A better beginning

In my last post, I talked about my false start with yoga. I was wise enough to not go back to the class that made me feel worse, and I didn’t know what to do next.

Then I remembered that a few years back, an old friend had told me about a yoga class designed for big bodies. I wondered if it was still offered. An internet search showed me an option that seemed like it might be right. It was buried at the bottom of a “specialty” class menu, and it was offered just one time a week at a posh studio that offered 70+ classes a week, but it was something. The class description specifically mentioned big bodies. I decided to try it.

This time I thought more about what to wear and decided wearing official “yoga” clothes mattered less than wearing something that helped me feel comfortable. I still wore leggings but paired with a shirt dress and sweater. On the drive down, I tried to assure myself that there was almost no way this class could be worse than the last one. I thought to myself: you don’t even have to enjoy it! Your only goal for tonight is to not cry in class.

When I arrived, the receptionist saw my clothes and assumed I wanted to change them. I felt a little flutter of nerves but took a breath. I knew why I’d made my choice, and I wasn’t trying to meet other people’s expectations. She led me to the classroom.

The teacher was middle-aged and while not what I would call fat, she was also not super skinny. She had mostly grey hair with a streak of purple. I got a good vibe right away. She showed me what props to get then set me up in what she called an “easy chair” on the mat. I was lying down, but my back was supported by blocks and a bolster so that I was at an angle and could see the room. Another bolster was under my knees. I felt cradled.

After setting me up, she gave me space to settle in on my own. I watched the other students file in. No one was bigger than me - I’m nearly always the biggest person in any room - but many of them were big. For the first time ever in my life, I was in an exercise class where I felt like I might belong. Tears pricked my eyes. I reflected on the irony of my goal not to cry in class. I wasn’t crying out of fear or frustration or insecurity though. I was crying in relief. The class hadn’t even started yet and I was already more confident it would be a fit.

That class went well. The poses were largely the same as they were in the last class. It was the cueing that made all the difference. We lay on our backs, and we were invited to let our hands fall in a T shape, A shape, or anywhere they naturally landed on our bodies. We lay on our bellies and were offered a few choices to support our heads - stacked fists, blankets, blocks.

For the record, I still felt awkward. I still felt like I couldn’t breathe in some positions. I still wobbled. But now I was being offered poses with choices and I was invited to adjust as needed. I went back the next week, and for many more weeks after that. In the coming months, I would explore yoga with many teachers and studios, but at the time I couldn’t foresee that. At the time, I just knew that I’d found a place where I could learn to move my body without shame.

That was my real start to practicing yoga.