My Movement Story

Context is everything. That is what I have learned so far in life. Everyone comes to their yoga practice with a backstory, and I would like to share mine with you. Why, you might wonder, is that so important? Let me explain.

This year I joined a free class called "A Year of Living Brilliantly". It's a series of 52 videos that are each 5 minutes, taught by 52 different people over the course of a year. After you watch the video, questions are posed and you are invited to give a response.

The last video I watched was about the importance of telling your story. The question that followed was two fold; how are you hiding, and how do you want people to see you? These are hard questions! I had to really think about them.

This is what I wrote -

I'm not sure if words will really translate how I want to be seen, but the best words I can come up with are "delightful flawed", approachable, trustworthy, and a support person for deep and meaningful change. In my line of work, it's easy to be put up on a pedestal. From there it's a long way to fall. I wish people to see me as someone with two feet on the ground, someone who has struggled just as they are struggling, someone who understands how it feels to be stiff, unstable, anxious, weak, and quite frankly a hot mess. With a relatable teacher, the process of yoga is less daunting. Acceptance flows more freely, and it is acceptance that is the catalyst for change.

Here is my movement story -

Someone first suggested I practice yoga when I was in my early 20s. I had never heard of it. I was considering signing up for weight-lifting classes. I needed to do something because my back and neck hurt all the time, my shoulder had popped partially out of the joint several times and the idea that it could continue to pop out at any moment freaked me out. I also knew that I was pretty weak. Yes I walked and rode my bike, but structurally, I could feel that I was unstable. My other concern was the frequency of panic attacks that I was having; racing heart, fear of dying, difficulty breathing, I had all of the symptoms. My mind spun in circles that left me constantly anxious.

The person I spoke with suggested yoga because she claimed it was a more balanced approach to gaining strength than lifting weights. I took her advice and signed up for classes at a studio. All class there were taught in Iyengar style. I can remember the first class, it was all-levels for women only.

I attended class wearing thick, grey sweatpants and a super baggy t-shirt with something written on the front. I was the only one in this sort of attire. The studio felt soothing and slightly terrifying. Ropes hung on the walls and a piece of large equipment stood on one side of the studio. There were blocks, and straps, and wool blankets, and sticky mats. None of it was familiar. The windows were draped with jewel-tone red curtains, the air carried the smell of patchouli, and the wood floor creaked as we set up our mats. In one corner of the room there was an alter with candles and small statues.

When class began, I realized that setting up in the first row was a mistake. The teacher, in a tank top and tiny shorts that fit loosely around her hips and ended with a cuff at the upper thigh, began to teach. She chirped the name of a pose in Sanskrit, and everyone but me popped right into it. Although I cannot recall the sequence we practiced, I do remember that I couldn't really do any of the postures, except the last one, Savasana. The one where you lie down, try to relax, and breathe.

I like to joke that it was the one pose that kept me coming back, but it's absolutely true. Never underestimate the power of a good Savasana.

After a few mixed-level classes, I decided to take beginner level classes. When I met the teacher, I saw her eyes widen as she silently assessed my kyphotic back. I was hoping to learn the postures that I saw everyone else practicing. Instead she had me hold onto a wooden dowel that was threaded through two ropes. From there I bent my elbows and knees and tried to straighten my curved upper back. Those were the types of things she had me do. I became discouraged and after a series of 10 classes, and quit. I tried again on and off at the same studio several times before I stopped completely for a year or two.

I swung around to yoga again when I was pregnant with my first child. Even though the first go around wasn't a fit, yoga seemed the right thing to do. The class was pre-natal, Iyengar style. The teacher's name was Gina, she was amazing. We had time to form a community through sharing our experiences, and we practiced postures and modifications of postures. Gina spoke clearly and gave the English names along with the Sanskrit names. She made us feel at ease and for the first time, the practice felt accessible.

When I was six months pregnant, I gave up the prenatal class and my job to move from the midwest to San Diego with my husband and our two cats. Just an FYI, no-one wants to hire you when you are 6 months pregnant. It was a lonely time for me and the vulnerability that comes with the last stage of pregnancy was amplified by being so far from everyone and everything I knew. So I turned to yoga.

I found an Iyengar studio in the area and signed up. The problem was, I hated it. The teacher set up the class as a competitive experience. Star students and their perfect postures were showcased on a regular basis. Why couldn't we just be more like those people? Looking back, I can see that this instructor didn't actually understand how to teach. I quit yoga, again.

After my son was born, I tried to squeeze back into my pre-pregnancy jeans. I couldn't get them past my knees. We were living very small paycheck to very small paycheck. Rent ate up half of our income every month. A new wardrobe was out of the question. As I pulled my maternity pants back on, I thought again of yoga.

There was a park located a stone's throw from our condo complex. I could see the park from our kitchen window. I wandered over with my son tucked into the baby sling, he hated the stroller. There were yoga classes offered for $110 for a series of 10 classes. It seemed like an astronomical amount of money sink into this experience, but I needed something for me, something to help me feel human again, so I used money from birthday gifts that I had saved and signed up.

