Page 48 of Hiding from Hope

And then Grace started snapping at me.

Mom and Dad were exhausted. They would sigh, beg Grace to relax, and then just let her go on her rampages. But it was okay. I was okay. As long as we could sit and have dinner, as long as Dad would remember my recitals and Mom would pick me up from the library on time, I could handle Grace.

I breathe deeper, reminding myself not to dwell. The fleeting memories are only that–memories. I’m happy and healthy in my life. I know I struggle with being a chronic support person; I know I tend to take on the feelings of those I love, but it’s hard not to. I just don’t want people to feel sadness, to hurt. I know I can handle it, so I want to take it from them. If I could heal the world by taking the pain for myself, I would in a heartbeat. Flaw or not, I don’t think I’d change this one piece of myself.

Walking the class through the next few stretches, we find ourselves in a standing, bent over position, instructing the class through the pose. “Bending your elbows in toward your body, with palms flat on the ground and knees slightly bent.” I breathe deep and demonstrate.

“Resting your right shin on the back of your right arm, heel lifted off the ground. And relax.”

I turn to watch the class follow, watching for any bad posture or poses to avoid any injuries when we take it further. “Good. Remember to keep breathing through it.” They do as I instruct, and a bubble of pride rises through me, watching each of them follow with ease.

We repeat on the other side, then with both knees at the same time.

“Leave some weight in your toes, keeping your gaze up in front of you, keeping your face gentle and relaxed.” Excited for this next part, I remind myself to stay calm and breathe. I love the feeling of my body moving through these movements. The feel of my strength, the feeling that I can do anything. Be anything.

“Fire up your core and transfer your weight, powering through your hands. If you can, if you feel supported, and your core is engaged, lift one foot.” I pause to look at the class, and see each of them trying and succeeding, a few strained faces. “This is designed to go only as far as your ability takes you. This is not a competition. Just breathe. Remember to keep your breathing even, don’t push past your body’s needs, tailor it to be perfect for you.” I watch a few drop their feet and their heels, and I smile gently.

“For anyone who’d like to take it further, lower your foot and try the next. Play with this pose as much as you like, filter through the rising of your heels, the lifting of your feet. There is nothing wrong with your level of need for this position. Play with it. Let that inner child play and connect.” And I feel my inner Casey frown at me. I feel her ache for play, for carelessness. To be free and frenzied and fun. But I feel disconnected. I don’t know how to be those things; they were never in the cards for me. I have never been able to be those things, because if I did, everything would just… fall apart.

I make it through the rest of the exercise, walking the class through the final meditation and reminding everyone to care for themselves and be gentle with themselves as they go about their day. I realize I can’t dwell on any of it because I need to get to the next class.

I wave a quick goodbye and duck into the next room.

“Sorry, everyone. I’m here!” I quickly make my way through to the front, where the mat is prepared, and I take a quick look at the schedule on my phone. This is the mom’s class.

Right, okay, I’ve got this. I take a deep breath to relax. This class deserves my best, so I will give it to them.

“Let’s start in child’s pose.”

I’m exhausted.

You’d think a day of Yoga would just make someone flexible and energized. But I’m wrecked. It’s heavy emotionally, a strain on my muscles and my voice. Socially depleting, my mouth hurts from smiling, and my brain hurts from just being ‘on’ the whole day.

Five classes, it’s 7pm, I’m home, finally. I managed to do the grocery shopping. I had popped home to do some laundry, but I haven’t had a chance to even blink, really. I have all the ingredients for chickpea and sweet potato curry, but I am so tired I don’t know if I can stand to be in the kitchen.

“Hey, girl, how was your day?” Rosie asks from her position on the couch. A glass of wine in hand and Netflix paused. She rests her chin on her hand as she looks over at me.

“Long,” I respond. “Addy in tonight?”

“No, she is with Noah, said she might be there for the week. She has a few long shifts and wants to spend as much time with him as possible. You know, gross couple things.” She waves her hand at me and rolls her eyes. It brings a lightness to my chest, and I chuckle at her.

“What do you feel like for dinner?” I ask, grabbing a glass and meeting her on the couch.

“You haven’t planned it already? That is unlike you,” she says, eyes narrowing on me when I fall to the couch. My head thrown back, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“No. I did. I can start in a minute.” The words are barely a breath, and I rest the wine glass on the coffee table before I lay on the couch. Rosie puts her glass down, too, and throws me a pillow.

“Chill for a bit. I got this.” My eyes snap open at her, follow her as she makes her way to the kitchen. I sit up and watch her as she opens the fridge.

“Uhhh, what are you doing?” I ask, confusion fogging my brain.

“I’m going to MasterChef you a meal. Momma Case needs a break,” she tsks as she fumbles her way through the kitchen cabinets.

“Rosie, I saw you struggle to make a bowl of cereal…” Rosie whips her head in my direction, a look of offense plastered to her face.

“Excuse me. I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent fast learner and extremely resourceful. Lay your pretty head down. I got this.” I stare at her skeptically, but am far too tired to fight her on this. Instead, I do as she says. I will just order pizza if this doesn’t work out. At least she is trying.

I don’t know how long I nap for, but it’s long enough for a meal to be cooked, and I’m woken by gentle fingers sliding against my cheek as I hear my name whispered. A deep, soothing whisper.

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