When Life Contracts

This past week we had a snowstorm here in Tennessee and everything has shut down. 

Schools closed. Roads were icy. My studio, Unity Yoga Room, had to close. Life got very small very quickly.

And to be clear, this wasn’t a week of peaceful slow mornings.

I have my 11-year-old home from school.
I have a new puppy who doesn’t care about weather, schedules, or nervous systems.
There is a lot of noise, a lot of movement, and not much space.

So no, it hasn't been quiet.
But it has felt like everything contracted.

There were fewer choices. Fewer places to go. Less control. Life narrowed whether I liked it or not.

In yoga, there’s a word for this natural rhythm of life: Spanda. It means pulsation, which is the movement between contraction and expansion.

Life moves in and out.
Tightens and releases.
Gathers and opens.

There is constant contrast. We usually only want one side of that.

At first, I didn’t mind it. The snow. The staying in... 

There was some relief in not having to be anywhere. In not having to keep up. In letting the world slow down around me.

But after a few days, I noticed something shift.

I felt irritated. Restless. Trapped.

I wanted freedom. I wanted options back. I wanted to move again — to teach, to drive, to get back to normal life.

And that’s when I remembered.

The discomfort wasn’t coming from the storm.
It wasn’t coming from the studio being closed.
It wasn’t even coming from the chaos of having everyone home.

It was coming from my resistance.

Contraction isn’t the problem

We tend to label contraction as bad.

Closed doors feel scary.
Limits feel limiting.
Anything that reduces our perception of freedom can feel like something is wrong.

But contraction is not a mistake.

Without contraction, birth wouldn’t happen.
Without pressure, nothing new could come through.

Contraction gathers energy. It focuses it. It prepares the ground.

Expansion is the part we like. It's freedom, movement, expression. But expansion without contraction has no depth. No stability. No roots.

Life doesn’t stay expanded.
And it doesn’t stay contracted.

It pulses.

I see this everywhere

I see this in motherhood with the constant pull between responsibility and freedom.

I see it in work and leadership where leading can feel vulnerable, but the growth is immeasurable. 

And I see it in myself, when I doubt myself and then again trust my own intuition.

Neither phase is wrong.

But suffering shows up when I tell myself:

This shouldn’t be happening.

I need this to change before I can be okay.

I’ll feel better once I’m free again.

The storm didn’t create the suffering.
The arguing with reality did.

There Is another kind of freedom

There is a quieter freedom available during contraction.

Not freedom to do whatever you want.
But freedom from fighting what is.

Freedom in letting the moment be what it is.
Freedom in trusting that this narrowing has a purpose, even if I can’t see it yet.

Expansion will come. It always does.

The snow melts.
The roads reopen.
The studio opens again.
Life moves forward.

But when I don’t resist contraction... when I let it do its work, I meet expansion differently. With more steadiness. More clarity. More trust.

Life pulses.
Your breath knows this.
Your body knows this.

And somewhere deep down, you know it too.

With love,
Joy