(By contributing writer, student and ‘eternal work in progress’ – Anita Quigley Atherton).

I have been threatening to do Yoga for around 15 years and now, finally, am about to start. No more excuses. Believe me, there have been plenty. At 35 years of age, my well of excuses has dried up so it’s time to “feel the fear and do it anyway” to walk the talk and see what all the hoopla is about.

I need something. I’m not sure what. My divine GP diagnosed me a year or so ago (after years of career and lifestyle-induced anxiety and mild depression) as a “highly intelligent, over-achieving, perfectionist, control freak” – which are my STRONG points.

From my early 20s I pursued a high powered career in Marketing of which all of my key roles left me with heart palpitations, cold sweats, sleepless nights and a hangover that lasted for 10 years. Ah, the Good Old Days. During those heady days I preferred to worship at the altar of booze and fags and spent most of the late nineties and early ‘noughties’ either drunk or hungover– all in the name of ‘stress-relief’. It was medicinal and therefore okay.

In 2005 I had my first child. With the arrival of “God’s Handbrake” as I referred to my darling Sam at the time, recklessness had to take a back seat. I still thought I could do and have it all though. Sam went into childcare at 10 months old and I resumed full time work and encountered a whole new set of anxieties, which all fell under the caps lock, bold, italic, underlined heading of GUILT.

Combine Mother’s Group, childless co-workers, long hours, early drop-offs, late pick-ups, development milestones, deadlines, mix well and let sit for about three years. The boozing and fagging of my 20s at the hottest joints in town went underground. Instead, we entertained at home – a LOT.

Still racked with anxiety (Perfect mother? Fail. Perfect wife? Fail. Perfect employee? Fail. Perfect body, spirit and mind? EPIC FAIL) I went back to my GP and explained the new anxiety paradigm and was prescribed marvelous little pink pills called ALPRAZOLAM. For me, a miracle pill. Loved the stuff. No really. I LOVED it. The peace I sought in my mind and body had arrived, along with a mildish addiction to a highly addictive drug.

By the end of 2009 I had a second beautiful son – Gus (also in childcare from 10 months old – one must be fair), experienced my first professional redundancy and ensuing court case, lived in a dream home we could no longer afford on one income, a discreet bottle of wine a night – or two – habit; something had to change.

From that point my husband and I have made some monumental changes. We moved house, Sam started primary school, I had a delightful dip into Pilates (cut short by not only the change of address but also a series of short sharp expulsions of air from the nether regions while carrying out the Rolling Ball manoeuvre) which stripped off kilos and had me feeling fitter than ever. We decided that I would stay at home with the kids and work freelance with a select group of close clients.

So here I am at the end of 2011 about to embark on my first Yoga class – this Sunday in fact. I am on a constant spiritual quest. I read voraciously – Buddhism for Mothers is always at my bedside. I seek peace. I want to bring a peaceful me to every situation I face. I am fearful that I won’t be good enough; that I am not fit; that I am not bendy; that my beer-swilling, AFL loving husband will reject me; that the change might overwhelm me; and most importantly on the social quotient – that I will expel air sharply from the nether regions.

What am I expecting from Yoga? Not much.

What am I hoping for? Weight loss (emotional and physical). Bendiness. Quieting the monkeys in my mind. Inner peace. That Buddha smile. Energy. Enthusiasm. Finding my purpose. Emitting light. Yes. A full-on miracle.

Wish me luck. AQA xxx