Last week, the lovely ladies at lil omm yoga asked the teachers to provide accounts of their first yoga experiences. It was so much fun, I thought I'd share mine here:
I took my first yoga class in high school. My mom had started attending a regular class so I tagged along one evening. It was a gentle or restorative class (to be honest I can't completely remember), so when we walked in the room was serene with candles and low-lighting and we were instructed to gather a number of props. I'm not going to lie, I did not enjoy it. The stillness was painful. Plus, it was clear this was not going to burn many calories. What was the point?
I went back a few more times, mostly just to spend the time with my mom, never really "getting it." I continued to dabble in yoga throughout college, mostly through video in my dorm room. But, honestly, I didn't fall in love until several years later, when I was living in New York as a grad student.
Usually, when I think about my first yoga class, I think of this class, where I walked away with that "yoga high" (literally almost getting hit by a car on my walk home). I think of this as the start of my yoga journey because this was when I first "got" yoga. But, this was just one step on my journey. Not liking yoga didn't mean I hadn't done yoga. It just meant I had done it and not liked it. And, in fact, continuing to open myself up to the possibility of yoga, even after not liking those earlier classes is simply further evidence that my yoga journey began all those years ago in that restorative class.
As a teacher, I try to draw on this experience by encouraging students to acknowledge judgments and opinions and let them go, allowing whatever it is that comes up as they hold that warrior II or that squat or a crying child to simply be part of their experience in that particular unique moment. I know, easier said than done.
