Written by: Katie Y.

 

I grew up always picturing I would be a mom.  When I met my husband, we knew we wanted to have kids, but we would start with a dog.  Then entered our first born, Cassy, our Golden Retriever.  If you are wondering if you can handle a baby, get a puppy first.  In a lot of respects, I felt having an 8 week old puppy was way harder than babies.  Babies do less damage to your house, LOL.  My mom boss journey started soon after adopting Cassy when I started my first business, Collar Me Charming.  This was during the Etsy boom, so things went quite well for some time.

 

After 4 years of marriage, we decided we were ready to take the plunge into parenthood.  After 2 months of trying I was pregnant with our first child, a boy, Landon.  Everything about his pregnancy was perfect, he was perfect.  We were beyond blessed.  You know when things go so right, your scared something is bound to go wrong.  That’s the feeling I always had.  When Landon was about two years old, we decided to start trying again.  Boom pregnant again, but this time it was short lived.  Within a day I found out I was pregnant, I found out I was miscarrying.  I was devastated.  Of course, we heard the same old: it happens to a lot of women, it’s not your fault, there was nothing you could have done. I loved how the Mom Culture was so open about miscarriage and sharing their stories.  Really helped me get through that time to learn I was not alone.  We tried again 3 months later and BOOM pregnant again (I’m definitely Fertile Myrtle over here). 

 

With this pregnancy, we were so cautious, as you would be after a miscarriage.  At 9 weeks, we heard the heartbeat. A relief! Everything was fine. We started to tell close friends and family.  I was finally ready to enjoy my pregnancy.  When I went in for my NT scan, I was sooo happy to see the baby. To me it was perfect.  But then the doctor came in.  Something was really wrong.  I will not get into the technical details, but the baby had chromosomal problems as well as multiple anomalies.  Doctor was surprised it lived as long as it had.  Crushed, numb, and at a loss for words.  The next few weeks were some of the roughest of my life.  Knowing, feeling this baby inside of you knowing at any moment they would be gone.  I felt guilty, but I didn’t want to be pregnant anymore.  It was too much for me to handle.  At the later half of 15 weeks the baby was gone.  I went home laid in bed and felt this emptiness inside of me.  Where do I go from here? 

 

This is always a reminder that you never know what people are going through.  I make it a point to not ask people about children, when they are getting pregnant, when baby number 2 is coming.  I know being on the other half of it, that people don’t realize how much it hurts.  They don’t know what you are going through. 

 

It took many months for me to get over that. I just looked at my only child thinking, how lucky I was to have him.  To have such a blissful pregnancy, birth, infancy.  I knew in my heart I needed to be strong.  I have experienced the worst and can now tackle anything.  We decided to start trying again.  This time we were even more cautious once we got that positive pregnancy test.  We didn’t tell a soul until we got back the blood test at about 11 weeks.  Another boy.  I knew I was destined to be a boy mom.  We told our parents, who were ecstatic.  We waited until 20 weeks to put it out into the world that we finally have our rainbow baby.  Marshall was born on May 28^th, 2018.  He was perfect like his brother.  They are the best of friends. 

 

 

That brings me to present day.  We always wanted a big family, but due to some outstanding circumstances, we may be done.  I am now focused on being a strong female figure in my boys’ life.  I’m focusing on Raising Good Humans.  The Mom Culture has given me so much confidence as a woman and as a mom.  I know I can accomplish it all. So thankful for Sarah and the whole Mom Culture Community. Thank you!

 -Katie

 

 

Written by: Ali A.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Growing up as a little girl I never really visualized myself as a mom. Of course I used to nurture my collection of dolls and spend time holding my little cousins as only a four-year-old “mother” could do. But honestly, I didn’t start thinking of starting a family until three years into my marriage at the age of 28.

As soon as you say, “I do,” you’re usually bombarded with the questions…”so when are you going to have kids/when are you going to start a family (or some iteration of these questions). Because my husband and I dated long distance for four years after meeting at a summer science internship (and never lived in the same state, let alone same city or house until five months after I became Mrs. Anderson), we were in NO RUSH to start a family. We vowed to each other during many of our long distance conversations that we would delay welcoming children into our family so we could just for once focus on ourselves, the dynamic duo.

