Michelle O'Neil,Writer

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

One of the communities I have just started teaching in hosted a free class. It was an effort to have people come out and try yoga, to meet me as a new teacher, to see if my class might be a fit for them. Usually there are about twenty people in a class. The free class surprised us as people came out in droves. We had to move to a big ballroom. I had to teach from a stage so they could all see and hear me.

These were mostly retired folks with a wide sweeping range in ability levels. I kept the class simple.

Some had never tried yoga before. I reminded them if they only kept breathing mindfully, they were doing just fine. They were practicing yoga.

I reminded them to listen to their own bodies and take a break whenever it was right for them. That no one is “good” at yoga, and no one is “bad” at yoga. It meets you right where you are and gives you just what you need.

In a large group it is impossible to keep your eyes on every student all the time, but one in particular struggled. I did what I could to make sure she was safe.

After class she came up to me. She had some physical challenges that made it hard for her. She asked, with tears in her eyes,

“Did I do okay?”

Of course, I reassured her. But I didn’t have the exact right words at the ready to express what was in my heart.

“Did I do okay?” Isn’t that the big question for all of us? When we look back at our lives, isn’t that what we’ll be wanting to know?

People living with disability or physical impairments, or even just beginners are working SO MUCH HARDER than others, and often at the same time beating themselves up for not being able to do this, that or the other thing, (yoga or not) like everyone else.

Having those very real human emotions, feeling defeat and doubt, working through tears, but showing up anyway. This inspires me. This is honorable and courageous.

I wish I had thought to tell her that.

Go with your own gut. Trust your own intuition. If I had to offer one piece of advice to anyone that would be it. Every time I have gone against my own inner guidance, it has resulted in pain. Growth always comes from pain so I won’t call those moments mistakes, but I am all for learning in an easier way these days, if I can help it.

As a parent, people offer advice. They mean well. But they do not know my child as well as I do. I listen. And then decide what rings true. That bit of advice is good. Let me implement it. That bit of advice is misguided. It doesn’t apply to me and my child. It might be true for the advice giver, but not for us.

What if I can’t feel my gut? What if life around me is so busy, so noisy, I don’t even know what I think or feel?

Time to get on the mat.

Moving and breathing and stretching and making space, the outer most layer of angst drops off. Soon, the mind focuses more keenly on the poses. Where is my arm? Where are my legs? How’s my form? Focus, focus. Focus on something other than the problem.

Moving and breathing.

Eventually the practice comes down to the floor. Forward folds invite silence.

Nothing to do but listen.

That inner voice, the Higher Self is always lovingly waiting in the quiet.

You DO know what to do.

You also know what not to do.

Listen.

Trust.

The other day I clicked on a FB post about a woman that has multiple personalities, a result of severe childhood trauma. Many of her personalities are artists, each having a very distinctive style. The main personality does not remember the trauma, but one of the personalities does, and she processes it in her artwork. Just the few pictures I saw of that particular personality’s art, haunted me.

So many children suffer in this world and I don’t know why.

Children are suffering in Iraq. In Syria. Human trafficking worldwide, even right here under our noses in the USA. Kids with disabilities, autism, epilepsy, life threatening allergies… poisoning of their water supply, gun violence, so many disabilities. Children are suffering. Children living with domestic abuse, sexual abuse. Unspeakable suffering.

After reading about the artist(s) mentioned above, I woke up in the night sick with the suffering of children. Physically sick. It was too much. What could I do?

Certainly nothing physically tangible at 3AM from my bathroom.

What do I know?

I know love is real.

Back in my bed, hands on my heart, I begin to lengthen my breath.

Breathing in, I breathe in the suffering of our world’s children.

I am a mother.

Breathing out, I breathe out mother’s love to all children suffering in this world.

Breathing in, I take it in. I don’t look away. I breathe in the suffering.

Breathing out I stretch out my mother arms across the universe, hoping wherever they are somehow those who need it feel the only thing I have to give in this moment. My love.

Breathing in, their suffering.

