Yoga And The Value Of Self-Care
The studio where I attended my first yoga class in the summer of 2013 was located in an old converted townhouse in downtown Washington, DC. Nestled in the shadows of a number of modern office buildings, it stood with its white paint peeling a bit on the outside, and the stairs leading up to the front door had been painted with arrows beckoning passersby inside. The entire second floor was one large L-shaped space, in which no more than exactly eighteen people could practice yoga at once.
I picked the back corner furthest from the instructor, unrolled my mat, and sat down.
I was here for several reasons. I’d had friends who had tried yoga, and who’d encouraged me to do the same. I’d done a fair amount of reading on the numerous physical and psychological benefits of a regular practice. At the time, I was six months into a relationship that, suffice to say, was leaving me emotionally exhausted. I craved an activity that centered on my own well-being, something that I hoped would bring a little more calmness and clarity into my day-to-day life.
I’d also begun suffering more and more often from debilitating migraines that had plagued me once a month or so, ever since I’d hit puberty. That summer, I started getting them several times a week. I saw a neurologist. I was prescribed medication. It didn’t work. I’d begun casting about for some other potential remedy, and settled on yoga. Maybe getting some more blood flowing into my brain on a regular basis via Downward-Facing Dog could help.
The yoga instructor was a tall, pretty woman in her late twenties named Stacie, who smiled and said hi to each of her students. She asked if it was anyone’s first time at a yoga class. I raised my hand. She welcomed me, and there was such warmth and genuine kindness in her demeanor that the anxiety I’d harbored about trying out this new group experience began to melt away.
We all closed our eyes, and began to breath deeply. Stacie led us in inhaling and exhaling, instructing us in turn to drop our heads forward, roll out our necks, and gently twist to the left and to the right. Every so often she would give us praise, and I was amazed at how comforting and reassuring hearing her say “beautiful job” could be, even if it was just for sitting with my eyes closed and breathing. She took us through sun salutations, warrior poses, balancing postures — each movement stretching my muscles like taffy being pulled over and over until it becomes warm and pliable. At the end, I felt the delicious sense of exhausted satisfaction that only comes after having thoroughly worked and pushed your body for an hour. Before we dispersed, Stacie reminded us about the importance of things like loving yourself, being kind to yourself, and being forgiving to yourself. It sounds hokey, but I think we’re often too quick to dismiss the impact of hearing words like those spoken out loud. As someone who’s her own biggest critic, I know intellectually that I should be more gentle and forgiving of myself. But how good it felt to hear someone else say it remind me to do so.
I went back for another round two days later. And again two days after that. Within two weeks, my migraines had all but ceased. I stopped wobbling quite so much while trying to hold still in Tree Pose, balancing on one foot with my arms in the air. My triceps slowly started to show themselves again in a way they hadn’t since I’d played varsity volleyball in high school. But better than any of that was the small emotional catharsis I felt each time I pushed and pulled my body through the poses, as though I were wringing stress and worry out of my muscles. I slept better. I just felt better. I was taking care of myself on a regular basis in a way that I never had before.
Since that first class fifteen months ago, yoga is still a regular part of my life. I feel fortunate to have found a community of nonprofit studios that highlight more than the mere physical aspects of yoga. Their instructors aim to cultivate in their students a regular practice that focuses on the well-being of body and mind, and their community outreach projects emphasize the importance of making the benefits of yoga accessible to everyone, regardless of individual circumstances. (I could write a whole series of posts on the intersection of “Westernized” yoga and privilege, but that’s perhaps for another time.)
Yoga has taught me many things; chief among them is the value of prioritizing self-care. It’s taught me to listen to my body and respond to what it tells me (I have to constantly remind myself that just because other people in the room can hold Half-Moon for two whole minutes, doesn’t mean I have to). It’s taught me to embrace the fact that I have limits both inside and outside of yoga, and that’s perfectly okay. And that, I think, is the most reassuring teaching of yoga: that no matter who you are and what abilities you do or do not have, you are enough.
