I had "lost my practice." Frustrated with the lack of willingness to sit still with myself, my compassion for self was lost. Angrily, I pounded through life weighed down by resentments and other unresolved emotions. I called a friend whose spiritual practices always resonated true for me and whom I deeply respect. "I wrote this grant to teach Yoga/Life skills at the jail and I feel totally inadequate.” I vented. "Do it," he said. "it'll make you get your sh--t together." Ugg! I knew he was right.
Every Friday as I drove over the Bay Bridge from Oakland into San Francisco my fears of "having nothing to offer" raged inside of me. "Let the practice speak for itself,” I reminded myself. "Breathe." As I practiced Ujjayi breathing I became acutely aware of the tension and anxiety in my arms, shoulders, chest, back, and legs.
I've suffered with chronic pain since age 15 and driving is often unbearable. Taking Bart and walking the four blocks from the station to the jail was even more intimidating then the 45-minute traffic logged drive. Who knows if the pain in my piriformis, psoas and calf muscles would throb so bad I'd need to sit down, and those blocks are nasty!
Today was especially exciting as I had two new co-teachers meeting me at the jail. I'd also missed the last two weeks due to unexplainable vomiting. I'd lost 15 pounds, and on my already petite frame I worried the ladies (inmates) wouldn't trust me 'cuz I looked anorexic and ill.
"Let the practice speak for itself,” I reasoned with my monkey mind. "You don't have to do anything. It's not about you. Just show 'em what works for you." I reminded myself.
The guards announced "Yoga" to the ladies and we went into our glass walled room. Three inmates dressed in orange from head to toe filtered into the room. "What's up Ladies? I'm Elizabeth, this is Shirley and Jen." And so we began. I felt alive and electric.
Something about being sick had changed me, and the way I guided the class. All those days of vomiting in the toilet, in buckets on the side of the bed while my partner held my hair out of the way, and on my parents' lawn had forced me into stillness. I found comfort in my breath. I felt the POWER and strength of my confidence in the practice, and the support of the other teachers. I was astonished as the three inmates sat silently through a guided meditation. “Focus on that image of a strong body. Whatever body seems strong to you, now imagine your face on that body.”
She started crying. I'd seen her a few months back and here she was again in B-Pod. "Are you ok Ally?" I asked. "Is something I'm saying making sense?" She nodded. "This is a safe place to cry." I reassured everyone. "It's totally normal to have emotions come up in yoga." I continued. "You can let it out here," the other teachers chimed in.
I’ve cried in a lot of yoga classes. Either due to physical pain, frustration that I’m in pain again, or other emotional releases. I know how vulnerable and raw it feels to cry around a bunch of people who aren’t crying.
I felt so grounded and grateful for the opportunity to lead someone into that sweet spot. The spot that hurts so bad you couldn't look at it alone for fear it’ll never stop hurting. "This is why I'm here," I thought. "To hold a vision of strength for this woman and every other person here."
