Screenshot
Twenty years ago, my life changed in ways I never could have imagined. A stroke doesn’t just interrupt your body, it changes your relationship with it. Pain has become something I learn to live with, movement requires thought and intention and my emotional and physical wellbeing I built over time.
Yoga has become an important part of my recovery journey. It’s not something that I do perfectly but it meets me where I am. Occasionally, it gently challenges me to go a little further.
Over the years, I’ve adapted almost every pose to suit my body. I use blocks and supports that allow me to practice in a much more accessible way that once felt out of reach. Those aids are not shortcuts, but tools that allow me to participate and be part of the practice.
In poses like half split, those supports have been my foundation. They’ve provided stability and a sense of safety, and for a long time, that has been exactly what I needed.
But today, something shifted.
During class, my instructor suggested I try taking one hand off the block. It sounded simple, but my immediate reaction was hesitation. My mind quickly moved to all the reasons why it might not be safe or possible.
Still, I gave it a go and lifted one hand and paused, waiting for my body to react. Nothing dramatic happened and I didn’t lose balance. I simply held the position.
So I tried the other side and found that again, I could do it. My ability caught me off guard. It made me realise how easy it is to become comfortable in the way we adapt. Support is essential and ongoing but it’s also important to quiet the questioning as to whether we still need it in the same way.
There’s a difference between using support as a tool and relying on it without checking if something has changed.
Living with a disability means constantly navigating that balance and knowing when to lean in and when to step back. It’s not about pushing through at all costs as that approach rarely serves us in the long term. But there’s a space for curiosity in knowing when to trust your body and when to protect it.
A quiet question of, “What happens if I try?”
Today was a reminder that even after twenty years, my body is still changing and capable of surprising me. There will be times where things don’t work, where I lose balance or need to return to support. But that doesn’t take away from the possibility of trying.
For me, that’s what resilience looks like. Not doing everything independently, but learning when to hold on and when to gently let go.
And sometimes, just being willing to test what might now be possible.
Go on, give it a go – you don’t know what will happen!