“Yoga always gives me exactly what I need if I stay long enough to listen. For example, if I am seeking peace, my practice may give me peace, but may come first in the form of awareness. If I am resisting myself and life and seeking peace, the awareness will be uncomfortable, and first may feel like chaos, but being with that may lead to peace. Yoga has taught me that if I stay with the practice, my feelings will transform into surrender which ultimately leads to peace.”
“And, as tends to happen, it took me 7 months teaching yoga in Cambodia, several near break-ups, a lot of self-medication, 7 more months back in Vermont with my family, quite a bit more deeply damaging inner turmoil, excessive screaming, crying, and guilt-tripping before I finally mustered the courage to end things for good.
And I know this seems like more of a story about a shitty relationship than anything about yoga, but what I’m really trying to say is that throughout four of the most tumultuous years of my life to date, yoga was the one constant. The one thing I always had with me.
Away from my friends, my family, the people and things that I hold most dear - yoga became my family.
When I needed to pause, reflect, let something go - rather than crawling into my mom’s bed or calling my brother, I would get on my mat.
Yoga was my confidence, my love, my peace. When I was in the darkest of spots, yoga brought people (strangers, really) into my life that reminded me what love should look like. Sharing the practice of yoga with my students began to teach me what I should be seeking in my own life.
And even after I had returned to the familiarity of my parents’ house in Vermont, being in the studio, teaching, was the time that I felt most at peace. Most centered. Most grounded. Most myself.
Yoga brought me home. Yoga brought me myself.”
“The teacher dimmed the lights, lit candles and spoke in a gentle tone that had an effect on my Pitta driven psyche. I slowed down. I sank in. And I fell in Love. I fell in Love with the quieter places inside me - places I had rarely visited.”
“ My practice has evolved in that I don’t get debilitating anxiety and walk away from the building I was about to step into. I was so self conscious of my body and self when I started out. It took tremendous courage to show up. I used to verbally beat myself up about not being able to get inside the door to class or do all of the postures. I was self conscious about my weight, sweating, how I looked and the list goes on and on. It’s fucked up how women are taught to see themselves in American culture. Societal expectations place lot of pressure on people to be something they’re not or could never physically be.”
“I’ve always felt fat and strong and I have a complex relationship with that pairing. There are times when I fully lean into this dichotomy, owning my own body, feeling content, proud, comfortable in my size, allowing myself to take up space. There are other times when I wish away that fat part of this body equation. Where I would gladly shrink down and take up less space. As someone fat and strong, sports/fitness is a complicated and complex landscape. Where do I belong? How do I fit, both figuratively and literally? When I first explored yoga, these were still prevalent questions and concerns. Classes filled with lithe trim people, their long limbs folding easily into twists and binds, legs floating skyward into inversions, while my thickness kept me moreplanted, made it so crossed legs and folded torsos looked different than those elvish bodies surrounding me. All those Legolases to my squat strong Gimli.”