The Not-so Pretty Side Of​ Yoga

I've noticed how people on the cover of yoga magazines always look so pretty. They're dressed to the nines in the latest yoga gear, hair perfectly placed around their bursting smiles. The cover model has perfected whichever advanced yoga posture they are showcasing that month. Now don't get me wrong, I respect these magazines (and to be honest, I am one of those yogis that can contort her body into most of those poses). I was born with ligaments that bend like Gumby, and because of the anatomy of my body, this is possible, not because I have some special gift or I'm by any means more "enlightened" than the less bendy. As I glance over these magazines from time to time, I begin to daydream on what it would look like to show the not so pretty side of yoga? Those days when we are not at our best but we show up to the mat and practice regardless. I will say the further down the yogic path I go the more layers are revealed, and some of my most gifted teachers have reaffirmed to me that this path is not always pretty.

My own story has not been so picture perfect. A few years into practice, I hit a wall where I could hardly stay on my mat most days. I would ride my bike to the hot studio for noontime vinyasa, and halfway through my mind would be racing all over. I'd strategize while holding warrior II pose how quickly I could run out of the room so that the teacher wouldn't notice. I never did run out, but, I wanted to. After class, I'd walk my bike home, physically and emotionally wrung out, vowing never to return. Yet, I would return the very next day. It was as if this power larger than me, wilder than me, and certainly stronger than me, was calling me back to my mat again and again.

It wasn't just the hot yoga. I'd practice all styles: Acro, Sivananda, Hatha and Bikram. I remember one class, where I cried for half the class. I tried to keep the volume down but my dripping nose was hard to tame. About an hour into the class I was in child's pose, and the teacher asked if I was OK. I looked up at her surprised and answered, "Sure" as if to say, "This isn't normal behavior for yoga?" You see, I didn't see anything wrong. I'd studied yoga enough to know my resistance, or emotional release to practicing was a good thing. Sometimes we need to move through the muck, and that isn't pretty! I mean there's two sides to the coin. We all know those cloud nine classes where we leave feeling like we've hit enlightenment and everything and everyone is beautiful. But, my buttercups, if that's all you've experienced (and you know who you are out there), you've been to a handful of classes and you've just discovered lululemon's wunder under pant. Strap your yogi toes on, you're in for a ride! The layers we can experience through yoga are broader than anything we can imagine because we are broader than anything we can imagine. I've heard it said that there's beauty in being able to experience deeper pain because it raises the bar for us to experience deeper joy. If we look at these emotional waves simply as passing scenery on this journey we call life, our yoga practice is going to hold us to this, and that means experiencing everything. Yoga is here to make us grow; it's here to bend us and break us down to reveal our true essence. It's here to ask us to show up again and again, day in and day, and look deeper.

As a yoga teacher, I have a front row seat in witnessing the resistance: the darting of the eyes, looking to see who's doing what, checking one's watch or cell phone, watching to see what I'm doing. I get it. We'd prefer to be anywhere but where we are. Yet, the practice of yoga is about continuously coming home to ourselves, no matter the distraction. And when I say home, I'm not talking about the box you own with four walls. I mean that body you reside in, that body that is sitting here reading this. You need to stay in the space where you close your eyes long enough to see the internal workings and landscapes of your own vast soul; the space that stands on the precipice of endless spaciousness. We often fear diving into it. That space some days is hard to even touch our toes into, fearing it could suddenly become a giant wave that eats us alive. I've come to see that this space is kinder than we first think. It's calling our attention like a needy child and it says, "Pay attention to me, there's so much more here to me, and I need you to see it, I need you to allow all of me to be here."

So, my theory is this: I think we have to earn our space on our mats. And by that, I certainly don't mean that only an elite few are allowed to practice yoga. ALL are welcome, and all should come (if they so are called). To earn your space on the mat simply takes patience, continuous patience. I say this to empower all of us, and encourage those who might need reassurance, those who have wanted to flee the room, those unable to keep their eyes from darting everywhere, those who can't quiet their minds. I say to you, "It's OK honey bunches, have patience with your sweet self, and just keep coming." Staying true to my practice has led me to a place where I can humbly say to myself, "Yes, dammit, I've earned my spot on this mat," (even on my not so pretty days; especially on those days)! I'm grateful now that I don't want to flee the room. The resistance has lessened and softened. It's not always pretty and sure as heck it isn't always fun, but it's home now, no matter what it looks like.