Upon the culmination of my yoga session – feel at liberty to indulge in an amusing round of middle-class lady bingo at the rear – our guide entreats us to inhale and exhale with the mantra “let go” on our lips. These words, however, put me on edge. What am I to let go of? Where will it end up? What if it’s irretrievable? The sheer thought of letting go triggers a feeling of consternation, primarily because I have been subjected to advices to ‘keep calm’, ‘relax’ and abhorrently, to ‘chill’ over many years. As my son astutely remarks, advising someone to ‘calm down’ never truly calms them.
There are unquestionably multiple explanations that would probably warrant a therapy session for my apparent aversion. However, some of it undoubtedly ties back to my inquisitive and driven nature, stemming from a family and societal culture that reveres productivity and loathes downtime. I am not one for idleness. The mere concept of doing nothing stirs within me a sense of unease. Death, which brings with it an eternity of rest, is inescapable and it will come soon enough. My yoga instructor would retort that this very reason is why I need tranquillity, and why yoga is beneficial for me.
“So while lying there in the quiet interlude of the session, a part widely cherished by most that seems to extend forever to me as I resist the compulsion to move on with my day, I discover myself questioning why ‘releasing’ is deemed to be virtuous, whilst ‘letting oneself go’ is seen as a downfall. My grandmother had a habit of expressing discontent at women – it was consistently women – who had supposedly ‘let themselves go’. Mostly, this pertained to those who had put on weight or appeared publicly with insufficient grooming, regardless of whether the event was as casual as a trip to the library. On occasion, it referred to untidy houses. In retrospect, it seems peculiar; like many in my family, she grappled with body size and food cravings her entire life, but my grandmother had a uniquely quirky style embracing patched jeans, handmade knitwear, and bright colours from her middle years in the 60s, an era where elder women in suburban England rarely donned trousers, not to mention jeans. Her intentionally disheveled bun was frequently adorned with her feline, who enjoyed riding atop people’s shoulders and heads, and she saw no issue taking the cat shopping this way. She was the pioneer woman to resume work at the local authority post-maternity in the late 1940s, who took pleasure in exploring and caravanning in parts of Eastern Europe thought of as unreachable during the 50s and 60s, who passionately and fearlessly prepared dishes considered exceptionally foreign for her era and location, not to mention her roundly nonconformist character. Yet, the concept of ‘letting yourself go’ remained repugnant to her.
The connotations of both ‘releasing’ and ‘letting oneself go’ seem to suggest surrendering control, but where ‘releasing’ is a considered, gracious act, ‘letting oneself go’ is seen as forsaking self-restraint, typically of the physical form. Comments from acquaintances about how I had ‘permitted’ my hair to go grey left an impression, as though my hair’s changing colour resulted from a lack of resolve. I hardly equate my own authority with the march of time, or my body’s inherent aging process. I simply allowed my hair to go grey. Judging the cost of hiding the transition to outweigh the benefits, I opted to blissfully accept it. In an attempt to maintain a sound mind and body, I consciously let go of my fixation with my body size and what I eat. When it comes to grooming, makeup has never figured into my routine, and there are days when I don’t bother to brush my hair. And to my surprise, there are no adverse implications.”
My companions suggested I had given in to the grey in my hair, but that is not the case. It is much more compelling and beneficial to change one’s thinking instead of modifying one’s appearance. I repeatedly engage in the same actions with a hope for varied outcomes, for the illusion that reality doesn’t alter is pure fantasy. If one delves into classic literature, they can analyse the mindset of the upper-middle-class Caucasian male.
Being an elderly Caucasian woman in a predominantly white society, I realise I often blend into the background. My bread and butter have always been anchored in intellectual pursuits like thinking, writing, and instructing, hence age doesn’t pose a threat to my professional existence. There is a misconception that “letting ourselves go” is associated with laziness and overeating, that a lack of restraint and oversight would lead us to excessive consumption and zero production. On the other hand, ‘letting go’ is deemed to be a form of wisdom. I’m confident the reality is more intricate. ‘Letting go’ is seen as a personal, hidden act that women can pursue in a yoga class without being a disturbance to others, whereas ‘letting yourself go’ is observable and potentially disturbing. It seems fair to suggest that perhaps more of us should give ‘letting ourselves go’ a shot and observe the outcome.