Sometimes breakdowns can be breakthroughs. I've experienced this in my life. Especially because I tend to hide and deny my true feelings. I push myself into being a supporting character role instead of taking charge and honoring my needs, desires, dreams, and- frankly- my plans, for someone else, who may have the stronger will or a louder voice. 

In yoga, we crunch ourselves into tiny balls, thighs on top of chests, on top of arms on top of heads. A tiny ball of energy and life- but also, withdrawn into darkness. The next pose counters the tininess, as we open up our hearts, necks and throats ("chakras"), chests, and arms and explode into life and feeling and existence. It's says "I'm here, and I'm the main character in my story." The posture is a dreaded camel pose. This one is so much harder than the little ball of one. It feels nice being small and safe in that fetal state. Not moving, not seeing, not connecting, closed and contracted within our space. However, we need the camel! The camel pose brings forth effortful opening. It's so vulnerable that it hurts.  But there is honesty in doing difficult things. There is honesty in vulnerability. Attempting difficult things drives us into vulnerability without even asking permission from us! One simply leads beautifully into the other, a stretch and a contract, just as bird of paradise, an open and vulnerable "hello!" to the world, eventually leads us draped into our safe blessing of a forward fold.

Chest-openers, in general, are hard for me.  I err on the side of closed, withdrawn, reserved, and distant. It's more comfortable for me to be closed to vulnerability. Posturing myself as small to escape notice. One of my ongoing difficulties with having a significant other was having someone always observing me, noting my behaviors, providing generous critiques, and giving unsolicited opinions. My last two boyfriends were especially unforgiving in this way. 

But the more you practice this effortful opening, the uncomfortable posturing, the easier it becomes. It feels less strange on you. It begins to attached to you comfortably like a warm, buttery vest that's melted onto your body. The cactusing arms are dreamy and smooth. The back widens as you inhale your open presence. I once had a very wonderful yoga teacher who suggested sliding my shoulder blades down the back like two broken egg yolks. Broken and yet open.