has begun to feel like a familiar friend. It gives me solace to be reminded that endings – deaths – are just as much a part of existence as beginnings or births. Upon the Solstice, I’m reflecting by marking my wins, joys and achievements, but also mourning losses, grieving missed opportunities, and mindfully releasing failures. Looking back, can you see all that transpired, including the parts that were difficult, sad, or unresolved? What better way to enter the new year than integrating all aspects of reality – dark and light.

Looking ahead, soon we will all feel the cyclical return of the light – the rebirth of the year. This past the month, at The Branches we’ve been emphasizing loving kindness, and offered a gentle introduction to metta practice – a practice of cultivating positive regard and universal friendliness to all beings. We think of this as the emotional foundation upon which caring action is based.

If this letter has touched you, I invite you to connect to the awe and appreciation for all life, perhaps through death contemplation, or through metta. When you connect to the beauty of the world, what protective impulse do you feel called to act upon? Which aspect of collective wellbeing does your heart sing for you to support? If your yoga practice is the site of deepening interrelationship with the world, let this darkness be a bell tower.

See you in your next savasana,
Leslie

Sources
In this letter, I’m drawing from reflections on the talks and writings of Dare Carasquillo, The Emerald Podcast, Daniel Schmachtenberger, The Numinous Podcast, the poem “Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower” by Rainer Maria Rilke (translation by Joanna Macy and Anita Barrows. Source: On Being “A Wild Love for the World“), and probably many more.

Loving Kindness Despite Unkind Times

This post is by Studio Owner/Director Leena.

One form of meditation that resonates the most with me is called metta practice. Metta is a Pali word that is often translated as “loving kindness.” In loving kindness meditation, you repeat simple thoughts or phrases of goodwill to various people. You might bring to mind someone you love easily, an acquaintance you feel neutral about, and even people who you find difficult to hear from or interact with. You might also direct these good thoughts toward yourself, or broaden your wishes to include a large group of people, or even to all beings.

There are lots of variations, but here’s the one that I often use, and that I’m gradually teaching my kiddos:

May you be happy
May you be healthy
May you be safe and free from danger
May you work for justice
May you have peace

It is so easy to repeat such a blessing to a child you love, and to feel your heart open and soften as you speak or think the words. To me, the transformative power of metta practice comes from taking that soft open heartedness and expanding the meditation to include those neutral people, the parts of yourself that are hard to accept, and even people you have conflict with. The energy of loving kindness slowly grows, and you can feel it soften your prickly perceptions or harsh judgements of others, and of yourself.

When it’s hard to feel loving kindness toward someone I strongly dislike (for example a certain past American president and business mogul 😉), I imagine sending metta to the inner child of the person I’m bringing to mind. This helps me soften and feel love and care when their adult self is hard to tolerate.

Metta practice has also enabled me to tend to my fear and anxiety. I mentioned that I’m beginning to teach my kids metta meditation, but I actually began practicing it with them when I was pregnant. At that time, I was having substantial levels of anxiety and fear around the unknowns that can come with welcoming new children into the world. I would sit and repeat metta again and again, for myself and for the little life I was carrying. Metta allowed me to feel more grounded and connected, surrender to the unknowns, and focus on my wishes of health, goodness, and support no matter what came next. In metta practice, you practice holding the wish, intent and feelings, while practicing letting go of attachment to the outcome.

Another time I really feel the potency of metta meditation is when I feel powerless in the face of war or suffering somewhere in the world. More than a hope or a prayer, Metta practice helps me remember to send loving kindness to all, even those I might perceive as aggressors, and even to the non-human beings like the forests and the animals that also are caught up in and harmed by human conflict.

At this time, many of us are grieving the terrible suffering on all sides of conflicts in Sudan, in Gaza and Israel, and in Ukraine. It can be hard not to shut down. So many people in our own community are struggling with homelessness, addiction, food insecurity, and isolation. I’m not suggesting metta is going to solve these complex problems. But, loving kindness can be a way to keep our tender hearts open and bolster ourselves with compassion so that we can hold it for others. In a world with so many needs and so many divisions, metta helps us open up to our shared humanity, and from there, we can heed the call to take loving actions that move us towards justice and peace.

