Yoga Didn’t Hurt You, Your Ego Did
I knew I pushed too hard when I couldn’t feel my legs.
If you’re a yogi with an internet connection, you’ve probably heard of Instagram yoga challenges, where practitioners are encouraged to post daily photos of designated postures, tag hosts and sponsors (usually famous online yogis and brands) and connect with other players via a specific hashtag.
The most successful challenges boast thousands of participants and encourage community support, meaning they’re a lucrative way to boost your post engagement and follower count. As well as this, many believe challenges make their practice more creative due to the often crazy and contemporary posture to-do list (which causes traditionalists a great deal of grief).
Honestly, my reasons for joining yoga challenges were far less noble. I wanted the prizes — designer mat bags, clothes and jewellery I couldn’t otherwise afford. And it was this unchecked desire to consume that ultimately led to one of the worst injuries of my yoga career.
The challenge was nearly over, and today’s posture was wheel — a spine-tingling backbend that requires students to push from their hands and feet and transform their bodies into a perfect arch. Kids call it “crab” and do this pretty amazing thing where they walk around in it, bellies to the sky, like something out of a horror film.
I hadn’t the time to warm up, but it didn’t matter. I’d done wheel a thousand times, and I was good at it. In fact, I was proud of my plasticine spine and propensity for backbends. It usually takes people years to find comfort in such a severe shape but, from the very beginning, I could do it.
Which, in my mind, meant I didn’t have to fear it.
Anyway, I had to post this photo otherwise I’d be disqualified (don’t ask me who makes the rules), and I really, desperately wanted to win. So, with a naivety that now makes me shudder, I set my selfie timer for a meagre 20-seconds and precariously balanced my phone against a wall (as all the great content creators do).
The countdown started, I lay on the floor and, with an excessive amount of force, flung myself into one of the deepest bends I’ve ever done.
Almost immediately, I knew something wasn’t right — a sharp stab in my lower back, followed by violent pins and needles that spread all the way to my toes. Twenty seconds felt like a lifetime, and once I gingerly released the posture, my lower body was numb — I couldn’t feel my legs.
Thankfully, after plenty of painkillers, tears, and a frustrating amount of rest, I made a full recovery. It took about a month for full physical sensation to return, but the lesson’s stayed with me ever since.
It would’ve been easy for me to blame something other than myself for my injury — the backbend was too advanced, the challenge didn’t prioritise safety, and the hosts (who act as online teachers) failed to provide enough instruction.
But, in my heart, I knew it was none of these things. The yoga didn’t hurt me — my ego did.
As a yoga teacher, I see the ego’s power on a daily basis.
It’s ruthless and conniving, telling students they’re not good enough unless they’re able to do the most advanced postures. It thrives on comparison and demands maximum exertion, regardless of how tired or injured a person might be.
It has a mighty grip on the people who come to my classes with serious health concerns — bulging discs, frozen shoulders, crippling tendonitis, anxiety, eating disorders and more. Despite their pain, these students almost always ignore the modifications and props offered. Instead, I watch them wage war on their bodies and minds, punishing themselves with twists, folds and binds they’re not yet ready for.
And what happens when their wounds, inevitably, get worse? They always blame the yoga.
I understand — I’ve been there. My nerve-pinching backbend is only one example of how I’ve ignored my body’s wisdom in favour of an aesthetically pleasing shape.
But, after years of practising and teaching, I came to realise the postures themselves rarely caused my injuries — instead, the injuries were born from ego, which manifested as the selfish and misguided need to “prove myself”.
What was I trying to prove? Maybe that I belonged in the yoga community I loved so much, where an advanced physical practice is often mistaken for real dedication. Perhaps, I just wanted to be good at something, after a lifetime of feeling not good enough.
The students I teach have similar reasons for their endless striving — they’re afraid of looking stupid, and they don’t want to be singled out for, what they perceive as, being the weakest member of class.
Ultimately, we’re all trying to do our best, on and off the mat, and this desire isn’t inherently wrong. The problems start when we associate being “good” at yoga with ignoring our body’s natural intelligence.
We equate progress with pain, and when that pain becomes unbearable, we renounce yoga, one of the most potent healing practices available.
A change in perspective is drastically needed.
In my opinion, a good yogi isn’t someone with an arsenal of fancy postures, who’s body is always ready for the deepest variation. Instead, they’re someone who practices with a considerable amount of deliberateness.
They trust their body, even when that body requires rest.
They use blocks, straps, bolsters, and blankets to support their practice.
They’re not afraid of being the only person in a class who needs to modify.
And, finally, they come to understand their body is exquisitely unique.
It’s taken me a long time to realise less is more when it comes to yoga. In part, this is thanks to the injuries I sustained.
You see, injuries aren’t a bad thing — they’re an invitation for self-reflection.
Mine acted as a mirror for my ego. With each sprain, tear, and pinch, I came closer to understanding my need for validation, which allowed me to dig deeper into why I felt that way. And awareness is the first step to real change.
These days, whenever the need to prove myself rises from my subconscious, like some insidious serpent, I take a purposeful step back (even if I don’t need to).
And what about Instagram challenges? Well, I’ve renounced them, for the most part, unless the prizes are just too good.