 

Fast forward three years after our initial nuptials and we were finally ready to begin growing our family into an official trio. We got pregnant in no time. I never knew motherhood was what I even wanted or needed until I saw the 7-week flicker of my tiny bean’s heart. I instantly fell in love. At that very moment my mama bear instincts kicked in. August 25, 2015 is the day I officially became a mommy (to be). For the next seven months I gleefully and blissfully planned for the new arrival of my bouncing baby boy, until Friday, January 15, 2016 (a day I will never forget), I went in for a routine ultrasound of my 28-week old son only to be completely railroaded when the doctor said “your baby no longer has a heartbeat.” Seven dreaded words no parent/mother wants to ever hear. This was my first introduction to motherhood! All the excitement, anticipation, bliss, joy etc. was snatched away in a matter of seconds, just when I was beginning to finally visualize myself as a mommy. My excitement turned to terror, my joy turned into devastation.

 

 

My son DJ aka Derrek Anderson Jr. was born still at 6:48AM Monday, January 18, 2016 weighing only 1.5lbs. While he was born still, he was still angelic. This moment is when I realized that the passage into motherhood was not always straight. I initially thought that you decide you want to have a baby, then you are intimate, you get pregnant, and 9 months later you have a baby. But life is not always so linear. I learned that motherhood didn’t come in one package wrapped in a bow.

My first-born son now dwelled in heaven and I was the mom with the baby who could not be seen or held, the mom who had to say hello and goodbye in the same day. Through lots of grieving, prayer, therapy, acknowledging of feelings, journaling, support from family and friends, and sharing my story of baby loss, I was able to bounce back and heal. While my first pregnancy and the road to motherhood was not what I envisioned, it taught me an array of life lessons and left me with precious memories no one could take away. I will cherish DJ’s life and the lessons he taught me forever.

 

Even though my second pregnancy came with its own set of challenges and setbacks it had a much happier ending. Six months after birthing my angel baby DJ I got pregnant with my rainbow baby Grayson. The first half of my pregnancy was riddled with anxiety, waiting for the shoe to drop, bracing myself with the possibility that I could lose my growing baby at the drop of a dime. With so many feelings and emotions, on top of the big void in my heart, and anger I had to start over again, I didn’t really want to get fully attached to Grayson because at any moment his heart could’ve stopped beating. Unfortunately, this is the conundrum many grieving parents find themselves in after loss, toiling on a tight rope between hope and excitement and dread and fear of an all too familiar loss. Then one day (half way through my pregnancy) I decided enough was enough and I began to be intentional about my mindset and became more attached and invested in my son. The pregnancy went on without a hitch until my water broke six weeks early at 34 weeks’ gestation.

 

Again, I was faced with another unplanned glitch in my pregnancy plan and detour on my voyage into motherhood. I labored with Grayson about nine hours but the void and pain, anxiety of the uncertainty, and even the surprise of his early arrival all were washed away when I held Grayson in my arms for the very first time. To see his little body and handsome face…a real baby that I created…was a magical moment! But I was soon brought back to reality.

You see, I had a birth plan in place that I wanted to implement once Grayson arrived. I wanted to do skin-to-skin right away, I wanted him to nurse within the first hour of his arrival, and I wanted to have family bonding time with just the three of us. Sadly, in true unpredictable fashion none of this took place, because Grayson was born six weeks early. He hadn’t fully developed his lungs properly, so his little 5lb 5oz body was laboring to breathe. After delivery and holding him briefly, they rushed him to the NICU and my second act of motherhood was underway.

 

Grayson ultimately spent a week in the NICU. It does something to you when you see your helpless baby strapped to a gaggle of monitors and chords. But somehow we made it through our NICU stay fairly unscathed.

