Toward Radically Inclusive Practice

This morning I attended a yoga class that was AFGO. A recent class participant delightfully gave us this phrase: Another Fabulous (or pick another F-word) Growth Opportunity. :) I’m using the phrase facetiously, because I am glad to have this learning experience, and at the same time with a sigh because… yeah, these experiences aren’t always pleasant.

The class was taught by a very proficient teacher, and I enjoyed his manner of teaching, friendly and clear. The class was through a very large and respected yoga company, at a conference that I respect. In the description of the class, the first phrase was “Radically inclusive practice.” When I read that, I felt happy, and I made sure to get up early enough to take part. “This is a practice for me,” I thought. I had an expectation, silent and unnoticed, of safety and belonging, of all levels and body types being explicitly welcomed and cared for. In addition, because of the “credential” of the conference and yoga company, I also had an unconscious expectation of innovation. I was excited to see the new and radical ways that inclusivity would be brought into the practice.

As you might be able to guess from the long description of my expectations… I didn’t experience any of this. There were a lot of sun salutations, moving from planks to downward-facing dogs pretty quickly, a warrior sequence… These are very standard practices, and the teaching and cuing was clear and proficient.

The thing is, these practices were so quick that one couldn’t (or I couldn’t) settle into them or bring mindfulness into the body placement. And while there are SO MANY yoga poses that exist, the ones chosen can be hard on the knees and shoulders. To move quickly through them repeatedly is, I suppose, just great for those who are in small, limber, fit bodies, and who are very accustomed to doing lots of yoga. And actually, I suppose that the majority of the participants of this conference were in this category. I broke off after three sun salutations and began doing other poses that felt good to me, when I slowly realized that it would be ludicrous to damage my already-sore shoulder just to fit in and match the movements of strangers.

But this is the thing about inclusivity: What about the rest of us? Anyone with sore shoulders, any one less fit, anyone who doesn’t do much yoga and wanted to try it out… we were on our own.

There was me, and I count. There was a pregnant woman in front of me. I was so busy trying to keep my own self safe that I couldn’t look around very much, but there must have been others in the room struggling to keep up, or whose minds were racing thinking, “Can I do this? Should I do this?” or even, “What is wrong with me? I don’t belong here.”

This last one is what is heartbreaking to me, and it’s what gets me all riled up. I teach gentle movement myself in the context of the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction curriculum, and because it is a class for the whole community, I am so used to giving instructions about nourishing the body and not harming it, giving modifications of ways to make poses more or less challenging. This is what I do. And still, even with all that I practice and preach about giving permission to ourselves, as a person in a larger body, I felt some shame in making modifications and practicing how I needed to practice, ashamed of my capabilities and my needs.

Let me be clear: I know that my own feelings are my responsibility, and that working with shame and self-acceptance is my own practice. No teacher and no class can make me feel this way.

Years and years ago, I would have practiced to the point of injury, rather than be different. And years after that, I would have avoided the practice altogether, needing to protect myself. Today I was able to attend, to engage, while making an effort to listen to and honor my body.

In the old days, I couldn’t have handled the truth of my shame and sadness, so anger would’ve swooped in to protect and cover everything. Today I did feel some twinges of anger, but I was able to stay with the feelings of sadness, betrayal, and disappointment without sliding into over-the-top anger and judgement of the teacher, the conference, and the blameless, fit participants. This hard-won attentiveness to my body, mind, and heart allows me to come away relatively unharmed — physically and also internally, by bitterness and misplaced angst.

It also allows me to perform alchemy: turning the disappointing experience into learning, self-examination, and new perspective on my own practice and teaching.

After experiencing this and writing about it, I have more clarity about my beliefs around movement practice. I believe that there should be all types of yoga classes for all types of people, and that these classes should be clearly described in order for people to make informed choices, in service of “doing no harm” to participants. I believe that it is the job of a skilled teacher not only to know yoga poses and tell people how to do them, but to do whatever they can to make the class serve the participants. I believe that a BIG part of this is helping participants to listen to and honor their bodies. So often, we are disconnected from our bodies, and I believe that yoga is about connecting body, mind, and heart. And I believe in inclusivity, that we all belong, and that a good teacher fosters safety and belonging, not just more the majority, but for all.

I come away more determined and driven in how I practice and in how I lead movement. My intention is more clear to me: to seek practice that cultivates self-love and self-care, not at a superficial level, but at the very heart.