There is always a reason for me to project my inner turmoil outward. Sometimes it is chemistry. Sometimes it is noise, screaming kids, a messy room, hunger, lack of sunlight, or just the repetition of old patterns. Something is always there to poke the nervous system.
When I step onto my yoga mat, all of that fades into the background. My attention moves to the breath. The breath and the movement begin to merge. The rhythm becomes steady. The flow builds intensity in the body and in the vagus nerve, but with each full exhale the tension releases, just like carbon dioxide leaving the lungs.
On the mat I can see clearly that I know how to regulate myself. The strange part is what happens when I step off. The triggers come back. People move differently than I want. Life asks things of me. One reaction leads to another and suddenly I am off balance again.
The difference is not mysterious. I am no longer standing on my mat and I am no longer breathing like I was when I was calm and focused. That is it.
So I try to carry my mat with me. Not physically, but in how I breathe and how I move through the day. I practice being on my mat in the kitchen, in the living room, in the store, and with the people I love most. I breathe the same way. I slow down the same way. I stay present the same way.
When I forget to do that, it is not bad luck. It is cause and effect. I stopped practicing.
So I come back. I stop reacting. I stop pushing my tension onto other people. I stop turning my anxiety into harm. I breathe and let the body settle. I keep returning to love. I keep returning to my observer who is watching me react. That is where the new patterns emerge. That is the point of a yoga and meditation practice.