We often think of overwhelming stress as a sudden, massive thunderstorm—a dramatic event that arrives without warning. But for many of us, the most draining stress is the low-grade, persistent kind: that heavy, humid air that makes every movement sluggish, or the endless grey drizzle that simply drains the color from the landscape.
I spent years trying to force my yoga practice into being a perpetually sunny day, demanding instant calm the moment I stepped onto the mat. If the day felt heavy, I’d try to meditate harder, attempting to seal myself off in a bubble of false stillness.
The crucial shift came when I realized the unexpected truth: when the wind picks up, you need to acknowledge the gale, not pretend it’s still air. Resisting the emotional weather pattern only makes the tension tighter, like fighting to keep an umbrella open during a windstorm.
Stress isn’t something to be bottled up until the weather changes; it’s energy that needs a safe, directed outlet. When the internal barometer drops, we need practices that respect the pattern, allowing for strong, cleansing releases rather than just passive resting.
Instead of seeking instant tranquility, focus on stabilizing your roots when the upper body feels buffeted by the squall.
Here are a few ways to work with the changing climate inside you today:
- The Intentional Gust: Whenever you feel overwhelm cresting, try a deep, audible sigh that sounds slightly rough or forced. This is your controlled squall, releasing pressurized air.
- Embrace the Bracing Pose: Hold Warrior II (Virabhadrasana II) longer than you think you should. Feel the necessary effort required to stand tall while the intensity builds in your muscles, learning to ground yourself against the internal high winds.
- Clearing the Air: Finish your practice with a supported Bridge Pose (Setu Bandhasana) over a block. This subtle elevation gently opens the chest and throat, mimicking the sensation of the sky finally clearing after a week of clouds.
The goal isn’t to abolish winter or eliminate summer heat entirely, but to know where your sturdiest shelter is located. We learn not just how to survive the storm, but how to anticipate and appreciate the crisp, renewed silence that always follows the downpour.