A couple of months ago I started attending a local yoga studio that’s near my work and many things I do. I had been working myself up to attending a class there for awhile since it’s been years since I’ve done public yoga classes with any sort of regularity. This has been in part because of physical ailments I deal with and in part because of Covid, which interrupted my in person yoga teacher training a few years ago. I knew if I attended a class that everything in my body would be tight and many things would hurt. But I knew I longed to take classes again and that for many reasons, now was the right time. 

As I’ve been attending classes at this studio I have come to discover that the classes there are among the hardest yoga classes I have ever taken (regardless of my physical limitations) and the other people in classes are some of the most flexible and seasoned yogis I have ever practiced with. The teacher is also legit. She doesn’t just take you through a generic vinyasa practice, but dives deeply into the alignment of the poses, and gives cues to fine-tune the integrity and expression of poses, including even where your pinky toe should be pointing or how to rotate your right rib cage. I have literally heard cues for parts of my body I never would have even considered bringing my focus to before!

These classes have enticed the parts of me that seek personal growth, a devoted community, and a more refined yoga practice. These classes have also been an absolute nightmare for me. And I mean an excruciatingly painful nightmare in which I have cried both on and off of the mat. More than once. To clarify, the nightmare is not so much from the physical pain and pushing my body to its limit, though that part hasn’t been so great either, but it comes from the emotional pain of being in such challenging classes. You see, what arises in yoga on our mats is really no different than the issues we work through off of the mat – our insecurities, our looping narratives about ourselves, our projections about others. And for me, to be in a class in a room full of many people who are strong, agile, and flexible, and where I can’t do most of the stuff even if I tried my hardest, is extremely challenging for me because my focus goes to comparisons; “Look at what she can do! I can’t do that! What if I’m not wanted here and don’t belong if I can’t keep up? Why am I not more flexible? Why won’t this pain go away? They’re going to think I’m not really trying. I’m so frustrated with myself.” And on and on and on. 

For many reasons, I decided to do a private session with the teacher. It was wonderful. She got to learn more about my physical limitations, and I got to be honest about all that’s been coming up for me, physically and emotionally, in the classes. I think a part of me was worried she was going to say I didn’t belong in her classes if I couldn’t keep up, while other parts of me trusted her and knew this would not happen. There were many takeaways from our session, one of which was that she reflected to me that I show up in classes and take the same spot up against the wall, I stay small and occupy very little space on my mat and in the class, and that I am quite shy. (Those of you who are reading this who know me well would probably not describe me as shy.) She was completely accurate though, and it challenged me to sit with the reality of how I’ve been showing up in her classes; I’ve been forcing myself to power through intense pain, push past physical limits, and working hard to make sure no one notices me being “bad” or “weak” at yoga. All of this was my looping narrative from a place that was blended with a comparing part of me and the very idea of of being “good” or “bad” at yoga is highly incongruent with the purpose of yoga. I was taking a sacred practice and turning it into a binary and something to achieve! 

One of the other offerings she had was for me to rest more in class and perhaps even to do a resting pose as frequently as every other pose. She suggested I try to practice by doing a challenging pose, then find a resting pose, do a challenging pose, then rest. Regardless of what everyone else is doing in the class, I should try to keep coming back to rest. When I told my husband I was going to do this in tonight’s class his first response was, “Oh man, that is going to be SO hard for you!” He knows me well.

I walked into class tonight and rolled out my mat at the opposite end of the room than I usually go; farther from the exit, a middle spot. And then I actually followed through…hard pose or two…rest…hard pose or two…rest….again and again and again. At various points the class was doing arm balances and backbends and holding downward dog for a long time, and I was doing my own thing and resting. A whole lot of resting. It was pretty glorious. And when I was in child’s pose resting at one point, the teacher still came over to me to offer a supportive assist. When I was in a more active pose she still offered me positive, supportive feedback. I was not any less of a valuable member of the community because I was choosing to rest. And, not surprisingly, I felt the most connected I have thus far to the lovely people around me and I found myself showing up in a more warm, friendly, bubbly nature. I showed up as me. 

The big difference in how I participated in class tonight was not that I did more or less asanas or mastered or did not master a particular pose. Tonight I got to show up authentically as myself on the mat. I honored my needs, I did what felt good for me, I took breaks, and I didn’t push myself to be more like anyone around me. And as I did that, there was a freedom from the mind and comparisons and all of the stories. I looked around the room less, I was kinder to myself, and I found that I felt quite tenderly towards myself throughout the practice. 

I truly believe if you have a yoga or meditation practice that your work, your stuff, will follow you there, just as your stuff finds you in deep intimate relationships, in therapy, and anywhere else where you allow yourself the time and space to be vulnerable. And, I also sincerely believe that if you stick with these practices and if you work with what comes up in these vulnerable spaces, you can also find freedom.