Hello all. If you're here you probably found me through Instagram or through a super weird Google search -- yikes. This is a little "about me" section for the website: how this Schwab (aka, me) became a yogi (again, also me). Finding a beginning is always rough with a slight haze in the details, but bear with me it's worth it, I promise.

 

In high school I was very active in sports but still had a lot of anxiety. This didn't make sense to me at all -- if you're working out and releasing stress, how can you still be stressed? Thankfully, my therapist had an answer. "Go try yoga," she said. "Your stress might be mental rather than physical."

 

This gave me no comfort. At the time, my definition of yoga was people sitting in a warm room and only breathing. How the heck can I burn the stress away sitting there with no distraction from my thoughts? I thought (ironically). That sounds like torture!

 

(Spoiler alert, people: I still have these thoughts almost 10 years later).

 

My mom, bless her soul, encouraged me to go anyways. "Give it a try," she argued. "We can do it together!"

 

And together we did it. We signed up at our local yoga studio (shout out East Wind Yoga in Auburn, CA!) for an evening Yin class, showed up early, picked our spots in the back, and settled in for a transformative experience.

 

Except, it wasn't.

 

Instead, this yoga class was every reason I was hesitant in the first place! We were moving slow through the postures (Yin yoga is typically a few minutes per pose), the music was soft and measured (ideal for hearing your inner voice), and we ended the class sitting and breathing (that's meditation, Annie). It was everything I was afraid of!

 

I left feeling proud that I was right, and disappointed that I was right. "Come on," mama smiled. "Let's try one more."

 

And tried again we did. And another. And another. After the third class that I was sick of trying, everything clicked.

 

Guys, the transformative thing happened.

 

My breathing slowed. I became much more aware of my surroundings and of my own body's movements. I starting to sink into the tempo: Inhale, exhale. Reach out, pull in. It was just that simple.

 

When I left I felt like I had run a marathon but also had a massage: I had worked out, but my energy wasn't extinguished. I went another time. And another. And another. Years went by of me finding my own rhythm and re-finding it.

 

Never had I been so happy to have been proven wrong.

 

My path to and in yoga has been one of the most blessed journeys I will ever walk. I am thankful for it every day, and it even transformed into a teaching career where I get to connect with so many more people than young, introverted Annie could have ever imagined (currently still-young, introverted Annie is also amazed by this fact).

 

I look back on this beginning a lot in my teaching -- especially when I meet new students who are hesitant about trying yoga, or are trying it again for the third time but still a little discouraged.

 

"That's okay," I tell them. "My first few yoga classes I hated -- but maybe you'll like the next one."

 

So you can look at this story the same way: as a lesson of pride, of patience; or perhaps how the scariest steps can lead to the best life paths. I like to see how the encouragement of a loved one can change everything. Maybe in another post I can talk about how I became a teacher.

 

Thanks for visiting, y'all, and suffering through my unorthodox storytelling.

 

(I love you mama)