I didn’t know that Yoga was such a place to suffer. My preconceived notion of it was that it was a place to stretch and relax—it’s not. Yoga is hard for me. As a big, tall and admittedly inflexible guy, yoga kicks my butt. Yet, I find myself continuing to go while also encouraging many of my clientele and friends to join me. According to Bessel Van Der Kolk’s landmark book on Trauma, The Body Keeps the Score, yoga can be more efficacious in the healing process for trauma than any medication we’ve studied in the context of treating Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Yoga isn’t just for people with PTSD though; in fact, you do not need to have a mental health diagnosis to benefit from yoga and I’d say that yoga studios actually need to lean into the trauma piece more to bring out the trauma community.
Yoga comes in many forms and variations. Some classes lead you through positions at a quick tempo resulting in a more cardiovascular workout while other classes like Surrender Yin are meant to stay in poses and positions for several minutes at a time. There’s “heat flow” yoga that many of us have heard a lot about (not ready for that yet). Yoga studios do a good job at providing different levels of yoga from beginner to advanced classes. I can tell you that I have focused my attention on the Surrender form of yoga which I have found to be an accessible and safe way to try out the practice. I want to tell you a little bit about my experience in class.
We start the hour-long class by lay on our backs with our arms by our sides with our palms pointed towards the ceiling to promote openness and receiving. The room is dark, warm and generally soft music plays and the instructor sometimes starts to speak and sometimes doesn’t. We lay for sometimes 5 minutes before exploring several poses within the hour. My mind is noisy about my day—it’s in the past and in the future—then I remember to focus on my breath. I inhale thought through my nose slowly and exhale at the same pace and I notice the sensations I feel in my body (I’ve gotten better at “locking in”). Then, as if only a moment has passed, the instructor will explain how to enter into our first pose of the class. I’ve yet to go to a yoga class that is the same as another class. The instructors do a great job at mixing things up. Nonetheless, my suffering begins.
The first time I went, my suffering started in the form of embarrassment, “I can’t get into this pose, but this pregnant lady seems just fine?” Immediately, my brain wanted my body to leave until the instructor tells us to breathe into the part of our body that needs the breath and to sink further into the pose. That there is no right or wrong. That the best students know their limits and what their bodies need. So I breathe and I try to sink. Embarrassment, like all feelings I have, was temporary and faded (but still returns at times in my practice of yoga). I thought about what I tell my clients, “make space for the hard stuff. Allow it in. And treat yourself with compassion when you do so.” So, rather than getting up, I tried to sink into the poses and at times I felt proud and at other times I validated the pain of the pose. I continued to try and find my breath throughout. About halfway though my first class, something very unexpected happened and anyone that’s been to yoga knows this already, but I was a newbie. My eyes were closed and I’m in a pose on my stomach with one of my knees pulled up to my shoulder when I suddenly feel two hands on my lower back. The instructor gently presses on places of tension and massages this part of my back allowing my body to loosen and sink further into the position, leaning further into the pain and suffering until I can find my breath to work through any discomfort reminding me that pain is temporary. Sometimes the instructor will gently correct your pose, lovingly.
It’s in these movements and in the suffering that accompanies it where the magic of Surrender Yoga really happens. When we suffer and are supported in sitting in it (by ourselves and the instructor) we get a window into time that we can see ourselves very clearly (Therapy can provide this too). Sometimes I see the 12 year old me and other times I see a high school version who was insecure and naive. Last time I went to Yoga, I spent a lot of time with the present day me. And in this window, we have just enough time to step through and talk to ourselves. Or better yet, sometimes we just need to sit with ourselves with understanding, love and compassion.
“I love you,” I say.
“It’s okay,” I tell myself.
“I know this is hard and I’m right here.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m happy that you’re here and that I get to be with you.”
“We’re almost done.”
Other times I visualize giving myself a hug and embracing. This visualization isn’t something I often think to stop and do on the busy day-to-day that us Metro-Detroiters live.
To summarize my thoughts: I didn’t realize yoga would be so challenging physically and mentally. But I’ve already learned that yoga provides a space to suffer. And in the moments of suffering, I get the opportunity to explore the relationship with myself and these are very delicate and challenging moments for me. Yoga invites me to stay in that moment and sink into it (literally and figuratively). When I’m the pose, there is no saving or escape. There’s only the moment to see how I’ll treat and support (or not support) myself through it.
Then we sit cross legged, breathe deeply, exhale and say, “Namaste”. And I exit.