Breathing out, mama.

This breath in. 

This breath out. 

This breath in. 

This breath out. 

At 3AM, I believe,

I have to believe,

it’s not nothing.

Three days a week I teach yoga in the ballroom of a country club overlooking the Atlantic ocean. Once a year there is a fashion show in the ballroom so we take it outside. Today was that day.

Mats on the grass, uneven footing, a big range in ages, I taught a slow class, all on the ground, no up and down. I kept them on their backs, seated, hands & knees and bellies. There was plenty to do.

The sun was hot, but there was a gentle breeze. Blackbirds looked on from a nearby tree and a butterfly hovered around the octogenarian, pretty in pink.

This breath in. 
This breath out. 

Shivasana, final relaxation. On their foreheads I placed a dark cloth scented in lavender from France (a gift from a student). They pulled them over their faces, breathing it in, blocking the sun.

I release and I let go. 

Bringing them back I gently tapped the Tibetan singing bowl, (a gift from another student).

Glancing up from the bowl, my heart soared!

“Open your eyes and look up,” I said.

A flock of pelicans floated right over their heads in V formation.

Nine hours later,

I can still feel the sun on my face.

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The thing I really love about a Vinyasa class is the combo of movement with breath. The energy flow that happens in that practice is the thing that always brought me back to my mat. Now, my practice has to be more static to protect my neck. Repetitive forward folds no longer work for me.

But I miss the flow.

In high school I loved to run, but didn’t do it very mindfully, and always wound up with shin splints. It was the same movement/breath aspect that I loved in running though. Running to me was a moving meditation (before I knew what meditation was). A couple of weeks before my accident, I’d actually bought expensive new running shoes. I was going to give it a go again, this time more carefully, perfecting my stride, my foot strike, yada yada. Since the accident, I’ve been warned against running, it being too jarring and compressing for my neck. So the car wreck not only took away my Vinyasa, but also any hope I had of rekindling a love of running.

One day, thinking about all this, the idea of swimming came to mind. A friend had suggested it before, but I’ve never been very good at it. I can swim well enough to get from A to B in the water. I won’t drown, but I never perfected the strokes, never could quite get the breath right. I had lessons when I was four and once I could doggie paddle well enough to save my life, that was that. As a child, I actually thought I could swim well, until I went to a week-long summer camp and they put me in the “sucky swimmers” group and I wasn’t allowed the privileges of the good swimmers, I had to stay in the shallow end. I was shocked, and embarrassed.

So now, at the ripe ole’ age of 49.5 I’m teaching myself to swim to supplement my yoga practice with a program called Total Immersion. I’d heard about it on a Tim Ferris podcast, where it was mentioned in passing.

I’m really lucky that my neighborhood has a beautiful pool, and I’m in Florida so I can use it year long. I’m learning to get “slippery” in the water. The first couple of drills have me on my back in the water, looking up at the clouds, breathing. I’m just getting started, but have already learned a lot. So far so good.

In the meantime, this exercise (taught to me by my wonderful new physical therapist  Meredith Weiss) allows for a feeling of flow. I’ve been using it as a warm-up in many of the yoga classes I teach. Maybe you’d like to try it too.

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So I should mention the phone call I had with Heather when I got home from my fateful PT appointment wherein I was told the yoga practice I loved so much would have to change for good. Heather is a fellow teacher, a prolific one at that (go there with me to a land where the word prolific translates from writing to teaching yoga). I dare you to try keeping up with all the places she teaches and all the yoga adventures she’s constantly going on. She is a dear friend, one I knew would really “get” what a loss this was. And besides, she’s the one that referred me to this physical therapist!

Starting the car after the appointment, I stopped my tears, and driving home tried to talk myself into being okay with the news that my yoga practice would never be the same. I did my best to jump past the pain to a place where I would take the spiritual leap and find the silver lining immediately. I would be stoic. And besides, there is that dang, “the accident could have been so much worse” ever at the ready telling me I should just be grateful.

