I suck at almost everything. I have to glance at my neighbors to see what Katie means by cat and cow poses, and I can barely hold downward dog—a “resting pose”—for more than four seconds before my legs start to shake.

But no one seems to give a fuck. Most of us are tired, and slow, and we have aches in places we never knew existed. This isn’t about perfecting poses, or breaking a sweat (although I am definitely getting clammy.)

It’s about being kind to ourselves and our bodies. Acknowledging the hard work they’re doing while we attempt to go about life as usual.

I know I keep saying this, but I feel it here more than ever—I feel like myself as I jump rope my hips, stretch them out in something called pigeon pose. Totally present. Not wanting to fast forward because I want to die. Not wanting to rewind to remember my parents, or the life I had before I got pregnant.

I just move between Lauren, 36 weeks, on my left, and Jordan, 22 weeks, on my right.

Jordan knocks her water bottle over in the middle of class, spilling it all over her mat. I hand her my towel and she thanks me, smiling. Not long after, when we’re stretching our elbows away from each other by reaching down our backs, Jordan hands me her strap when I can’t make my fingers touch.

It’s a simple gesture. Small. But it fills me with this sense of warmth—faith and gratitude, too.

Faith that I’m going to be all right.

Gratitude that I’m not in this alone.

As I move, I can’t help but think that my body feels tender and strange. Mine, but not.

Just like my mind.

Letting my thoughts continue to wander as I breathe in and out through my nose, I think about how pregnancy is constantly giving me all the feels. Bad ones. Good ones. It’s emotional and sensory overload.

It’s life, turned all the way up.

And just like most things in life, it’s not all good, and it’s not all bad, either. The experience falls somewhere in between. The grey where black and white overlap.

A lot of narratives about pregnancy and motherhood would have us think otherwise—that it’s pure magic, that it’s happiness and butterflies, that it’s all good, all the time.

Without knowing it, I felt like shit about myself because that’s not how my experience has been so far. It’s been a struggle.

Being in this room has shown me that I am not alone in that struggle.

And I think that is magic.

By the time class is over and we’re cooling off in shavasana, or dead man’s pose, I’m kicking myself for not coming to a prenatal class sooner. This was awesome. And much needed.

“Be sure to join the studio’s prenatal Facebook group,” Katie says as she collects our blocks. “It’s a great way to meet other mamas and stay in touch with each other.”