 

They say if you want to see God laugh, show Him your plans. He must’ve had a hearty belly laugh looking at my plans surrounding motherhood, because it was nothing like I envisioned. Yet it is everything I’ve ever hoped for. To lose your firstborn son 12 weeks before his due date, then to turn around and have a rainbow baby a year later born six weeks early spending a stretch in the NICU is a bit overwhelming and draining mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually etc. But despite it all, I’m still here.

 

Looking back on my journey up to this point I see how God used my loss, as a springboard for my purpose. I see how Grayson restored faith, hope, and love back into our family dynamic. And now as a stay-at-home mom to a busy intelligent two and a half – year old I see how God has provided for our family so that I can spend my days with my greatest blessing.

 

There is no “one size fits all” method to motherhood and there is no one-way to get to the title of mommy. You may be a mom of loss whose children dwell in the heavenly realm with no other subsequent children. You may be a rainbow mama tiptoeing the line of grief and gratefulness as your heart mourns the loss of one child while gratefully tending for the others. You may be a mom of multiples tirelessly giving of yourself so all of your children have their needs and wants met, or a mom who chose surrogacy, rounds of IVF, or IUI to bring your child into this world. You may even be a mom who has chosen the extensive process of adoption. No matter your journey to motherhood your excursion is validated and your experience is celebrated. Pat yourself on the back for staying the course and “running” in your own lane in this race called motherhood. I salute you mama!

 

Repeat this affirmation in the mirror daily:

“ I am a great mama!”

“I am doing my absolute best and conquering this mommy thing.”

“I am raising (amazing) tiny humans who will grow up and do sensational things.”

“I am attentive to the needs and wants of my spouse/partner and children, but most of all, I set time aside to celebrate and pour into myself, so that I can pour into others.”

 

 

 

Written by: Megan B.

I’m going to tell you a terrible story. Horrific even. It’s a story of the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to me. It’s a story about pain, and heartache, and death. It’s a story about something awful that happens to 1 in 4 women, but somehow rarely gets discussed. It’s a story about how my baby died. It’s also graphic, so consider yourself warned.

 

But first, let me lay some framework: My husband and I were quite honestly one of those couples people thought were super annoying because of their cuteness. It was a classic story of boy meets girl, boy chases girl, girl lets boy chase her, girl finally gives in and goes on a date with boy, girl falls in love with boy. Then what? You guessed it, boy proposes to girl, girl says yes, and voila! They live happily ever after. The fairytale, right? Honestly it was. We even married on our three year dating anniversary, because YES, we were THOSE people.

 

We had a fairytale beginning to our marriage. We called our first year of marriage our “year of yes.” We were both flourishing in careers we loved (both working as RNs in the same hospital – because yep – still cute like that) and decided to say “yes” to all the things that year! All the happy hours, birthday bashes and dinner parties, but also the honeymoon in the Grenadines, the wedding in Chicago, the bachelorette party in Denver, the family visit in Dallas, the “just because we can” trips to visit friends in Boston and Portland, and another wedding in Nashville ... and every local street fair and taco party in between! This was the year we were going to say “yes” to it all, because the next year we were going to settle down and have a baby. Because you know ...  fairytale.

 

We culminated the year with a first anniversary trip to Greece and Southern Italy. We agreed we could “stop preventing” on this trip; I’d been taking prenatals and we had been praying to get pregnant easily. Now, the night before our one year anniversary - I couldn’t sleep. I just couldn’t stop thinking that I was pregnant! I just FELT it ... but we had a day of wine tasting planned! So, I said a prayer to Jesus asking him to just tell me whether or not I was pregnant so I could get some rest and enjoy some wine, or not. Well, I had the craziest dream where I watched myself pee on a pregnancy test and it was positive! So, I woke up and peed on a test — it was negative. I was a little bummed, a little confused about my crazy dream, but honestly okay, because I was going wine tasting in Greece that day, so I put it behind me and went to celebrate with my husband.

 

A week later and I still hadn’t started my period. I woke up at 5AM and just HAD to test again. I creeped into the bathroom desperately trying not to wake up my husband (how many of you have done that!?!) and you guessed it - two pink lines!! I cried the happiest tears, did the math, and was so excited to have our little May baby joining the family!

