Whew!

This past weekend, I broke up with my yoga studio. I had to. What began as what I thought would be a beautiful journey within myself; body, mind, heart and soul, ended up feeling like being in a relationship with an abusive boyfriend.

Let me explain.

I am not a yogi. I did not have any yoga experience other than a few classes at retreats I had been to in Bali and a few classes online after reading a book by Max Strom and wanting to try to reach what he explained so eloquently in “A Life Worth Breathing”. So when out of the blue, my soul decided that we needed to be in yoga regularly, I followed the inner call and started searching for a studio to go to. At the same time, as synchroncity would work, a friend invited me to go to a “warm-light yoga” class with her at a local hot yoga studio. I went and fell in love with the feeling I had after the class. I felt juicy, relaxed, joyful, accomplished and dare I say it….satisfied with myself. And I wanted more. I signed up for their week long trial package, but when I went back, there was a different instructor that was so different than the first, and I was not a fan. So I decided to try a different studio after the trial week was over.

I found another Hot Yoga studio and they had an offering of a month long trial for $30, which the deal scoring old soul in me was very seduced by. This included unlimited classes and access to an easy to use app to book, reschedule and cancel classes, so that was another positive point on the score board.

I looked at all the available instructors and read their bios and selected my first class based on who I thought would be the best fit for me to jump into the practice with. Funny thing was, when I arrived, there was a substitute and all my research was for naught because I knew nothing about this “new” lady. BUT - the new lady was great. She was warm and encouraging. I felt supported and like I could move ahead without feeling like I was being unnecessarily stimulated, as the heat was humbling enough. I am AuDHD, very introverted and shy until I know I am safe for context here.

My next class was with another encouraging instructor. She was a bit robotic but I could tell her heart was in the right place. She was there to lead you on your own journey and I appreciated that because the next instructors I met were the exact opposite; there to get their egos fed first - through the students in the room. These were the ones who never monitored the heat until we were all dropping like flies only to tell us that we were giving up on ourselves. Um, no lady. I am dying from heat exhaustion. I kid you not - the thermometer read 120+ in those classes. They were the instructors who were so intent on correcting everyone’s form, not asking or checking in to see if maybe there was a deformity there (which there was on a fellow student - hell, even my hip sits askew from an old car wreck and my left side cannot do what my right side can). These corrections were done gruffly at times and were not at all necessary.

Most of the classes were packed with too many bodies, so if you NEEDED room to breathe and move, you were stuck with just a few options. Which then locked you in with just a few instructors whether you liked them or not. Why they believed it is a good idea to pack a room like a sardine can, especially when some of the members sweat like they are standing under a waterfall is just beyond me. It was very off-putting.

There was also a strange “pick me energy” in some of these classes that was suffocating and by that I mean there was a definite group that ate up every single piece of this nonsense and would clap for the instructors who would demonstrate a more difficult pose in the middle of class. Fawning over them like some kind of guru to be followed. Ummmm, no. Just because you had the money to afford the teacher training does NOT mean diddly squat! You’re a wounded soul in need of validation and you are getting your jollys off on these sad people who also need validation.

What was missing was the balance. There was no juiciness of femininity. Of receiving instruction. Of receiving yourself within your body. It was all very masculine. Push. Move. Go. Jump. Drive. Drive. Drive yourself!!! And if you don’t, you’re a quitter. (actual words used in one of my classes)

After one particularly “wounded man” class I asked, what kind of yoga is this? I was told that it was a vinyasa based power yoga. I asked what that meant. No one could answer me.

I kept going, thinking maybe I just needed to get used to it. My muscles were becoming more defined and I was definitely getting stronger but after every class I felt abused. My mind was not being nurtured. If anything, I was beating myself up for not accepting my torture. I was joining in on this aggression on the body. It was not at all what I wanted when I started the journey. I also did not want to feel like I was single handedly desegregating each class I attended. It was all too much.

I turned to yoga for help with my anxiety. To help me get back to a centered place within myself after decades in what I now call the corporate prison system. To heal my aggravated lower back pain and relieve stress built up from working in an active terrorism court for almost a decade. I did not join a yoga community to abuse my body by throwing it around in the most fast paced set of sequences that lacked any attention to the soul present. It was mat based cardio inspired by yoga. And I was not a fan anymore.

So I decided to cancel my membership. I had completed 35 classes. Enough evidence to formulate a grounded position on the subject.

The email I received after my cancellation also sealed the deal that this was NOT the place for me. It basically focused on the fact that I must be cancelling because of financial reasons and here are some other cheaper options for you and oh by the way if you’re really poor, we have a work trade program you can apply to.

Thank you for that.

Anywho… I am proud of myself for trying and for committing and for listening to myself overall. There are other studios out here to try and eventually I will find my home. I hope it is diverse, trauma informed and full of hope, love and joy. No more yoga nazis.

xx