The Yoga Essay I’ve Been Avoiding
When I think of yogis, I’m full of prejudices. I still think of granola and patchouli. I think of women who don’t shave their armpits and old, wrinkly, Indian and Balinese men. I think about people who talk about Third Eyes and Chakra Balance and Reiki and White Light. I certainly don’t think of judgmental, insecure, curvy, white chicks, but here we are.
I’ve only been a student of yoga for about a year, and I’m not a very good student. I’m inconsistent and resistant. I still come from ego a lot of the time. But, I’m still curious and determined.
Here’s my journey so far.
When I first came to yoga, I was relatively new to group fitness. I decided to try a yoga class, in the hopes that it would relieve some general stiffness I felt all over a couple hours after my Zumba classes, specifically. I danced for thirteen years growing up, so Zumba felt familiar, and while I loved the high energy, fast-paced cardio, I missed the extensive warm ups and cool downs to which I attribute being limber and strong for so many years.
I wasn’t a complete stranger to yoga. I had several DVDs that I did on occasion and had taken a Les Mills Body Flow class once before. It felt mostly good, but a few things got on my nerves.
- I hated the thin, breathy voice the instructor used to guide us from pose to pose.
- I hated that all of the DVDs were set on a desert mesa or a beach — neither of which environment feels particularly soothing to me.
- …And the pan flutes? Jesus Christ, don’t get me started on the pan flutes.
The first yoga class I went to at my gym was taught by a twenty year old waif. I aim to be an accepting person, but bless her heart, I was judging this little girl hard. I am positive all 47 pounds of her had no idea how tricky twisting poses were for me, because my belly roll and my ginormous boobs got in the way.
She taught with her eyes mostly closed and used that voice to guide us deeper into each stretch. …that breathy voice that reminded me of the labor and delivery nurse who whispered and cooed, “Ohhhhhhhkaaaaaaaaaay. You’re coming to the top of a contraaaaaaction.”
Like… “I know it, bitch! I’ve been trying to squeeze this 10 pound, five ounce watermelon through a 7cm exit for the past 22 hours! I’m screaming! WHY ARE YOU WHISPERING?!”
To put it mildly, it was triggering.
I didn’t find the workout to be challenging, and in all fairness, I probably didn’t put full effort into it, either. (I was too busy being Judgy McJudgerson.) But, I figured I’d try again after Zumba the following day. There was a different teacher, and maybe they had a different teaching style that would work for me.
Enter Chris.
I don’t know what to call Chris. Yogi feels too eastern, too new age-y. Teacher feels too head-y. Trainer feels too…muscle-y. Friend doesn’t feel big enough. But, he’s all of that to me, now.
He wanted to know who was new to yoga, who was new to his class. He explained that what he taught was a style of yoga with which we might not be familiar. He spoke in a normal volume and cadence. And then, he queued up the Pink Floyd.
Oh, hell yeah!
I hung on every word. I pushed myself to try each pose without modification at first and was impressed by how many I could do. He reminded us to engage in the isometric components of each pose, when and how to breathe, when to tuck a tailbone, or bring a knee back over a foot to prevent injury. By the end of that class, I was exhausted. My fatigued muscles trembled and twitched and sweat dripped off my everything.
Determined to keep up with everyone else in the class, I had made yoga competitive. On the one hand, it propelled me through any mental noise and resistance I had. I defaulted to my more-better-faster hustle. On the other hand, on day two of yoga, my ego was LOUD and focusing on factors outside me. But, that blissed out feeling?
I was hooked.
I was moving to Texas, so I only had about two months of classes with Chris. On my best weeks, I went to class three times a week. My physical body changed fast. My mental and emotional state didn’t get the memo, though.
At that time in my life, I had recently left a job that burned me out, was dealing with some personal heartbreak and the stress of moving, and committing to regular yoga practice felt like more than I could do. I knew I felt better after, but I could’t get myself to the mat. I was fending off depression, and my practice became sporadic. Chris noticed and encouraged me, but never pushed.
He did a little research into teachers of that style of yoga near Leander, TX, and the nearest one was an hour away. He said that instructors were known to do Skype sessions, so I should reach out to this guy. Feeling a little bashful, I said, “How about WE do Skype sessions?” He hadn’t considered that having never done it before and had never trained anyone 1:1, but was open to it, so we gave it a go.
Fast forward a year.
We were chatting via voice note while I was driving the other day, and he asked me what assertions I’d made about yoga.
I said that when I started, it was about losing weight and maintaining or improving flexibility.
I used to want to be more confident naked and feel about my body like I did back in the dancing days.
I essentially wanted to look better so I didn’t feel so shitty about myself on the inside.
I told Chris my motivation had changed… that my original reasons felt superficial now, and it was hard to define my new why. I was clear that I didn’t feel the urgency or desperation to earn something through yoga like I did when I started.