As soon as I got home I called Heather. As soon as I heard her voice, I crumbled. I sobbed. I said victimy things I hope she never repeats. She listened with empathy. I felt really, really heard and understood. And then, out of consideration, she spoke in my native tongue (profanity) and for my benefit said,

“Okay, today you cry. Today have the biggest pity party. And when you are done, you will get the F#@K back on your mat, and get on with it.”

And I laughed.

A friend who can hold space for your pain, and also the vision of you moving through it and forward, is special. The kind of friend I want to have, and the kind of friend I want to be.

We’ll call it a Soul Garden Friend.

*click on the photo of Heather to see more of Andrea Blakesberg’s photography.

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I was talking to my friend Andrea about some of the women in a yoga class I teach regularly. They are in their 80’s. One will be 90 this year. They inspire me so much, keeping up with the 50, 60, and 70-year olds like it’s nothing.

“Sometimes I just want to stop class and take their picture,” I said to her. (Of course I don’t, because I am teaching and that would be disruptive).

Social media offers a plethora of yoga images. Lithe, young, bendy women…navigating poses not realistic for most. It’s enough to make people considering yoga run the other way. Frankly, as a woman approaching 50, with a cervical spine that no longer wants to do this and that, those Instagram-esque pics don’t do much for me. They are beautiful, but they don’t inspire me personally. 

The students I teach do.

As we chitter chattered, Andrea said, “I’ll come take their pictures for you.”

What?

Oh…forgot to mention, Andrea is a professional photographer.

“I am all about making women feel seen,” she said. “I would love to photograph them.”

During our conversation we went on to discuss how after a certain age, women in our society become invisible. We kicked it around a bit. We’re both around the same age and we both feel it already. How refreshing to look out toward women in their 80’s who are living vibrant lives?

We agreed to talk more about it. After our conversation, I googled images of seniors doing yoga, and found most of them to be quite generic. I knew Andrea could do better. I wanted photos to reflect who these women are. I wanted to be able to see the strength and wisdom that got them to their 80’s, and almost 90. Not happy, smiling, advertisement photos of old people, but beautiful women with rich life stories. My family recently moved into a new home and I wanted my love of yoga to be reflected there. When I imagined yoga art for the walls this is what I wanted to see.

We set a date.

I wouldn’t say I had to beg, but these ladies are not of the “selfie” generation. They did it, perhaps reluctantly at first, for me. I’ve been teaching them for two and a half years and they trust me. I also promised to gift them each an 8 x 10 of their favorite photo.

The day of the shoot came.

In no time, Andrea had them laughing and completely relaxed. It was magical. The weather was perfect. The women were troopers. They’d already done a full class with me, but stuck around another 90 minutes doing yoga poses for our session.

All three are such gorgeousness.

There is so much more to write on this subject of aging, and being seen, particularly in the yoga world. I plan on unpacking more of it here. But blogs are meant to be short, so I’ll wrap this one up.

Thank you Andrea Blakesberg for your friendship, your beautiful spirit and your generosity in sharing your gift. Thank you for getting chills when we first talked about it and for understanding my tears when I first saw the images you captured of these women I am privileged to know and to learn from.

So I am needing to re-set. I need to really, really learn what is safe for me in this body. In a class where I can’t move at my own pace, I’m on high alert and it is stressful for me. Stressful yoga isn’t what I am going for. Home practice is where it is at for me right now. I can experiment with what works and what doesn’t. I don’t have to rush into a pose to keep up, not knowing how it will affect me later.

When I take the time to do my own thing I realize there really is so much I can do.

There was a time recently, before seeing my new PT, when I was forcing myself to do a Vinyasa flow, even though I didn’t really want to.  I had so much resistance because it didn’t feel good. One day at the end of one of my defeating attempts, hands to prayer, I silently besieged, “Please, give me my practice back.” What I meant was give me joy in my practice again.

I felt so lost, and longed to love yoga as I once had. Doubt would sometimes creep in. Should I even be a teacher if I don’t love it? Am I a fraud? (But I absolutely DO love teaching yoga. I’ve never doubted that).