 

So on that beautiful crisp and cool morning in September, on a rooftop terrace in Greece overlooking the Acropolis, I poured my husband a cup of coffee and told him he was going to be a Daddy! I'll never forget the look on his face or the tears in his eyes as he hugged me in disbelief. We never thought it would be so easy, so simple, so perfect. Here we were, celebrating our anniversary and now celebrating carrying our first babe. How blessed were we!?! How much more perfect could our story be!? That crazy dream I had was now a reality! What I dreamed at 3 weeks pregnant (I did the math!) was real in real life! I had the peed-on stick to prove it!

 

We told our family and we celebrated with each and every person we told. We videotaped every single person's reaction so we could always remember the looks of joy on their faces and the tears in our parents’ eyes. We laughed, we celebrated, we made plans. We dreamed of the life this little baby would bring. We excitedly awaited our first doctor’s appointment at eight weeks. I felt anxious about the appointment but both my husband and my best friend reassured me that I was just having "normal mom worries", and I believed them.

 

But here is where our fairytale is given the poison apple... At our first appointment, they couldn’t find heartbeat. She tried to reassure us that my math was wrong, and to come back in 10 days to have a repeat scan. Surely there would be a heartbeat then, we just came in too early. I heard her, but I knew in my heart she was wrong. In that moment, I knew my baby was dead inside of me. The next ten days were awful. I'm honestly not even sure if I went to work, if I ate, if I slept... I have no idea. I do remember everyone telling me everything was fine, the baby was fine... but I felt empty and broken.

 

The next appointment was just a blur. I couldn't tell you what the medical staff did or said. I couldn't tell you what my husband did or said. All I remember is hearing the words "I'm sorry". It was another grueling 72 hours before we could see the miscarriage specialist who would later give us options on how to "proceed", as if this was some business decision. We could either take pills to force my body to physically miscarry or I could have a surgical procedure to "remove the products of conception". Not my baby. No one wanted to call it that. No one wanted to say that my choice was between ME shoving the pills as close to my cervix as possible to force my dead baby to leave me, or letting someone forcibly remove my baby from my body. It all seemed surreal. We chose medical management, the process took a few days and it was awful. Atrocious. Horrific. Pick a synonym for something really, really bad, and enter it here.  

  

Here’s where it is really real though, ladies. For days on end my husband washed my hair, fed me, convinced me to breathe. For days on end, I did nothing but cry. Friends tried to help by bringing me chocolate, lasagna, or peanut butter pretzels or whatever other junk they knew I loved but didn’t eat. One person brought me wine, and I remember looking at her thinking, “Oh cool, you think because my baby is dead now it’s okay for me to drink wine?” I couldn’t escape it. My fairytale had gone down the dark and twisty path with the creepy fog that just wouldn’t lift. I wasn’t the sweet and helpful, supportive wife for my husband, who was also suffering. I was just there. A broken, empty, shell going through the days.

 

The days passed so slowly. I felt like the clocks were conspiring against me and were moving slower than they were supposed to. I called in sick to work, over and over again. The weeks went by. Some days, I cried so hard I threw up. I lied on the couch and watched as the leaves changed colors. Fall fell into winter. I remember so vividly a day where my dad came and hung a hummingbird feeder off of our patio. I watched it for hours, I probably stared at those birds for days.

 

But eventually I had to go back to work. I couldn’t just keep calling in sick. Life continued to move on around me and my friends and family forced me to take small steps back into my life. I talked to my friends, I prayed, I saw a therapist, I prayed, I took beach walks, I did yoga, I prayed some more, I tried EMDR, I spent time with my horse and my husband. I did all of the things I could do to work through it, but I lived for months just going through the motions. I lived for months in a constant state of dread and apprehension of the due date... May 29, 2019. I'll never forget the pain of just waiting for that day.

 

But, the reality is ...  the due date came and passed. It wasn’t a good day by any means. But it was just another day to get through. Another day in May ... but then guess what? It passed. I felt a huge weight lift. I could be me again, I could breathe. We had spent the majority of a year grieving our baby, and nothing would ever take away that grief. But life was different.

