A love letter to my yoga students
I spend countless hours trying to calm down the swirling panic in my brain, that I typically do not notice the dumpster fire that manifests in my physical life. A few weeks ago, my yoga classes were taught on the subject of Saucha, the Niyama that translates loosely to “cleanliness.” Traditionally, keeping your mind and body “clean” and “pure” is one way to practice yoga. I told everyone about how this was the concept I struggled with the most. I say that to them when referencing every concept, during every class that I teach.
The truth is that I struggle with everything that I teach in my classes. And I still love it anyway. I suppose I like to share the messy parts of my life. Usually, people show some kind of acknowledgment, which helps me not feel so crazy. I’ll look around the room as I speak about how I become so physically disorganized when I am stressed, and I see the nods. That helps me heal.
Somehow, I’ve been placed in a role where people listen to the words I have to say and feel genuinely interested in them. That feels moronic. In my deepest heart, I am a sixteen-year-old girl being told:
“You don’t know anything”
“You’re too sensitive”
“I’m older, and know more than you”
I’m not holding on to resentment toward the human beings who taught me how to carry my thoughts. I was not easily guided through life. Trust was not easy in my body. That didn’t start with me. It didn’t get better with me, either. The re-learning has just begun.
So, I’ve tried showing up differently. I started pouring deeper emotions in front of my students. Sharing my human experience. They receive it with open arms and welcome me in like a friend who has always belonged. Whether I, or they, are on the receiving end, the compassionate window in which the tough shit gets validated, I can’t say. My vulnerability is always gifted with grace, and I can only hope that it makes even 1% of a difference for anyone who chooses to show up with me.
What’s better even, when my physical space looks like crap, when everything goes terribly wrong, when my whole body wants to scream at the world and completely give up because it’s not worth it - I can eventually find the golden heart of my experience that is worth sharing. Life has always been difficult and generally unpleasant, and now I get to talk about how that is so normal.
No, I’m not typically talking about the six half-empty seltzer cans and candy wrappers scattered across my desk. I’m not sharing specifics about how my laundry hasn’t been done in 6 weeks. I don’t think anyone needs to know that I am really not practicing Saucha, and instead would just like to talk about how hard it is. Obviously, that’s irrelevant.
The gift of vulnerability and the permission to fall, forget, fuck up, and do it all again is the point. At this point, I do not care if I don’t know anything, if I’m too sensitive, or if I’m not wise enough. My life and my truth are made fuller by unraveling my story for an audience. The goal is never to be perfect, but to be human. I’m grateful to find people who are also trying to be human.