Sometimes you have a yoga class that just feels great. You leave it feeling strong and empowered and full of lightness and grace, able to go anywhere and do anything!

And then you have one like I had today. Led by a male instructor through the magic of the zooms, to which I was 5 minutes late because I totally lost track of time, making me edgy from the very beginning, it included pose after challenging pose that I just could not make my stiff skipped-a-day-for-new-year’s body do, and he suggested no modifications but just kept pushing: “go a little deeper here, two more breaths..” etc. And frankly, (CW here: ladyparts) I’m riding the crimson tide right now and it’s a fierce one, and being late to class, I hadn’t taken the time to be uh, adequately prepared for this. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, or the panic-inducing moment when you’ve realized too late how much it matters, be grateful. All I’m saying is, I was glad I was doing this from home on my skanky practice mat.

And then dude suggested Wheel Pose. My nemesis. There is something about Wheel that really triggers me. It’s not that I’m against opening way up like that – I love the chest opening poses like Bridge and Fish and Up Dog. As a person with lower spinal issues (thanks difficult childbirth!) they’re some of my favorites to really stretch into. And I can even do Flip Dog or Reverse Tabletop without too much strain. But my strength – for now, and I will say it’s become really solid lately – is primarily rooted in my lower body, and bending my arms backwards to lift myself up from the ground like that feels completely wrong and unnatural to me – to the point of triggering a visceral fight-or-flight response so strong, I’ve often had to fight back tears and the urge to run from the room when at the studio, hoping others mistake it for sweat and Ujjayi breathing. The necessity of wearing masks these days helps.

But today it was all too much. This fucking dude, who will NEVER know what it’s like to try to contort yourself like that while bleeding out your whatever, who the fuck does he think he is, traumatizing me like this?!?!? THE GODDAMN FUCKING ASSHOLE PATRIARCHY, THAT’S FUCKING WHO. WHOM? I DON’T KNOW, FUCK OFF!

Yeah, it was like that. And not just the rage, but the tears from frustration and disempowerment, the running up against a brick wall that seems to exist only for you and nobody else, over and over and over again your whole goddamn life. LIKE WHY? SERIOUSLY, FUCKING WHY?!?

And I knew none of this was this individual man’s fault, that I was totally projecting my own experience of being in my hormonal woman’s body in this patriarchal world of ours onto this random and perfectly lovely human and that it was totally unfair. I didn’t even need to tell myself, “ok honey, take a breath and let’s be mindful about this.” I was completely already there as it was happening. And I also knew that it’s actually yoga that taught me how to do this kind of mindfulness, and that I’m deeply grateful for that. Not to mention a long list of privileges I enjoy just to be doing this class in this moment on this planet at this particular time in history. And I was holding all of that at the same time, while attempting to do his crazy hop from Down Dog to Rock and Roll and Happy Baby and still, you know what? My baby was NOT FUCKING HAPPY. It was a Dead Bug, ok???

And then it hit me. I could give myself permission to stop struggling with all of this. Nobody was watching me but my dog. This is the beauty of the livestreams, folks – you can leave your camera and microphone off. Yeah, I probably could have done this in the studio too, but I’d still be self-conscious about it: I went into Child’s Pose and just…

l e t.
m y s e l f.
f e e l.
i t.

All of it.

I cried. And just… stayed with it. Honored it. Kept crying. Kept raging. And then I imagined being in the studio and having the instructor come over and ask if I was ok and finding the ability to tell him, “I’m triggered, and I’m not sure why, but I’m investigating it, and I need some space to do that, please.” And having him respect that – because honestly, I’m sure he would. And what that would then feel like. And I just stayed there with that, still in Child’s Pose, all the way through Savasana.

And I didn’t get up in time for the final “om,” but I bowed a deep namaste to my own hard work. Because it’s never really about flexibility, or building strong muscles, though those are happy side effects. It’s not even about being able to do that goddamn Wheel.

The truth is, sometimes you have a yoga class that feels like shit. And actually, those are the best classes of all.