Last weekend, I stood on a balcony overlooking the sea in Sitges with seven of my friends. The sun was on my back, and it should have been a moment of pure joy (the sun on my back is probably my favourite feeling in the whole world), but my head was full of fear and worry. My daughter Sash, back in the UK, was in the middle of a psychotic episode, teetering on the edge of being hospitalised, and I was powerless to stop it.

Among the many powerful experiences of this weekend, this one 3-minute kriya stands out as something that profoundly shifted my understanding.

What is a Kriya?

In yoga, a kriya is a specific set of movements, breathing techniques, and mental focus designed to channel energy and bring about physical, emotional, and spiritual transformation. While many yoga practices focus on asana (postures), kriyas can involve movement, breathwork, mantra, or meditation to help align the body and mind.

In this case, the kriya involved a simple sequence of movements that allowed us to connect deeply with the present moment and ourselves. Though it lasted only three minutes, it had a profound impact on me.

As we began our practice, we lifted our arms above our heads, throwing an imaginary ball of energy into the sky, then receiving it back into our open arms. The repetition was rhythmic, steady, and grounding. For several minutes, we threw, received, released, and accepted.

At first, the movement was simply repetitive. But as the moments passed, something began to shift inside me. As I threw the ball into the sky, I imagined releasing all the fear, helplessness, and grief I had been carrying for Sash. Each time I received it back, I absorbed the love, support, and light of the moment. Slowly, the act of throwing and receiving became became a metaphor for the delicate balance between pain and joy.

This kriya helped me realise that I didn’t have to be consumed by my pain for Sash, nor did I have to deny it. I could hold both pain and joy at the same time. I could stand on that balcony, surrounded by light and beauty, while still carrying the weight of my daughter’s suffering. And yet, I wasn’t knocked over by the pain. Instead, I found a deep sense of equanimity—a place where both pain and pleasure coexisted without overwhelming me.

Through this kriya, I learned that equanimity isn’t about choosing one emotion over another; it’s about holding space for both. The pain I felt for Sash was mine to hold, but so was the joy of being in that moment with my friends. This kriya taught me that it’s possible to hold both without being pulled apart by either.

Life, much like the movements of this kriya, is a cycle of giving and receiving, releasing and accepting. We can't control what comes our way, nor can we avoid the storms that arise. But we can choose how we meet them. Yoga teaches us that equanimity comes not from pushing away pain or grasping only for joy but from learning to hold both with grace.

As I step back into my daily life, I carry this lesson with me. I can hold my love and concern for Sash alongside my own experiences of joy and light. This kriya was a reminder that strength lies in our ability to embrace the full spectrum of our emotions—without letting any single one define us.

Call to Reflection

I invite you to explore kriyas or other yoga practices that help you connect deeply with your emotions and the moment. How do you find balance when life throws you between joy and pain? Through yoga, we can learn to hold both with grace, creating space for all experiences without letting one overpower the other. Where you can find your own sense of equanimity, both on and off the mat?