I’ve been trying to go to yoga classes more frequently. I have no excuse, given the proximity of the classes to my home, and the fact that I am paying a healthy fee to attend as many classes as I want. They need to offer more beginner or 101 or “big girl” classes, but I take the classes I can, and make the modifications I need.

This place, this yoga studio, is a Godsend for me. When I moved last month, I made a decision to change and improve my life in big and small ways, and yoga has had the greatest effect. My soul needs what yoga is sharing with me.

Being a big girl, I am acutely aware of my limitations each and every day. There are movements that challenge me in ways I never expected. There are decisions I have to make before I even get out of my adjustable bed. There is seating I don’t dare attempt to slip into, there are places I simply will not venture, all because of my size. Now, I know that my size is a direct result of my choices, so I am not asking anyone to pity me. I’m just sharing the realities of my physical situation. Not all areas are safe spaces for me, and I am blessed that yoga is a safe space for me, as I am.

In my yoga classes, there is no judgement. One of the instructors always reminds us that there are no trophies at the end of each class. I compete with no one. I come into the class, speak to the people in the space, and focus on my breathing, my balance, and my body. The class, the space, is the only place where I can focus just on me — Reese — and largely let the cares of my world go. I let the weight of the world stay outside of the studio, far from my shoulders, and I take care of me.

In my real world, I carrying the needs, assignments, expectations of others squarely on my shoulders. On my job, in particular, I have to handle the work of my group and others, and there is very little help. I do not have the luxury, have never had the luxury at this job of asking for and getting help. Outside of the office, I am not the one to ask for help. I am, however, the one that people do not hesitate to ask for help. I cannot count how many rooms I’ve helped paint, how many parties I have helped to set up, and or clean up, expenses I’ve helped pay, or children I have babysat. There are times I envy people who can ask for and accept assistance.

In the family in which I grew up, we helped each other as well as others. We assisted at soup kitchens, served in church, helped with weddings, classes, funerals, and showers — bridal and baby — and parties. When I got married, I learned quickly that I was in a much different environment, and the family that I joined was not equipped to help or assist me in any way. They were solely takers only willing to offer help to other takers. My ability to ask for help was destroyed by the reality that it was simply not there for me.

Yoga is teaching me to accept help. The first few classes, they offered students little discs that we could use to let the instructors know that we were willing to accept help with poses. It’s funny, but I did not hesitate to take the disc in the class because I was more than willing to accept help in the class. Just thinking about it now, I was eager, and when the instructors offered suggestions or re-positioned my poses, I was so grateful. In fact, in today’s class, I could not stop smiling because I realized that while I struggle to ask for help anywhere else in my life, Kimber — the instructor today — reminded me how natural it is to accept help willingly, freely, without shame or embarrassment.

I’m 50 years old, and I am learning how to accept help. It makes me smile because it’s such a simple concept for so many others, but for me, it’s the beginning.