Yoga for Your Brain

This post is written by Branches teacher Alissa Firth-Eagland. She is passionate about spreading awareness around brain injury, and helping those who have suffered one continue to grow. Alissa can also be found teaching drop-in classes at the Branches, and in our new series, Be Nice to Your Neck & Noggin. You can learn more about her approach on her website.

Yoga helps your brain function at its best: as a networked system.

Each time you step on the mat, slow down intentionally, or sit with mindfulness, you strengthen your brain to its best advantage. As a holistic set of practices, many aspects of yoga (such as mindfulness, gentle movement, and attention to the breath) lend themselves particularly well to supporting the healing and growth of your brain. No matter what is going on with it – whether you are hoping to bolster concussion recovery or calm agitated nerves – yoga is brain medicine.

More good news: any accessible movement, breath work, or meditation is adaptable to a range of brain health challenges and situations: concussion, stroke recovery, mental health challenges, dementia, and chronic pain management.

Concussions are common – and don’t always come from hitting your head.

166, 455 Canadians are impacted by brain injury in Canada each year. That’s one person injured every 3 minutes. Among all types of Traumatic Brain Injuries, concussions are the most common, accounting for approximately 80% to 95% of such injuries.

Concussions are those quick jolts to the brain. People get concussions in all sorts of ways: getting hit in the face by a toddler, walking into a door, fainting, getting bonked on the back of the head by a server carrying drinks by their table. A good shake of the skull and neck can do it. So if you are dealing with a concussion, it doesn’t matter how it happened. It matters only how your body responds to it. For the 10 – 30% of people who develop Post Concussion Syndrome (PCS), the injury typically affects every area of their life. Symptoms may persist for days, weeks, months, or even years after the initial jolt. And to complicate matters, they fluctuate over time.

Concussions often result in widespread brain tissue tearing at the cellular level. After a concussion, sheared neurons never entirely reconnect. But your brain is plastic, and always changing in response to input. Your brain finds ways to make new connections and detours: this is the incredible power of brain plasticity. The more you ask of it, the stronger it gets.

Yoga Requests Your Brain’s Plasticity (a Concussion Countermeasure)

Yoga asks your brain for more positive plasticity, and therefore, increased brain power. Here are just two quick examples of how yoga requests your brain’s plasticity – in movement and in stillness:

learning new things – yoga is a vast, potentially lifelong practice with endless learning opportunities.
focusing your attention – meditation is scientifically proven to thicken the prefrontal cortex, which is our centre of attention, impulse inhibition, memory, and cognitive flexibility.

Yoga is also an attainable way to access your breath, which can calm the fight or flight response and settle you into the calmer state of the parasympathetic nervous system. Plus, as a physical activity, yoga boosts neurochemicals that promote brain cell repair and increases blood flow to the brain, prompting growth of new blood vessels. It truly is incredible how many aspects of yoga support the brain.

But, by far the most important aspect of yoga as it relates to brain health is how adaptable it is to your individual situation and intention. It is accessible to all kinds of people, bodies, environments, and lived experiences.

Want to practice yoga with post-concussion symptoms? Let’s find a way.

The best style of yoga for you depends on your unique response to your concussion. So if you decide to try yoga to support your brain health, consider your symptom severity, level of dizziness, and how challenging it might be to leave the house and travel to practice. Your symptoms may fluctuate over time, even from minute to minute. Self assessment is the foundation of all self care.

Pro Tip #1: You can ride the wave of sensation and symptoms a little, but be aware of how your body responds to avoid triggering a flare up. As your pain shifts, increases, or decreases, take care to honour that and dial the practice up or down accordingly.

Key aspects to consider as you decide what style of yoga for concussion that you want to try:

Are you symptomatic right now? If it does not exacerbate your symptoms, sit quietly and breathe through your nose or try some chill moves where you flow slowly and gently from one pose to the next.
Do you get dizzy easily? If so, you will probably feel worse practicing traditional vinyasa which affects blood pressure. Vinyasa is a popular form of yoga where you flow from one pose to the next including transitions where the head is well below the heart, then quickly brought back up. Rapidly shifting the blood flow from and to the brain can be incredibly disorienting and can cause vertigo or fainting in some people.
Are you having trouble leaving the house (for any reason)? Try a gentle live class you can do virtually or find a pre-recorded video. This will help you practice without having to drive somewhere, face a group of people, or navigate a new environment while you are recovering.

