I woke up around 4:30 and only dozed after that. My heart was racing, and my breathing became shallow. I was reminded of the way I felt after my dad died when I was 15. I had insomnia until the first night, I slept in my dorm room my freshman year of college. With my dad gone, I had no buffer between me and my mom, who took pleasure in telling me that I was wrong about everything and that no one liked me. I was terrified.
I think I feel somewhat like that now without Mike. Mike was a buffer for me, even as he was a critic. His supportive behavior outweighed his negative. Maybe it was nothing personal; perhaps I just projected those traits of my father onto him.
My mom first met Mike when our relationship was well set. I hadn’t talked to her for a year; I needed time off for good behavior. Mike and I went to her house for dinner. I desperately needed a nap. I went up to my old room to lie down, something my mother would think completely inappropriate when there was a guest. Mike, knowing how my mother would respond, got a chair, sat at the head of the bed, and read and protected me from her assault. I had to get through to my nonconscious mind that a) I survived her attacks, b) she’s been dead now for 18 years, and c) I can survive the criticisms of others.
When I left for Bikram, I already had yoga brain. It didn’t clear during the class. I felt a little dizzy and nauseous. When I was young, it was pregnancy scares; not that I’m old, it’s stroke scares. I lay down after 15 minutes and stayed down for the rest of the class doing nothing.
When I got home, I did half an hour of work on the blue flowers with the great name of plumbago. Then I showered and went to school.`
