It’s Sunday, 9.31am, and I’m on my yoga mat. I’m right in the middle of the room, surrounded by 49 other yoga addicts. Nothing unusual about that, except that I’m crying. In the quiet stillness of dozens of people intensely focusing on their breath I reach gingerly for my sweat towel. Hoping the teacher isn’t wondering why I need it already, thirty seconds into the class, I dab at my damp face.