When I first started my yoga practice back in 2001, I had no idea how about the gift I was being

given and how it would sustain me. Yogas effect and allure then was that it was calming, centering, strengthening. That was more than enough for someone in her early 20s. I was a young working mom, enthusiastic about a high-stress corporate job, anxious about the impending changes in my personal life. Two years into the daily routine and a compensating regular vinyasa practice, I seriously began to pay attention to the growing lump that I ignored the year prior. I decided to have it checked during an annual physical exam. There was special clearance to get my mammography, then an ultrasound, and then a biopsy. In between, I got nervous reassurance youre too young, probably nothing, you breastfed, should be okay. The results came out. I was diagnosed with Ductal Carcinoma In Situ. Stage 0, said one doctor. One tumor was 4 X 2.5 centimeters big. Stage 2 by size, said another. I was strangely calm even as I was alone when I got my diagnosis. I would have been alone for my biopsy (had my best friend, Karisia, not insisted on being there). It was a difficult time in my life and the beginning of big decisions on letting go. The first collateral damage was my breast. After weighing my options, I decided on a radical mastectomy. That was November 2002. I was 24 years old. Yoga was a big part of my healing. Regaining mobility and strength in my arm and, somewhat metaphorically, in my heart, naturally took some time. The former was slightly easier. I had to relearn my practice. Sun salutes were not the same, at least not in the next weeks or so after surgery. No chaturangas, no downward facing dogs. Everyday, I raised my arm barely an inch higher. Little by little, I could reach the back of my head up to my nape. That was my practice. I came back, piece by piece, so very slowly. I do not remember the exact day but I recall the joy in the moment when my palms touched in prayer above my head. Finally. To this day, I appreciate each sun salute. It was the latter, the heart stuff, that took longer. I started the beginnings of an Ashtanga practice about a year after. So this was Yoga beyond physical flexibility and strength all the deep talk on ego, attachment, aversion, balance, everything inner. I did not know the Sanskrit names back then, but I felt them. There was so much undoing of mental patterns, quiet traumas, and emotional shifts that ensued and they continue to this day. Only now, I have more reference. Yoga practice burns through the mental mess and offers a steady place to be deeply aware, to fall, get hurt, to try again on and off the mat. To me, it is about balance, integration, holistic healing. My healing takes place from the breath, from awareness, from strength coming from an elusive core, from an inner gaze, from prayers, dedication and daily work, from a place of trust, from love. All these gifts from God.

Yoga practice is a personal journey. I share this because it has given me back enough strength and openness from whatever breaks me open, breast cancer before that and beyond. I still work through these, piece by piece, without excuses (on most days). It has been ten years and eight months. Many things have changed since then but so much more remain.
Nature Calderon teaches Ashtanga yoga, prenatal yoga and yoga for breast cancer survivors at Yoga Manila. She continues her learning at the Centered Yoga Institute in Thailand and K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute in India. She is an executive in a corporate foundation, a success coach, and a grateful wife and mom.