Five years ago on this day, I have fallen into the Kripalu emotion-suck, and as a result of doing nothing but contemplation and self-inquiry for the past two weeks, I am in the throes of an identity crisis.

When will my energy return? When will I surrender? Do I need to work on [the niyama] isvara pranidhana? I’m tired of struggling and fighting myself. Do I need to surrender to myself, my devotion? Surrender to my inner guru? I’m so tired of clinging. So tired. It’s exhausting me, wearing me out. My fingers, my heart, my head–I’m tired of clinging, grasping. Please just let me let go. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

During meditation, we’re told to envision ourselves floating in a bubble on a body of water. I see myself on the Yangtze in the middle of the Three Gorges. What the hell does that mean? I’m a small, tiny bobbing bubble in the middle of two huge canyons, surrounded by looming intimidation. So small. That’s what I chose. Crap. My heart literally hurts. My jaw. My solar plexus.


This day. Has been. Crap. I have been so miserable, so glum, so pathetic. Emotional eating. I cried during my lunch walk. I called [my old workplace], got [former boss] instead of the voicemail and was suddenly sucked back into Real World crapola. That call made me sick.


Posture clinic all afternoon–so bloated, so TIRED. Megha and Rudy lead a sun salutation sadhana, and that was tough. Megha leads savasana, her theatrical voice repeating “annamaya kosha, pranamaya kosha…” like it’s a lullaby. I break down during savasana, lots of tears, lots of snot. I can’t even roll out of my fetal position for pranayama. Everyone Oms without me, but it is beautiful. I take it in and sink deeper into gratitude and melancholy. I stay in Shadowbrook, lightly sobbing, until 6:20. I have somehow reverted back to 14-year-old Jennifer.