My dad died on a sunny October morning when I was in a different country, away working. I didn’t know that he had died until I arrived back in the UK in the early hours of a dark, cold Wednesday. He was ill and he was old. So, it should not have come as a shock. But it did.
When my dad died, I stuck with my regular teaching schedule. I took no time off. In fact, I remember that just a few days later I solo taught a weekend yoga retreat – something I had committed to many months before. In hindsight, I should not have. The retreat went well, everyone was happy. I carried on… at my expense. I don’t think I mentioned during the retreat that my dad had died as I was meant to be holding space for everyone else, and at the time I deemed it would be unprofessional. I now see that as ludicrous. I was incredibly unkind to myself.