Vulnerability in costume: A learning

Is restlessness actually vulnerability in an itchy costume?

I ended a restorative yoga class last night all shaken up. Immediately, I thought it was the “energy of the room.” The teacher of the class is wise and kind, so I shared my resolute findings that the energy on my side of the room felt aggressive during the class. He asked me to sit down.

“What are you feeling?”

“Restlessness.” A tear rolled down my cheek. A few seconds of silence. “And some aggressiveness.”

“Where do you feel them?”

“In my chest. It feels like pressure.”

“Can you say ‘hello’ to those feelings in your chest?,” he asked softly.

Silence. “Yes,” I whispered. More tears. Then, “I’m feeling some uncertainty, and a bit of worry.”

We both sat without speaking. My eyes closed.

The uncertainty began changing form. “I feel some vulnerability.”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

Quiet tears. Deep breaths. Waves of soft vulnerability.

Then, the vulnerability changed form. Gratitude appeared. Gratitude for the teacher’s patient inquiry. He saw me, and my vulnerability that wanted to be noticed. He witnessed the unfolding with grace.

The restlessness was the tough wrapping around an important and delicate part of me. And, it has been showing up often lately. I hadn’t ever sat with the feeling to see what’s beneath.

If we knew restlessness was often a carrier for something more fragile, what would we learn about ourselves? What’s asking to be noticed?