So… why keep at it? What is my motivation? Why stay committed to regular practice?
Now, I do it for the glow. Whatever happens for me through yoga that makes me feel and look like this…? That’s why I keep doing it.
Here’s what I knew to be true about yoga and me as a student of yoga.
Yoga is a practice.
/PRAC-tes/ noun. 1. the actual application or use of an idea, belief, or method, as opposed to theories relating to it. 2. the customary, habitual, or expected procedure or way of doing something.
For yoga to be beneficial, I gotta hit the mat. For yoga to have a lasting benefit, I gotta hit the mat consistently.
I was telling Chris that I am amaaaaazing at making things happen when it requires one, focused, intense push. Yoga revealed my lack of discipline and habits and is teaching me the value of both, through… you guessed it.
Practice.
At least once a week, I give myself the gift of an hour and a half. I push past my cerebral limits into each pose. I moan and complain about going deeper — lifting a knee, straightening a leg, taking a hand off the mat, repeating if I don’t count out loud, learning to balance from my core, regardless of what’s touching the mat— until all the fussing stops, and I become fluid. I move through each pose, silently summoning strength and stability with breath.
Over and over, I practice keeping my focus internal — being mindful of where I feel physical pain or resistance or stretching, paying attention to when I am holding my breath, noticing when I start comparing myself to another student or an expectation in my mind.
There is no endgame. There is no arrival. There is only the journey. Only practice.
For me, yoga is mental, emotional, and spiritual as much as it is physical.
When I first moved to Texas, my ex-husband and I were living in separate rooms of the same house. Legally, our divorce was in a holding pattern. Tensions were high as we determined whether or not to continue to co-habitate as we started dating other people or if we needed a clean break. Some other loss in my life had me feeling generally heartbroken and not wanting to get out of bed, but I was determined to keep my commitment to Chris. It wasn’t about me at that time; I was only doing it because I told him I would.
As we FaceTimed, I had a hard time looking him in the eye. I felt vulnerable and sad and just wanted to get to the workout part.
Chris challenged me that day, and I found that I was unable to hold back the emotional tide and summon the energy to sustain difficult-for-me poses. At some point, I cried. On my stomach on the mat, arms folded, head down, I started sobbing, and just held up a finger indicating, “I need a minute.”
What I learned in that moment is that through yoga, I access strength I didn’t know I had. Sometimes, it’s physical, sometimes it’s mental, and sometimes it’s emotional, but that power all comes from the same reservoir.
I power through each day, utilizing mental strength to maintain clarity, focus, and creativity; employing the mental strength I need to take care of myself and others; and the physical strength required to keep my body strong.
When I do yoga, I use all of that to recharge like a battery. I pour it out to fill it back up.
Months later, this quote by Jenny Clevidence, a yoga teacher and leadership coach, in this article from Yoga Journal really resonated with me
“The physical practice of transitioning in the body from one static posture to another isn’t unlike making transitions in our daily lives,” she says. Whether we’re married, becoming a parent, moving to a different town or practicing yoga, Clevidence says that we need awareness and intelligence if we want to land with intention.
Yoga is a spiritual practice, in that it connects me to my purpose.
Chris asked me in that same car conversation if there was a spiritual component to my practice. At the time, I said I didn’t think so and that my spiritual views were… messy.
I believe in something bigger than me. I believe we come from something greater and return to it. I believe lots of the spiritual teachings I’ve read, and don’t subscribe to any one in particular. I believe we’re made up of energy that may just be love in its purest form, and that threads of that energy weave us together and tether us to Source, whatever that is.
Through some dissection of my spiritual life, I came to the conclusion that yoga keeps me a student of myself. It supports me in continuing to be curious about what makes me tick. It supports my hunger to know more about me, and one thing I often see is that I spend a lot of time focused externally, in comparison to others, in particular. Noticing that without judgement allows me to shift my focus and choose another way to show up in the world. Spirit is about purpose and vocation for me, and my purpose is service. It’s impossible to stay connected to and in alignment with purpose if I’m coming from ego. Studying myself through yoga doesn’t feel selfish; it feels like compassion and self-love to want to understand where my deepest desires come from, what my needs are, and my place in the world and use that peace and clarity to choose how I want to be.
And, let me be honest with you.
I always want to quit.
When my phone alarm goes off, reminding me I have a training session in a half hour, my stomach usually sinks. I think of ten things more urgent and important than spending an hour on me. I start to think, “Ok, I’m good,” at about 20 minutes. By 35, I’m tired. Between 45 minutes and an hour, the endorphins kick in. By the time I’m in Shavasana, I’m blissed out. I wonder why I ever dreaded it. I feel like the sexiest woman alive. I feel still and powerful and beautiful.
…Until the following week.
And, that’s because I need to practice MORE.
“The devil is in the details, but so are the angel and the beauty and the joy of the practice.”