In the silence of my prayer, what I “heard” back was, “Your practice never left you. You left it.”

I had. I was hurting so often, I didn’t want to do it. It had lost its magic. Yoga had became forced, and not something I looked forward to. It was something I did because I am a teacher, because I should keep up with it, but not because I loved it.

With my new found body knowledge, and new modifications I am back on my mat, differently.

We have a lovely screened patio behind our house. That is where I am doing my personal practice these days. It is so beautiful and tropical. Five years into living in Florida I still can’t get over the weather, the foliage. I practice to the sound of the birds in the morning. Crickets and frogs at night. I take my time. I listen to my body. I don’t do things that will hurt me. Ahimsa. Do no harm.

I’m vigilant with my PT exercises and it feels so good to do them. They are simple, and don’t take a lot of time but the difference they make for my neck is profound.

I also walk a lot. I sometimes do Lauren Ohayan’s Restore Your Core videos (not as often as I should).

Love for my practice is starting to come back. For the first time in a long time, I feel enthusiasm.

And the most wonderful thing….I’m not in daily energy sucking physical pain. This is something I’d almost resigned myself to. It all feels quite vulnerable still, but I sense I am on the right track.

It’s an odd time to begin writing a “yoga blog,” when I feel so “yoga lost” right now. As a student, I have never, not once, heard a yoga teacher say “I am lost with my yoga.” Writing this, I know I can’t be the only one. But I know many teachers personally, and have never heard one admit to struggling this way.

Don’t get me wrong, I love yoga, and I LOVE teaching yoga. It inspires me every day. Immediately after my car accident, the ONLY time I felt good was teaching yoga. It still lifts me up every time I lead a class. I love my students and feel so honored to guide them in their practice. But my own personal practice has been a challenge since the car accident.

Yoga, the way I learned, and the way I love to practice leaves me in pain. For two years I have tried every which-way to make my Vinyasa practice work. I have modified poses. Skipped poses. I have done physical therapy. I have had a rhizotomy procedure, cauterizing a nerve in the neck to stop pain signals, (helped only partially, and not long term). I was with a chiropractor for a long time. I’ve had massage. I did accu-puncture. I have had cortisone injections (great relief, temporary), RPM plasma replacement therapy (did nothing, waste of time and money, at least for me). And on and on it goes.

My friend Heather had been recommending a physical therapist for over a year. One that is also a yoga teacher. I already tried PT with zero effect. It was very generic. I was given an exercise sheet to take home and follow, but it didn’t feel like the exercises were tailored specifically for my body or my injuries. I was doing so many other things, I put Heather’s suggestion on the back burner. But about six weeks ago, I finally went to see her PT.

This PT is very clinical but also seems to intuitively “get” what is happening in my neck and throughout my body. I liked her immediately. She is so smart! Turns out I have a lot of wonky things going on. My right shoulder is an issue, as is my right hip. In my neck, there is structural skeletal damage from the accident that is not going to change, though we can strengthen the muscles surrounding those areas (by the end of most days, my head feels like a heavy weight, and it feels like my neck is struggling to hold it up). She told me side bends and forward folds were not making my neck happy. Good to know. No more chin to chest anything.

She uses a laser, and that, combined with deep tissue work and prescribed exercises had me feeling a lot of relief within a week of our first visit, and it keeps getting better! This is the good news. As the pain began to lift, I was psyched. Soon, I was practically pain free for the first time in two years. Ready to flow! I knew I would modify, but couldn’t wait.

Right out of the gate, one Vinyasa class (even with modifications) had me hurting again for three days. I told the new PT about this. Maybe I hadn’t done something right? Maybe I needed more modifications? Did she have suggestions?

She looked me in the eye and told me the bad news. 

She said with my injuries, if I continue to practice yoga, the way I love to practice yoga, I will wind up making my neck progressively worse and will likely hurt myself.

Huh.

