Two days ago, I attended a Gentle Yoga class at a local studio. Soon after class started, I entered an altered state. Initially I felt really compelled to cry, so I stopped following the instructor and just sat still, letting myself cry. Part of it was gender dysphoria, but there was definitely something more or other than that, that I couldn’t name.
Then, I suddenly became overwhelmed with ecstasy. I was shaking, and my breathing changed. I had such an urgent feeling of needing to search for something, to figure out what did all of this mean. In some moments, I even felt an urge to do various things that would have been considered disturbing or bizarre, and it took much effort to prevent myself from doing those things. At one point, I tried escaping to the bathroom to calm myself down, but when I came back to the yoga room, the ecstasy immediately returned.
I could no longer follow the instructor at all, so I just experimented with various resting postures in attempt to ground myself. I repeatedly cried from bewilderment and from the intensity of it all. My senses were also over-activated: my vision felt like it was vibrating, and my sense of touch began to overreact to things like the texture of a yoga blanket. It very much felt like mania. But was it? Did I want to label it as such?
After class, I chatted with the owner of the studio about what I just went through, asking her if she had ever experienced ecstasy while doing yoga. She told me that she had, but not as intensely as I did. It is not an uncommon experience; yoga texts speak of things like kundalini rushes, which are considered a byproduct of yoga practice rather than a goal of it. She expressed hope that with further practice, I might become more capable of managing these experiences.
I eventually calmed down enough to drive home safely. Unlike during a manic episode, I was able to sleep normally that night and be emotionally reset the next day. My meds do seem to prevent mania from fully taking hold by forcing me to sleep. Still, I’ve been particularly moody this week, suggesting that my brain is trying to enter an episode. Or perhaps it suggests that my spirit is truly yearning for something, as I felt during the yoga class. What’s the difference?
Many people with bipolar disorder perceive it as their brain being sick and needing medication to be stable. For them, mood episodes might seem to come out of the blue. But I’ve never had a mood episode that hasn’t been full of meaning. Intense emotions bring attention to questions that I need to mull over and aspects of life that aren’t satisfying me. Mania and depression are debilitating, but the emotions at their root are trying to tell me something.
So perhaps I’ve arrived at a compromise: I still can feel very intense emotions, but my medications and self-regulation skills prevent them from fully taking over and wrecking my life. The ecstasy I felt during yoga class was likely enhanced by my bipolar mind, but there is nothing inherently pathological about it. It reaffirmed for me the importance of spirituality in my life and the need for me to be supported in integrating my bipolar states and not just medicate them away. Because of it, I started wondering about perhaps pursuing a spiritual career, in particular that of an interfaith chaplain. Some might find that a little surprising for me to consider, but it’s very consistent with my long-term interests and values. Regardless of what I eventually choose, rethinking my career goals is clarifying.