Pro Tip #2: If you are practicing with a video, choose one where the instruction is so clear and well-paced that you don’t even need to look at the computer screen and can simply rest your eyes and listen. If the audio is low quality or hard to listen to, it is probably not going to have the beneficial effects you hope for.

Remember that whether you have had zero concussions or multiple brain injuries, anytime you practice yoga with presence and intention, you are giving your brain a boost.

Practice with Us

If you’re living with post-brain-injury or the fatigue and tension of overworked eyes and neck, we highly recommend our new series, Be Nice to Your Neck & Noggin featured in Branches On Demand.

Care Practices to Counteract the Effects of Hatred

Here is a post about cultivating resilience from Christi-an (a therapist and long-time friend of The Branches).

Being queer while navigating the upsurge in hate has been a lot, to say the least. If you haven’t already, check in on your queer friends. Collectively, we’re feeling a lot of pain, grief, heartbreak, rage, and fear. Heavy stuff to live through while we continue to work, parent, study, and move through our days. For QTBIPOC folks, the impacts are compounded, adding to the burden of living in a culture that upholds white supremacy and racism as foundational parts of our society.

And to allies who don’t identify within the queer community but love us and are also fighting for a kinder and more inclusive world, it can bring up a lot of painful emotions to witness and feel the hate.

It’s not uncommon for exposure to hate to bring up or amplify some of the following:

– Increased stress or anxiety

– Overwhelming grief

– Physical pain or health issues

– Sleep Disruption

– Mental Health Struggles

– Reaching for harmful coping mechanisms

– Energy drain or fatigue

– Hypervigilance

– Impact on relationships

If you check one or more of these boxes, let it be a gentle reminder to carve out some time and space to offer yourself care. As a starting place, I wanted to share some of the practices I’m using both personally and professionally (as a therapist and mindful movement coach). I propose them not in place of collective care, systemic change or activism, but as things we can do to grow in resiliency as we build a brighter future. I hope they might be helpful in these tender times.

Acknowledgment:

Notice the impacts of the words, images, and experiences you have taken in. A common coping strategy is to minimize the impacts or numb ourselves to our feelings. Take a moment to recognize the feelings that have come up for you and honour how difficult it is to be exposed to hatred. Building awareness around what is coming up for us is the first step in identifying what we need to take care of ourselves.

Compassion:

Continually having to fight for our rights, dignity, and well-being is exhausting and depleting on many levels. Try the following compassion practice as if it were a way of giving yourself the biggest hug. Find a comfortable place to sit or lie down and place your hands over your heart. Breathe into your hands. Feel the weight and temperature of your hands. Offer yourself kindness, understanding, and love. Invite yourself to fully receive this offering to self. Repeat often.

Scan Your Body:

No doubt your body will respond to these intense moments. Personally, I’ve noticed a lot of uneasiness as I go about my day, whether it be picking up my kiddo from daycare, at the park or at my local coffee shop. The persistent question looms in my mind: Could the person beside me be someone opposing my very existence, someone who stood on the opposing side during recent protests? I observe my body physically contracting—my jaw tightening, shoulders hunching, and my head instinctively lowering, a primal response to shield myself from potential harm or expose myself to more hostility.

What do you notice? Pay attention to any tension, discomfort, or changes in your body. This self-awareness is helpful in interrupting the physical impacts of stress.

Move and Breathe:

Engage in physical movement practices and intentional breathing exercises to release the tension and stress in your body. Movement and breathwork can help in shifting and loosening any physical patterns of stress or discomfort, promoting relaxation and release. Yoga is great because it focuses on both movement and breath, allowing you to mindfully address the stress in your body. But it could also look like going for a walk, being in nature, running, climbing, or playing sports with your friends. Ask your body what it needs and give it a try.