 

We celebrated each other. We giggled in line for fancy coffee (one of our favorite dates) and danced in the hallways of the hospital, just like old times. God reminded the both of us just how much of a blessing those little moments were, even those hummingbirds who continued to come by every evening.  

 

On an early June morning, I was having trouble sleeping - again. I just couldn't get comfortable - my boobs were so sore. Then it clicked - I checked the date and realized I was late. We had been “trying” every month since we were cleared to try; I'd taken so many negative tests, prayed so hard, and thought there's no way I could be pregnant. So I got up before work and peed on a stick, and continued to get ready. I almost left the house without checking by the bathroom. But as a last minute thing, I peeked into the bathroom ... and I stopped dead in my tracks - there they were again, those infamous two pink lines.

 

Of course, I was excited. But this time was different. There was no creeping around setting up the perfect way to tell my husband. There was no terrace in Greece. I was home, by myself. My husband was at work, on night shift. There would be another 48 hours before I would see him again outside the hospital.

 

On his first day off work, I surprised him with a to-go coffee cup that I had written "Daddy" on. His reaction was the same, he cried and hugged me. But this time was different - we felt something different in the air. Some of the joy was missing. But I told him, it would be okay, I could feel it in my bones. Again, we told our close friends and family. We knew like last time we wanted to celebrate every moment with our baby, no matter how long or how short, because babies are a blessing. 

 

Fast forward a few weeks, and sure enough, our ten week scan was perfect. At our thirteen week scan, baby measured big, but was perfect. I am seventeen weeks pregnant today and everything is still perfect. We can't wait to welcome our rainbow baby earthside in March of 2020. And we continue to cherish every single moment, every twinge of nausea, every sore boob sleep episode, every stretchmark.

 

So, here’s the thing: Every fairytale has something bad happen. Snow White eats the poisoned apple. Belle gets locked in the castle. Cinderella has to serve her evil stepmother. But something good also happens. In Disney movies, princes come and treasures are found. In my world, bonds were formed. Moments of beauty that had previously gone unnoticed, became clear. Relationships were forever deepened.

 

I have never felt closer to my husband than I did in the moments we had together - the moment I told him we were pregnant overlooking the sunrise in Greece and even the moments in the bathroom during the worst of parts of the physical miscarriage. I have never felt so much love from those around me who literally wrapped us both in their arms, blow dried my hair, dropped off pads and ice cream. I am so grateful for every day of the ten weeks we spent with our angel baby. We celebrated our baby, loved our baby, and continue to grieve our baby.

 

I want this to be a message of hope, a message of peace. A message of understanding ourselves better as women and coming together to support each other. So much of the pain of miscarriage is that it gets swept under the rug. We aren’t supposed to talk about it, because “it happens”. We aren’t supposed to celebrate getting pregnant until 12 weeks, because THIS is so common. We are supposed to quietly take our pills, or have our D and C’s and go about our work Monday morning. We’re not supposed to talk about it, because it’s sad and people don’t want to hear it. But I’m challenging that. I’m saying NO to that. I’m saying THIS IS REAL AND IT SUCKS AND THAT’S OKAY. 

 

So, to you mamas out there who are in the heat of this, keep your head above water. And on the days that you can't make it out of bed, that is okay. Grieve your angel baby. Feel the feels. But I’m also saying let the ones who love you snuggle into bed to be with you. Don’t hide the pain. Cry in the shower. But also cry in the sunshine. Listen to the birds sing. Share your story, because it helps. It helps others to know they are not alone in this. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. It hurts. It always will. But, the grief starts to fade, and you realize you are stronger than you've ever realized. You can do this, even if you think you can’t right now. You can. Your little angel babe will always be a part of you ... the even more beautiful, stronger you than you’ve ever known.

 

Another trip to Bora Bora, celebrating our favorite things in life – fishies, sunshine, rum cocktails.

Fourteen weeks pregnant with our rainbow baby.

If you're going through the storm and looking for some support, Megan has so generously offered to share her email address.

Email Megan: meganbandfield@gmail.com

 Written by: Michelle R.

