Lately, it feels like the world has tilted on its axis. Having spent most of my working life in hard news environments, I can usually handle the madness and sadness.

Maybe the world has got crazier, or maybe I have grown more sensitive. Either way, I have had to find new ways of coping.

Alcohol used to be my “go to”. But that trusty friend, pacifier and filter of feelings, seemed to turn on me as the years went by.

I trod a well-worn path, from merry and amusing party-girl to broody, sometimes moody, drinker. With a strong guiding hand from The Beloved, I managed to shuffle off that path before there was no way back.

I had no doubt that I had dodged a bullet, but I was left with a nervous energy and no idea how to face my feelings, let alone manage them.

That was when I started doing yoga, and what an anchor in the storm it has been. It didn’t come to me in some grand epiphany, but as a whisper that has taught me to stay, breathe, pay attention, and stop running.

Truth be told, I love a good rush, and yoga is a rush. It isn’t just stretching and breathing. It is a rebellion against distraction and limitations. It’s a radical act of choosing to be fully in the moment, pushing yourself beyond what is comfortable and what you thought was possible.

Alcohol persuaded me that ignoring and dulling pain and anxiety was the best way around uncomfortable feelings. Yoga encourages me to pay attention, stare the discomfort right in the eye, and find my way directly through it.

Both yoga and alcohol, in their own ways, alter perception of stress. Yoga changes how you perceive and react to stress through mindfulness and breath control. Alcohol numbs you and blocks it out. There are no prizes for guessing which one feels better in the morning.

Yoga tends to offer lasting comfort. I can wake up feeling stiff and miserable, and an hour on the mat, stretching, breathing, and shutting out the noise of the world leaves me feeling calm and pain-free.

Pouring a glass of something at “wine o’clock” used to signify that I had survived another day at work. It was the beginning of happy time/me time. This daily transition from work to play was signified by the ritual and quickly backed up by the chemicals.

Yoga has a ritualistic side too, from sitting in silence on the mat and setting an intention to lying down in the “corpse pose” at the end of class.

The more I practice, the more it feels like a meditation, each sequence pulling me deeper into the moment.

Alcohol demanded more to keep me numb; yoga asks less to keep me grounded. Now, just stepping onto the mat summons calm.

I’ve self-medicated with both, chasing relief from the world’s weight. Alcohol left me foggy, fragile, a shadow of myself. Yoga lifts me, body, mind, soul.

I traded the bottle for the mat, and I’ve never felt more alive. In a world that won’t stop tilting, yoga is my lifeline. Care to join me?