I nodded along, all brave-faced, but inside I was stunned.

All this time I felt like if I just did the right things, eventually my neck would heal, I would get stronger, I would be back in business. I had hope. Hearing her speak, I felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me.

“I’m not saying you can’t practice yoga,” she said. “Just not the way you’ve been. You can definitely practice, but it needs to be a different practice. There is still so much you can do.”

She added that I need more than just yoga. She said I need to do other things to strengthen my body. I have areas of great strength, but also many areas of weakness. Areas where the strong parts are overcompensating for the weak parts. Those imbalances need to be addressed. And oh, maybe a little scoliosis thrown in for good measure.

Vinyasa yoga is the first physical exercise I ever fell in love with. The only one I’ve ever truly stuck with. It has healed me in so many ways. I love it. I know this isn’t the worst thing in the world. My car was totaled with me in it. I could have been killed, or permanently disabled. But it is a great loss. One I am continuing to process.

Difficult as it was to hear those words, I knew she was right. I’d been intuitively pulling back from my Vinaysa practice since the accident. I’d been sporadic, and so cautious, and always in pain after. It hadn’t been fun in a long time. And upset as I was, deep inside...way back.…beyond the immediate feelings of sorrow (and victimhood), I had a glimmer that something good will come from this. It will be something different. Something new. I know it will make me a better teacher. Whatever I learn I bring back to my students. I still have yoga. It will be different.

It was actually kind of a relief for someone to just say it. This isn’t good for you. Stop it. Stop doing it this way.

But it did/does hurt.

After that appointment, I smiled, thanked the PT….like it was all good. It will all be FINE!

Then, I walked out to my car, shut the door, and I cried.

So as not to bore anyone with continuous posts about my neck ailments, I will space those out a bit. Today I want to write a little bit about yoga culture. I have lived in several states and have taken many kinds of yoga, at various places. It is interesting how differently they all operate.

One Vinyasa studio I used to practice at (years ago in a different state than I live in now) was interesting. Teachers would glide in just under the wire and walk to the front of the room, noses in the air. They’d crank up their kickin’ music, no eye contact with students. The cuing was precise, but the teaching seemed like a performance. They were rock stars on stage. No questions allowed from newbies. No time to explore. Keep up, or get out. A couple of teachers there broke through the culture, engaged students, seemed to care about them, but seeing as the owner was the most performancy performer, the trickle down message was yoga cold. Not my style, but bliss for others. Classes were always packed.

One place I practiced almost 20 years ago was at a woman’s home. She was a warm and caring teacher. There were about eight of us who took her Hatha class regularly. The only issue was her teenage daughter. The girl would tromp through and “accidentally” let their wild dog loose on us while we were in Shavasana. Their mother/daughter dynamic was fraught. Can you relax with thick tension in the air? It’s a great thing if you can. I could not. Especially not while getting barked at, or my face licked.

In yet another example in another state, one of my friends wanted to practice yoga, but told the teacher she couldn’t be there often because she has a young adult son with autism. The teacher told her, “Bring him.” She shook her head, “You don’t understand, he’ll be disruptive.” The teacher said, “We’ll take turns taking him outside, spending time with him.” She suggested the village would help care for him so this autism mom, doing the hard work of autism momming could get some yoga in. And they did! And they have been ever since! Intuitively this is how a healthy society should operate, but it blows my mind and chokes me up every time I think of it.

Each studio has its own living, dynamic culture. Some, you walk into and immediately feel warmth and welcome. Everyone knows your name. Some are clinical, all about the business of perfect alignment. Some teachers chitter-chatter throughout their class. Some allow for much silence.

What works for one student might be a complete NO for another. There is no right way for everyone. There are no perfect teachers or perfect yoga environments.

If you’re new to yoga, don’t give up if the first place/teacher you try isn’t for you. If you leave a class feeling more tense or deflated, keep looking until you find a good fit.

Yoga is for everyone, but sometimes you have to do some digging to find yours.

When you do, it is so worth it.