I will never forget the moment that I woke up from my D&C. As I opened my eyes, I squinted and gazed at the harsh fluorescent lights passing over my head. I wanted so badly to stay awake and grasp onto any final moments of pregnancy that I could, but I was so tired. I was being lured in and out of sleep by the warm blankets covering my body. My mind was confused by emotions and medication. How was it possible that I was asleep long enough for my life to change so drastically? I didn’t feel any different. I had no scars to prove the trauma I had just endured. I turned to the nurse that was transporting me to the recovery room. “Is it over?” I asked. She looked at me sincerely, and calmly said “yes, everything went okay”. Immediately I burst into tears. The baby that I worked so hard for, that I had waited years for, was gone. In an instant, I became the mother of an angel.

That angel was the result of our first round of IVF. My husband and I are unable to conceive naturally, so after years of testing and procedures, we were able to undergo egg retrieval and created eight embryos. I got pregnant from our first transfer, saw a heartbeat at six weeks and was discharged from our fertility clinic to my OBGYN. At our eight week appointment, that heartbeat no longer existed.

During that appointment my world crumbled around me. Everything that I thought I had conquered through our fertility journey rested lifeless inside of me, and I lost hope. Unfortunately, my OB for that appointment had not met my husband and I before (we went to a large practice) and did very little to manage the emotional aspect of what we were experiencing. Without acknowledgement of the emotional blow that we had just experienced, she handed us the paperwork to schedule our D&C and moved on to her next appointment. We left the office and faced the torture of calling our families, only to bring them pain, by sharing our news. I felt guilty, empty, isolated and hurt.

I vowed to myself, in that moment, to change the way emotions and mental health are handled in the midst of the family building process.

My husband and I took our time healing from that miscarriage. Over the next four years, our eight embryos went on to become two perfect and amazing children. Every night, we kiss their freshly-bathed heads as they fall asleep and thank God for the opportunity to be their parents. We know that it does not always come easy, and the anxiety and angst in pregnancies after miscarriage are enough to uproot any woman’s emotional stability.

During those four years, I worked diligently establishing a career as a mental health therapist, and I am now running a mental health program at an OBGYN’s office. I took my promise to myself in that exam room seriously, and at the birth of my daughter I struck up a conversation with our midwife that led to a change in the way their practice operates. Because of that conversation, I now work with women who have experienced infertility, pregnancy loss, infant loss, and perinatal mood disorders. I sit, I listen, I cry, I hug. But more importantly, I work with them therapeutically to ignite hope. In the darkness of miscarriage, hope is often temporarily lost. The emotions of grief run too deep to fathom any positive outcome after that moment. And that’s okay, for that moment. I often encourage women to fully feel their emotions in that phase, and to indulge in their tears. Tears heal.

But beyond the tears there is hope, and that hope looks differently for each individual. Some women have a plan to lean on for subsequent pregnancies. Some look to foster or adoption and some fully embrace a life without children. The child lost is not forgotten, but you can find a place of calm beyond that loss.

As I work with these families, I encourage them to find closure. Early miscarriage comes with significant grief and loss, but it often exists without a ceremony or burial. This leaves many families feeling as though they were unable to close that chapter in their lives. For my husband and I, we wrote our baby letters, sealed them in an envelope, and placed them in a box along with our pregnancy tests, pregnancy journal and ultrasound photos. We held each other close, and closed the lid. I placed the box on a shelf in our nursery, and have gone back to it a few times over the years to reconnect with our first baby. I found closure through this act, and find comfort now, knowing those memories aren’t far from reach.

If you have experienced pregnancy loss, please know that you are not alone. You do not have to endure the sadness alone. Reach out to a loved one, a friend, or a mental health professional. You are not alone, and you will find hope again.

 

Michelle Reyes

Perinatal Therapist

Creator of Hope in Waiting

Instagram: @HopeInWaiting

HopeInWaiting.com

 

Written by: Emily Palmer

 

What do you know about yoga? Are you a seasoned practitioner who thinks yoga is the best workout you've ever done? Are you a beginner struggling to learn the difference between the poses and what you do to successfully execute them?

