That “urgh” of Disappointment

I woke up the other morning to an email that landed like a stone in my stomach. Not life-altering, not catastrophic, but quietly deflating. One of those disappointments that feels heavier than it should, mostly because of what it stirs up underneath. It sat with me while I made coffee, while I packed my bag, even as I rolled out my mat to teach. That familiar lump in the chest. The urge to overreact, or to shut down completely.

And then something shifted.

Not because I processed it neatly in a yoga sequence or “turned it into a theme.” I didn’t. I just did what I do most mornings: moved, breathed, taught, held space. And by the end, I noticed a lightness where the heaviness had been. The email was still there, but my grip on it had loosened.

That’s the thing about disappointment. It’s not just the event itself — it’s the way it touches old attachments, old aversions, old stories we tell ourselves about what should have happened.

In yoga, there’s a whole framework for this. The kleśas — the causes of suffering. Among them: rāga (attachment) and dveṣa (aversion). Disappointment is often where those two collide. We’re attached to how we thought it would be, and we push away what actually is. The result? Duhkha. That sense of unease, the wrong fit, the quiet ache of things not matching our expectation.

And the practice doesn’t tell us not to feel it. Yoga doesn’t say “rise above.” It says: look closely. Stay with it. What are you gripping? What outcome were you clinging to? What aversion just flared up?

The teachings offer other pathways too. Aparigraha — non-grasping, softening the clutch on how it had to be. Upekṣā— equanimity, not as indifference, but as a steadiness that lets us hold the wobble without collapsing. And viveka — discernment, the clarity to see through our own distortions and meet what’s actually here. The truth is, disappointment is part of the deal. No one escapes it. But the way we relate to it is the practice. Not bypassing it. Not drowning in it. But holding it gently enough that it can move through us, instead of getting stuck inside us.

For me that morning, community was the medicine. Breath was the medicine. Movement was the medicine. Not because it erased the email, but because it reminded me I’m bigger than my disappointment. That there’s always more space, more perspective, more possibility than my first reaction allows.

And maybe that’s the invitation. To treat disappointment not as proof of failure or loss, but as a doorway. A reminder to unclench. To soften. To widen our view. To let the feeling come and go, like everything else does.