The community center room where classes were held was carpeted and everyone was set up with large, padded, exercise mats. The teacher, Shelley, was in front. The room was dark except for one lit candle, centered in front of Shelley's mat. She welcomed me with her beautiful lipstick smile, and offered me one of the exercise pads. I refused and set up my thin sticky mat on the thinly carpeted floor.

From there she walked us through a sequence. She encouraged us to breathe. In the beginning, I bristled against what seemed to me, a sappy gooey style of speaking. She talked about love, about loving yourself. Often, she read poems or short passages from books that were inspiring or calming, usually they were about love.

She encouraged us to notice our bodies, our minds, our emotions. She moved us slowly and purposefully. She rarely left her mat and instead taught us through verbal cues and demonstrating postures. She never adjusted anyone, she just let you be, allowed you to experience where you were without judgement or should's or ought's.

It didn't take long for my stiffness toward her to melt. I recognized that she wasn't sappy, she really meant what she said and how she said it. Just writing this story about her makes the tears of gratitude flow. I had to pause, blow my nose, and dab my eyes.

Shelley was the first teacher that made me feel like I could do yoga, on my own. She was the first teacher that helped me feel okay with myself. And she didn't do it in a fancy studio with state of the art equipment. The reason why she was so impactful was because she truly cared and she was incredibly accepting.

Taking her classes helped me understand how to soften, how to listen, how to be, and how to accept the squishier mat (she was totally right it was better). There is one moment that sticks in my mind. We were in Savasana, I had noticed during class how critical I was of my own body. I decided to change the conversation, to love my body just as it was in that moment and to appreciate all it had done for me. It was such a relief to let go of the negativity. And I felt for the first time in a long time that I could truly breathe.

I was her student for four years, even while pregnant with my second baby. I attended several of her yoga retreats and rarely missed a class. During my time with her, I began to consider teaching yoga. She encouraged me.

When we moved to Portland, it was back to square one. Portland is a funny place. It's beautiful, and if you are an outsider, incredibly lonely. It was probably the hardest move I've ever made. The first thing I began looking for after I moved was a yoga class. I tried a few places, but couldn't find the right fit. Shelley was hard to replace.

About 6 months after we arrived in cloudy Portland, we bought a house, our first house and so far our only house. It needed a little work before we moved in. Having two very small children meant having very little time for these kinds of projects. I hired a contractor, her name is Mary. I was lonely, she was kind enough to chat with me. We talked about yoga and she said she had always wanted to do it, but felt that it was too hard.

I told her about Shelley's classes and mentioned the possibility of me teaching a class, a free class. Mary agreed. I invited a mom from my son's preschool and she invited her neighbor (now one of my best friends) to my yoga class. We practiced in my living room. It wasn't the best set up, but it was free. The mom stopped coming after a few classes, but Betty, the neighbor, and Mary continued. After a few months of volunteer teaching, it was clear that I loved it and even more clear that I needed training.

There was a studio in Portland that was at the time run by Sarahjoy Marsh. She offered a 200 hour teacher training program that met one weekend a month for 10 months. It was perfect for me. Under Sarahjoy's watch, I experienced the heat of yoga practice, I learned how to kick up into handstand, how to rise into headstand, how to spiral bones, how to love plank and how to chant. I took classes from various teachers in her studio and enjoyed exploring different teaching styles. It seemed that every cell in my body breathed in what was offered.

Because I couldn't meet one of the requirements for her teacher training - a long weekend retreat, I negotiated taking the training a second year and after completing all of my training, I stayed on for a third year in her mentor program.

Sometime after I completed the teacher training, I noticed something has shifted. My mind, which had always been occupied with a cyclical nurse and rehearse pattern was quieter. I no longer worried if I had said the wrong thing in past conversations or about things I may have done wrong. My mind felt spacious.

Since then, I have studied with other teachers including Leslie Kaminoff. He was the teacher that showed me how to question, and made it clear that teachers do not have all the answers. Leslie taught me that context is everything, that yoga practice is a conversation, and that the shapes of yoga do not exist outside of a human body. He taught me how breathing really works and how it impacts the whole body. He taught me that there is so, so much to learn and to learn you must be humble.

My latest movement adventure took me into the world of Pilates. After a few classes, I signed up for the teacher training program at Cascadia Pilates. The summer before training, I had my butt in the studio several times a week. It was a good feeling, to begin again. The teachers were knowledgable and patient. They guided me toward better movement patterns and helped me understand what I was seeing when looking at human bodies and how they move. They encouraged me to get out of my comfort zone, to see another perspective, to laugh and find joy in movement.

I look forward to more chapters of movement education in the future. Thanks for reading my story and I hope it inspires you to think about your own story. I would love to hear all about it sometime.

Sending love from my mat to yours.

Namaste,

Kathryn

*photo by Monica G. Nettle Photography