 

Maybe you fall somewhere between those extremes. Maybe you’re one of those people who thinks yoga is great for the hip, young girls you see spending time at the local coffee shop, but it's too "out there" for you.

 

No matter where you fall on the spectrum of knowledge about yoga, there is an entire month designated to help you learn more about yoga! September has been named National Yoga Awareness Month.

 

The goal during the month of September is to provide education about the benefits to your health that can be achieved through yoga. Another goal is to inspire people to pursue a healthy lifestyle. The month-long campaign was designated as a national observance in 2008 by the Department of Health and Human Services.

 

What is Yoga?

Yoga is defined as "a Hindu spiritual and ascetic discipline, a part of which, including breath control, simple meditation, and the adoption of specific bodily postures, is widely practiced for health and relaxation."

 

Put more simply, yoga is a form of exercise that incorporates physical body postures with breathing techniques and meditation to help you relax and experience better health.

 

Yoga involves more than just stretching your body. There is a spiritual and mental component to the practice as well. The combination of breathing, meditation, and exercise makes an overall healthier body, mind, and spirit.

 

History of Yoga

Yoga originally began in India around 3000 B.C. It was developed to help people achieve unity between heart and soul as they sought enlightenment.

 

In the West, yoga is used to help ease ailments. As yoga moved further from India, the practice of yoga separated into a variety of different kinds of yoga teachings. There are six main kinds of yoga. Those are Hatha, Raja Bhakti, Jnana, Kriya, and Karma.

 

The most well-known kinds are Hatha and Raja. The popularity of yoga in the Western world gained momentum around the 1980s.

 

Benefits of Yoga

Yoga's purpose is to bring harmony to the mind and body while building strength. Anyone can start practicing yoga. No matter your fitness level there is a yoga style for you.

 

Every pose allows for modifications, and there are beginner classes available in every style. The point is not to strive for perfection but to get in tune with the way your body works and to find peace with your inner self. You should strive to push your own limitations.

 

The nature of the exercises naturally yields increased flexibility and balance. The focused breathing in yoga leads to improved respiration which helps to increase energy levels. Using the relaxation techniques associated with yoga can help to diminish the chronic pain associated with such ailments as arthritis, lower back pain, and headaches.

 

If you experience high blood pressure or insomnia, yoga could help you. Other physical benefits include weight loss, a more balanced metabolism, improved muscle strength and tone, improved athletic performance, and even protection from injuries.

 

In addition to physical benefits, yoga provides you with mental benefits as well. Yoga helps you to more effectively manage the stress in your life. The use of meditation and breathing techniques help with overall mental well-being.

 

The regular practice of yoga helps to improve concentration and mental clarity. Yoga helps you to relax your mind which decreases the effects of stress and helps to ease insomnia potentially allowing you to get more restful sleep.

 

The self-awareness that yoga helps you achieve makes it easier for you to recognize symptoms of ailments at an early stage. Early recognition of symptoms leads to early intervention and treatment thereby positively affecting overall health.

 

Classic Yoga Poses

One of the most talked-about poses is the Downward Facing Dog. It is one of the relatively simple poses that yoga enthusiasts practice.

 

Other classic poses include the Lotus, the Cat-Cow, the Warrior, the Triangle, the Bow, and the Corpse.

 

Each pose has its own benefits and can be adjusted to be successfully completed by beginners as well as seasoned yoga connoisseurs. These are poses that can be perfected either in a studio in class or on your own at home.

 

No matter what stage you have reached on your fitness journey you can do yoga (with a health professional's approval, of course). If you have hesitated to try yoga, the month of September is a good time to explore the options.

 

Many yoga studios offer reduced prices for their classes during National Yoga Awareness Month. Professional yoga instructors are encouraged to share their knowledge with people of all skill levels.

 

What better time to learn more about the benefits yoga has in store for you?!

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emily Palmer is a caffeinated blogger who loves talking Decorating, Travel, Yoga, Parenting, Self Development, and more. She can be reached on Twitter if you can’t find her at the local café.