Musings on a decade

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Here’s what I have found in My 12 years of practicing yoga….

My practice is 180° from what it was when I started.
Well, that’s not completely true… My first public yoga class I took was in 2013, after my father had passed away. I was depressed. I had racing thoughts. I was drinking more alcohol than my body could keep up with all to mask the pain I was feeling. I stumbled into a rest and restorative yoga class at the Yoga Place in Ephrata taught by owner Suzanne Accardo. (If you’ve never been to one of her restorative classes, then I suggest you book one right this minute. No really, open another tab. Book a class and then come back and finish reading this blog post. I’ll wait. Okay great, where was I?)

Suzanne’s restorative class had a total of perhaps six poses, maybe seven. She used multiple blankets, blocks and props and even taught us how to build a zed, which is essentially a yoga blanket tower that you use to prop your knees, calves, and ankles. What I experienced in this yoga class that I had wandered into by chance, was nothing short of a life-changing experience. For the first time since I lost my dad, I was able to take a full breath. I could stop clenching my jaw. I was able to pause the racing thoughts even if just for a moment. But that was enough. That class started me on a path that is now an integral part of who I am.

After that class I went sporadically to the Yoga Place. Eventually winding up in a Les Mills class at my local rec center. Les Mills body flow or body balance as it’s now called, is not a yoga class. It’s a fitness stretching class which includes Pilates + some dance. As with many gyms, this class and other group fitness classes I took were completely focused on attaining a specific aesthetic. Read: thinness. I went down the rabbit hole of disordered eating to include, but not limited to counting calories, MyFitness pal, cutting out entire food groups, starving myself, not fueling my body to support not only exercising, but also taking care of two toddlers. All the while still a recovering alcoholic and finding my way back from the depression that plagued me when my father passed.
I would not say that this was a healthy relationship with movement. My body dysmorphia was so severe, that even though I would have been considered” straight size”, when I looked in the mirror I saw a whale and I hated her. The platform I took was from the internal dialogue that I was the fattest person in the class and therefore othered in public yoga classes. Partially true in that I was othered but not that I was any less deserving to be there than anybody else.
This platform, along with the American tradition of commoditizing everything we love, got me to yoga teacher training. Which is a troupe I see over and over again in the yoga universe. Meaning; student falls in love with yoga for one reason or another. feels special. Takes a teacher training. Over and over until now we are at a point where you can’t throw a stone without hitting a white yoga teacher.

but I digress…

I was lucky enough to find my way to an incredible program run by Stephanie Trump Johnson in Hershey, PA. This year-long program would break me open in the best way possible. Studying yoga history and philosophy validated some long-held beliefs of my own and I felt seen, held, respected and cared for in a way that I hadn’t experienced before.
This began to change my relationship with yoga and would forever influence The path I was on.
I learned to approach yoga from a non-attachment and egoless place. Don’t get me wrong, my ego still likes to sneak up on me and take over sometimes. But none of us are perfect and we are all a work in progress.
I believe strongly that my relationship to yoga is similar to my relationship with God. It’s personal. It’s private. And there’s no right or wrong way to practice. Yoga is not a practice of our own here in America. Yoga is an ancient practice delineated from Black, Brown and South Asian communities long long before we in the west ever came into the picture. I believe learning yoga history and philosophy is due diligence and our responsibility as white yoga practitioners in the west. Only then can we begin to understand our own personal relationship with yoga. Emphasis on “begin”. There are not many of us who will reach enlightenment in this lifetime. We may never.

These days my practice is slow. Maybe two or three poses if that. Mostly meditation and breath. Strike that, mostly breath and meditation followed by the occasional addition of Asana. I don’t see this particular season of my yoga practice as being either good or bad. It just is. And it’s exactly what it’s supposed to be for where I’m at right now. And what’s funny is that people I know in the yoga community whom I’ve known the longest or seen their story start with yoga in a physical sense- I’ve observed almost every one of them progress slowly but assuredly towards a more mindful and meditative practice. Of course that’s not a blanket statement for everyone, but this has been my experience with the people I’ve met along the way.

If nothing else, I hope you enjoyed my yoga origin story. At most I can only hope that you come away from this blog post examining your own “why” of practice. It’s important to stay humble and to constantly check in with yourself. This is just the beginning.

Be well,

Jenny