Be with Community:

There is deep relief that comes from sharing space with folks who understand what it’s like to carry both the stress and gratitude of your identity. Engage with your community (whether it’s online or offline) to find solace and understanding among like-minded individuals. Being in a community that shares similar experiences and concerns can offer comfort, validation, and a sense of unity. This is why I feel passionate about the need for nourishing affinity spaces like the Rainbow Restorative (2SLGBTQIA+ exclusive space) and Restorative Yoga: Rest for Racialized Folks (BIR exclusive space) offered here at The Branches. Allies: talk to each other. These challenges are big, and no one is meant to figure them out on their own.

Seek Support:

Reach out to mental health professionals, therapists, or support groups that can help you unpack and process what’s come up for you*. Seeking professional help allows for a deeper exploration of your trauma, emotions, mental state and coping mechanisms in a supportive and constructive environment. We weren’t meant to heal on our own; we are communal beings.

*If this type of support feels cost-prohibitive for you, check out Camino Wellbeing + Mental Health for subsidized, sliding-scale (including no-cost) counselling and group programs.

Reach Out and Offer Support:

If you are feeling okay, offer your extra energy, time, and resources to someone who might need it. Cook them dinner, offer to take a task off their to-do list, do a self-care practice like meditating in solidarity with them, or go for a walk with them. Ask them what they need. Someone who can affirm what you went through was crappy? A hug? Someone to laugh with and get their mind off things? Everyone is different, so it’s okay to ask. If they’re not sure, you can provide a few options.

Offer Yourself Affirmations:

Counter the hate with lots of self-love. Here’s an affirmation to try (but feel free to tweak it to honour your unique fabulousness).

May I be free to be me.

May I feel my inherent worthiness.

May I feel loved.

May I feel safe and protected.

May I shine.

May I thrive.

Then share it with the world.

May we all be free to be ourselves.

May we all feel our inherent worthiness.

May we all feel loved.

May we all feel safe and protected.

May we all shine.

May we all thrive.

I encourage you to try one of the suggestions that resonate with you. Start there and see where it leads you. Let’s take care of ourselves and each other.

You can learn more about Christi-an and her work here.

generosity during a cost-of-living crisis?

The most surprising and joyful moment of my first Burning Man was this: I was biking past some tents when someone held out an icy pink snow cone to me. It was so quick that I couldn’t even stop cycling; they simply put it in my hand. I whooped my thanks and saw them hand another snow cone to the cyclist behind me. I was overjoyed to have been given a cold treat and delighted by the silliness of how it happened.

Everyone loves to sh*t on Burning Man, but the ethos of gift-giving at this yearly festival changed my life. Along with Leave No Trace and Radical Inclusion, Gifting is one of the ten principles that shape community and culture at Burning Man. People bring gifts of massive art sculptures and experiences, gifts of food and drink, gifts of music and dancing, gifts of giant shaded spaces with hammocks to swing in. There is no money exchange in the entire festival (well, you can buy ice for your coolers) and everyone is welcome everywhere.

This is me at Burning Man in 2019, greeting people arriving at the event.

When I returned from my first Burning Man in 2014, I was bursting with gratitude. I was so inspired by what I had been given – dance workshops, incredible music, sculptures that I could climb and play on, and a warmth from strangers I hadn’t expected. And my way of bringing the culture of Burning Man to my everyday life was to give little felt heart pins to everyone that I met.

For several years, I surprised everyone from grocery store clerks to bus drivers with my hearts. Queen Street Yoga (our name before we became The Branches) was a hub of heart-giving activity. Most folks had them on their yoga mat bags, or sweatshirts. I always had a stash of hearts in my pockets, ready to give.

The hearts took a pause during the pandemic, but for several years they were my everyday invitation to look at people and offer a gift. It was a small thing – a piece of felt, and a pin – but more often than not, people responded with huge appreciation. It was a tiny gift, but reaching past our cultural norms and offering a touchpoint of connection was truly meaningful to people. Their responses were a gift to me, and kept me cutting hearts late into the evening.

