It was October, 2003 and I was on the island of Kauai for my honeymoon. There were many high points to this trip, but the one I recall most vividly was our visit to Kipu Falls. Like most of our adventures on Kauai, we arrived at Kipu Falls by following obscure directions to an obscure location. After navigating a narrow unmarked trail and scrambling over boulders we came upon a large, practically deserted swimming hole, about 20 feet below the cliff upon which we stood. There were no trails leading to the water; you had to access it the hard way: either by jumping off the top of the cliff or swinging on a giant rope – attached to a tree branch – into the middle of the swimming hole and letting go. Either way you were looking at a big drop.

Courage was certainly a factor here, but, if you chose the rope swing, which was my pleasure, it was all about the art of letting go. Again and again I’d grab the rope, back up to get a running start, and then hurtle myself off the edge of the cliff, butterflies in my stomach. Over and over I would try to find the precise moment to let go of the rope – at just the right part of the arc – where I could experience weightlessness for one delicious second before dropping into the water in a perfectly straight line. If I let go too early or too late, my entry into the water would be awkward and painful, totally devoid of grace.

As my new husband and I played in the swimming hole I had no idea that this concept of learning how to let go was about to become a central theme in my life as I battled breast cancer.

If you or a loved one has had cancer, you will be familiar with what happened to me when I returned from my honeymoon: worrisome symptom, doctor visit, tests, waiting, hoping, shock, more doctors and opinions, hard decisions, surgery, chemotherapy, and so on. I felt personally affronted by a diagnosis of cancer. How could this happen to me? I was a vegetarian, non-drinking, non-smoking, uber-healthy yoga teacher! It was a slap in the face, challenging my notion that a clean lifestyle could keep me safe from life’s hardships.

So I did what I could while undergoing treatment: yoga, acupuncture, meditation, support groups, a cancer-specific diet plan, absorbing the support of friends and family. Above all else, though, my haven was yoga. At first I tried to force my body to practice the same rigorous postures that I’d been doing pre-cancer. It was like I was trying to prove that I was really “okay” and still strong, that cancer was but a small pebble on the sidewalk…not something that could break my stride. I was clinging. I was holding onto that rope swing with all my might, unwilling to let go. If I had been at Kipu Falls I would have swung right back into the rock face from whence I came – with a bone-breaking THWACK.

My intuition and experience was telling me to back off, to practice yoga more gently, in a way that was supportive and nurturing. But I felt my doing so would be acknowledging defeat, accepting my fallibility and mortality. So I kept struggling. I so desperately wanted to be the “old Laura” of robust health that my knuckles were white from holding onto that proverbial rope swing so tightly.

But then something happened: I got tired. Not so exhausted that I had to stay in bed all day, but just tired enough that I didn’t have the energy to muscle through my regular yoga practice. I backed off and tried easier instead of harder. I let go of trying to be “old Laura” and started trusting that “new Laura” was going to be just fine if I gave her what she needed. I began learning more about the therapeutic benefits of yoga. I experimented with how various yoga poses could help mitigate the side-effects I was experiencing. I finally figured out how to let go of that damn rope and drop effortlessly into my yoga mat, as well as my circumstances.

What I discovered felt great: less nausea, improved sleep, virtually no hot flashes, and speedy recoveries from some very intense surgeries. I was able to gently stretch and strengthen my body without depleting my precious energy, and I found a way to get comfortable in my body exactly as it was, not as I wished it would be. I felt so good most of the time (relatively speaking!) that I couldn’t relate to the awful side-effects that most people in my support group were experiencing. Why weren’t all cancer patients doing yoga?! And that ultimately is what became my mission: to ensure that all cancer survivors have access to safe, supportive yoga classes.

After my own treatment ended, I embarked upon a rigorous program to supplement my basic yoga teacher training. Two and a half years, and 1,000 hours of study later, I became a certified Professional Yoga Therapist. I now had the skills to safely work with people who were experiencing disease, chronic illness, and injuries, including, of course, cancer. I began offering Yoga for Survivors® classes to people in my hometown and expanded to different venues and locations: clinics, hospitals, yoga studios, and private sessions with those who were housebound.

I was heartened by the way yoga supported my students through their challenges. I was humbled by how many of them still came to class many years after their treatment has ended, because of the tight bond they have built with each other. Mostly I am inspired by what I learn from them and how they seem to grasp so easily what I struggled with at first…that the more we can let go of trying to control the outcome – whether it’s the course of an illness, or balancing on one leg in a yoga pose – the more softly we will land in life. They have faith that when they let go of the rope, there will be water below them.

As for me, my experience with yoga directed me toward a huge gap that I saw in the world of cancer treatment, one that research is now starting to recognize as a valuable and legitimate form of integrative care, that of yoga for cancer survivors. In addition to teaching regular group classes I now train other yoga teachers who want to work with cancer survivors, fulfilling my desire to create more opportunities for people to experience the healing power of yoga when they need it most.

And this is my wish for you if you have been diagnosed with cancer: that regardless of your level (or lack) of yoga experience, you seek out a class with an experienced teacher and see how you too, can benefit from yoga for cancer survivors. Learn how to let go of the rope, and sink into the peaceful respite that an hour or two on the mat can provide. It feels SO much better than white knuckles.

The information found here is not intended to provide nor should it be interpreted to provide professional medical, legal or financial advice. You should consult a trained professional for more information.