Yesterday morning, I attended my first yoga class in months. The last time I went to an actual class it was sometime during my second trimester. I continued to practice yoga throughout my pregnancy, and I have practiced a bit at home since giving birth, but it’s just not the same as being in the studio, away from the baby, doing yoga for a full 90 minutes. It was bliss.

It was also super hard.

Alongside all the challenges of newborn baby-rearing, sits another obstacle: getting my groove back–or–overcoming my shitty self-esteem.

I strive to be body positive and find beauty in all shapes and sizes. That said, I really want my body back. The body that could do hand stands and arm balances and gorgeous chatarungas. The body that felt strong and healthy and good about itself. The body that did not have tons of stretchmarks.

So now begins the arduous two-pronged journey of exercise and acceptance. Because being strong and capable is important to me, but so is loving myself no matter what. Luckily, yoga helps me with both. And although I did struggle to stay present (like when one of my breasts started to leak), I have never been so appreciative of my precious 90 minutes on the mat.

Anyhow, my yoga practice was due for a little humbling. As with many areas of my life, I have often let my ego drive my growth. But yesterday, in the back of the class, I did not compare myself to other students, and I did not allow my pride to keep me from resting when my body said it was time.

This morning, I feel less hunched over while nursing, and my hamstrings are wonderfully sore. I also feel just a little bit better about myself.

Namaste.