Burning Man taught me to lead with generosity, to seed the culture that I want to live in by giving to others. The hearts taught me that generosity doesn’t have to be flashy or expensive – it was the simple act of giving something that created connection and sparked gratitude both ways.

In our current cost-of-living crisis it can feel challenging to feel generous or grateful. We might feel like we need to hold on to everything we have, and that even that isn’t enough. I don’t deny that we are at a crux in our country right now, and that change is badly needed. And, I also want to remind myself of that old lesson of leading with generosity, of sharing something simple, and finding my way back to gratitude and connection.

In October we’re going to be focusing on growing our gratitude, and to lead the way, we’ve created a number of special gifts for you. We hope you make it into the studio in October to participate and see what we have in store for you.

Thank you for all the ways you show up in our community.

With heartfelt appreciation,
Emma

I’ll cry if I want to

A thoughtful post from our meditation teacher, Danette.

Home to moist cobwebs and well-fed centipedes, the cement basement is not a welcoming space for beings with fewer legs. In one room, the washer and dryer stand shoulder to shoulder, stoically among the arachnids and arthropods waiting in the dark to be useful. In two others, repurposed shipping pallets have been turned into shelves that keep boxes of forgotten mementos and seasonal items off the floor and free from their fear of spring flooding.

Looking under the lids of dust-covered boxes, I rediscover tokens of a life that seems to have happened a lifetime ago. Each thing I find, I hold, reflect and remember. Then I decide if I will hold onto it, share, donate, sell or discard. Each emptied box creates space on the shelves for new possibilities and ultimately less sorting work for future generations to do after my demise.

What if I used a similar sorting process for my emotions? Holding onto and storing them in my body without much reflection has been my default for as long as I can remember but a recent dental appointment had me wondering about the wisdom of that automatic response.

At the onset of a tooth extraction procedure, as the anaesthetic was taking a long time to kick in, I felt a familiar fluttering in my chest and twinge in my jaw that signalled tears looking for a way out. My emotional auto-pilot kicked in. I held the tears back with a freeze response that included clenching my fists and holding my breath. This contracted bodily response felt like necessary protection for me in a room that was too bright, noises that were too loud, along with the urge to flee the impending discomfort and then having to make small talk with a dental surgeon I had just met was too much.

In my frozen emotional state in that dentist chair, my basement-clearing episode came to mind. I experimented with a new response. I cried. Slow, quiet tears rolled down my cheeks to my ears in my reclined position. My fists relaxed and I felt my breath in the gentle rise and fall of my belly.

The young dentist asked me to keep my anaesthetized tongue out of the way while he wrenched out a fractured molar and inserted an implant with what felt like considerable force. I could tell he was uncomfortable with the moist trickles running down my cheeks and the inner voice telling me to close up my tear ducts was intrusive.

Letting those tears out in light of the sensation overload was more refreshing than I could have ever expected, especially in light of my perceived, socialized expectation to keep my tears to myself or else. I felt a lightness walking out of the office and realized that I would not need to hold onto any elements of that specific uncomfortable event any longer. One and done.

On a recent flight to the east coast, the sensations of the take-off and landing along with the non-stop noise in the cabin, the tears knocked on the door again. I answered. Like bookends, tears flowed for a few minutes at the beginning and end of the flight and, in between, my body mellowed in response. When I respected my nervous system’s need to process my overwhelm with tears, I didn’t experience any post-event exhaustion, intolerance or meltdowns that were frequently a result of my extended freeze response to stress.

Pausing long enough to notice my learned automatic response has given me the gift of hearing what my body wants and needs. And noticing my resistance to resourcing myself even if it makes someone uncomfortable has shown me how entrenched the learned responses are.

But, I’ve decided that it’s my nervous system (and the nervous system of the young child version of me who had to rely on the freeze response to survive) so I’ll cry if I want to.

When greater grief comes calling, I’m hoping my tear ducts will be in good working order and that my nervous system will be the grateful recipient of the spaciousness, the softness that comes from a thoughtful, self-resourcing clear out.

Like Danette’s vibe? She’s teaching two courses this fall – Mindful Movement & Meditation starting Mon Sept 18, and Meditation for Resilient Living starting Mon Nov 6.