I'll never forget the first time I walked into a yoga studio. It was Summer 2015, and I had only been practicing for a couple months in the privacy of my apartment. My experience was limited, to say the least, mainly consisting of a few 20-minute beginner workout videos I discovered through a quick YouTube search [1]. There was a studio near my apartment that I frequently walked by, and I decided to pop in one day to try a class. It was a 60-minute intermediate Vinyasa Flow in a heated room [2] (and at the time, I had no idea what any of those words actually meant).
When I checked in, I was told my first class would be on the house, and I was then escorted to the 90-degree studio. It was packed. I meagerly walked into the sea of pastel-coloured sports bras [3], attempting to find an open space that was not near the front. All around me people were in backbends or full headstands, and the class had not even started yet. I finally squeezed in the back right corner and began to wonder if the redness in my cheeks was coming from the heat or just my mounting anxiety.
I sat in Child's Pose feeling self-conscious and a little defeated. I left that class not ever wanting to return.
The instructor — a gregarious 20-something with arms you could fry an egg on — entered the room and asked us to set an intention [4] for the next 60 minutes. Mine? To try with all my power not to embarrass myself over the next hour. Although I had grown up running track and considered myself a relatively fit person, I was not flexible in the slightest and lacked upper-body strength [5]. I had tried a Chaturanga in the comfort of my bedroom before, but here I was mortified with how little my arms could bend compared to everyone around me. As I watched the room of 25 people flow with ease and balance and even stand on their heads [6], I sat in Child's Pose feeling self-conscious and a little defeated. I left that class not ever wanting to return [7].
I originally became interested in yoga when a colleague recommended it to address my periodic back pain and muscle stiffness [8]. I often stretched before bed or after a run, but I wasn't familiar with all the different ways I could open up my hips or get a deep, juicy stretch in the various muscles throughout my body. I cried (in a good way) the first time I did Pigeon Pose and couldn't believe how much a Supine Twist helped ease my back pain. But as much as I appreciated the corrective benefits of yoga [9], I couldn't bring myself to go back into that room.
Although I fully intended on only practicing alone in my bedroom [10] from that point on, I did get dragged to a class every now and then with friends who were avid practitioners. Each time, I gritted my teeth, got a spot in the back, and tried not to beat myself up for not having the same skills as everyone else. I felt like as hard as I worked, I would never be able to perform the moves that the majority of the people around me could do. I tried to pretend like I wasn't ashamed when I sat in Child's Pose while everyone else stood on their heads. Although I pushed myself and tried to focus, I never left those classes feeling good about myself or my practice.
One day, after multiple probes, a good friend and yoga instructor finally got me to agree to come to her hot Vinyasa class [11]. At this point, I still had never returned to another heated room. Although I was wary, I showed up — giant water bottle in tow — hesitantly ready to tackle it. My friends, it was anything but graceful. I must've taken a hundred water breaks and grunted out loud periodically, but I got through it.
My class anxiety did not completely dissolve overnight, but I made it my goal to stop letting it hold me back.
At the end of the class, the woman next to me stood up and hugged me — sweat and all — and told me that she usually feels self-conscious in this class, but hearing me grunt and moan my way through it made her remember that it's difficult for everyone. In that moment, I realised that I was not in a room full of perfect people judging my Chaturanga; I was sharing a space with people [13] of all athletic skill levels who showed up to do something for themselves. I got into yoga because it made me feel good, and worrying about how I stacked up against everyone else was only doing myself a disservice.
"See you next Monday?" my new friend asked. She absolutely would.
My class anxiety did not completely dissolve overnight, but I made it my goal to stop letting it hold me back. Once I shifted my mindset, my ability actually improved — on the mat and even as a runner. I still can't do an inversion without the assistance of the instructor, but I'm working on it. My Chaturanga — albeit still at a beginner level [14] — has gotten better, and sometimes I choose a spot in the front row. My skills might never mirror those around me in class, but I'm OK with that. I leave every class feeling good, mind and body. And that makes me proud.
