Yoga Diaries: The Student Who Can’t Stop Hating on Herself

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Each of us practices yoga for reasons that tend to be pretty intensely personal and, typically, not at all obvious. That person in the front row nailing the arm balance may struggle with incessant anxiety. The person who comes to class early and sits in the back row reading their book may come to ease their grief. Yet there are similarities in what we take away from the practice—sometimes more so than you could ever imagine. Yoga Diaries is a new column that offers a glimpse at the life of the person on the mat next to you—the serious, the silly, and the still-in-progress parts that you never witness. You may find that others in class aren’t so different than you after all.

Day One

It’s Monday. Another workday that starts with brewing coffee on the bathroom counter because my husband and I are in the middle of renovating our kitchen.

I hate my job although I often can’t think of any real reason why I should. I work from home and today seems like a light workday.

My manager calls to let me know she added an enormous number of comments to a draft and doesn’t want me to be mad at her. When I realize we’re having an unnecessary meeting, I’m annoyed. It’s only 9:30 a.m. and I’m already dreading how I will spend the remaining hours of my workday.

Also, I have to get bloodwork done this afternoon. I’m pretty healthy. I hope nothing comes back with weird results.

I think about canceling yoga but decide to go anyway. I arrive on my mat in a spot toward the back of the studio. The critical voice in my head pipes up as soon as I look in the mirror at the front of the room. I pull the band of my high-waisted leggings up to cinch my waist.

“Am I bloated?”

“My neck looks so short when my arms are raised.”

“I feel like a linebacker.”

Lucky for me, the teacher cues us into a forward fold. My eyes face the back wall. I am distracted by the flow and stop thinking about my body and anything else for a while.

Day Two

I feel less annoyed than yesterday, probably because it’s not Monday.

My blood panel results come back and my cholesterol is higher than it was last year. It’s mostly genetics, my mom reassures me when I call her. The results also show that my thyroid is wildly underperforming. A quick Google search reveals that this might be why I fall asleep by 8:30 or 9 pm most nights. I research how to lower cholesterol and realize that it’s not as simple as cutting out dairy and red meat, which I hardly eat anyway. I make a promise to myself that I will meal prep oatmeal a few times a week.

It’s hard for me to accept that genetics are another part of my body that I wish I could change. I cannot manufacture different DNA no matter how much fiber I eat in a week. I feel nervous and weird about going on cholesterol medicine at 34 years old.

Day Three

Yesterday, I listened to a podcast in which the host implored thirty-somethings to stop punctuating their lives with mile markers. As the host explained, we never revel in the accomplishment of reaching the marker. Rather, we immediately move the marker further and begin the next task.

My therapist called me out on this once. I had felt dissatisfied with my progress. She abruptly interrupted me and ran through the things she knew I had gotten through in past three years: choosing to leave a marriage, navigating a divorce, finishing law school, moving across the country, starting a new life, falling in love again, passing the bar exam, getting remarried, and buying a house.

Moderation isn’t my strong suit. It’s not my husband’s, either.

I often wonder if I feel inadequate because I live in capitalist American fuckery that rewards productivity more than happiness and contentedness. I wonder if I adjust my clothes during class because of the impossible body standards thrown at women not long after they arrive on this planet. I wonder how my life would be different if I deleted Instagram and stopped consuming an Explore page full of fake AI bots created to make us think that if we buy one million supplements, we’ll finally have poreless faces and stomach skin that doesn’t crease.

Usually by Wednesday each week, my nervous system is tapped from hating my boring, corporate job and I align with the subliminal message from the previous days’ yoga practice: everything is in perpetual motion. All realities are always changing.

I used to stress (and still often do) that feeling lost and giving space to sadness means that I’m weak. I often equate my worth and social capital with how I look. I interpret comments from past lovers and other women about my body or my athleticism as “what I’m valued for.” In reality, I think their intentions are pure. I just interpret them through the lens of inadequacy, whichand allow them to reinforces my fear of the vulnerability required for actual friendships and closeness. I’ve only been able to connect these dots in the last year or so—the same year that I made a point to attend yoga class at least four times a week.

I think I’m on the other end of what felt like my second mid-life crisis. I’m starting to embrace the fact that “I am.” And I’m starting to understand that’s not only enough, it’s something to feel safe in.

Instead of “slowing down” or “minding the mile markers,” as my beloved podcast recommended, I’d rather try to do away with them as much as possible. I’d rather try to come back to myself and check in with what feels good, what feels bad, and what feels true.

Today, that looks like showing up to my mat and paying attention only to what’s happening on my mat.

I can trust my body to follow cues, find the pose, and turn in the right direction.

I can trust my brain to acknowledge the distraction, the wobble, and the misdirection and to take it all in stride.

Nothing is a competition. I’m not something to scrutinize.

Day Four

I woke up to a backyard blanketed in snow. Even as an adult who works from home, something about a snow day makes a normal Thursday feel special. As if working from the couch in a sweater and leggings is intentionally cozy instead of lazy.

The combination of the snow, the weekend in sight, and almost no contact with co-workers is wonderful. For the first time in a while, the world feels quiet and calm and the entire day feels like one big exhalation.

I feel productive in an organized, non-chaotic way. I feel clear-headed. I feel reasonable. Balanced. Steadily, I get through everything on my work to-do list. I remember to drink water. I remember to get up and walk around. I remember to go outside.

I sign up for the 5:15 pm hot vinyasa class. Like most days, it’s the perfect way to punctuate the transition from “workday” to “evening at home,” which often feels tricky when my house is my office.

My transcendent mindset goes to shit the second I catch a glimpse of my body sun-saluting in the mirror.

I never look myself in the eyes in the mirror. Probably because I’m always conducting a body scan, judging where my leggings sit on my waist, the lack of a thigh gap in Mountain Pose, the skin creases that appear during a side bend. Today, my gaze goes straight to the crop top I found at the thrift store. “You look like an idiot,” I think.

We start to flow. I pay attention to the poses. I keep a soft gaze. I will myself to study only my feet and shoulders in the mirror. I cannot shake an overwhelming sense of feeling of dumb. This dumb piece of fabric is seriously so distracting. I fixate.

I can’t hold Ardha Chandrasana (Half Moon Pose) for the life of me. I miss two poses. I can feel the frustration and disappointment in myself build.

Immediately, any and all logic goes out the window. I feel fraudulent. That progress—physical, mental, emotional—that existed yesterday and was acknowledged and embodied earlier today? It’s gone. And not only is it gone, but this little brain of mine tricks me into thinking it wasn’t even real in the first place. If it was real, I couldn’t immediately strip it away the second I put on this dumb, super-distracting shirt.

Why is everything all or nothing? At least I have the wherewithal to know that my stream-of-consciousness self-bullying is a big, mean, loud voice whose only job is to try and ruin my day.

Still, I feel disappointed.

Day Five

Friday. Knowing I don’t have to work tomorrow feels like an incredible reprieve. My husband is working a tattoo flash day event at his shop and wants to finish at least 10 tattoos in eight hours. He’s probably going to feel annoyed and tired at the end of it.

My friend and I bring him and his co-workers pizza and make ourselves available for any help they may need. Really, we just sit in the back room, looking through the one-way mirrored window and harmlessly gossiping.

An acquaintance of ours comes into the shop to get tattooed, and we couldn’t help but wonder out loud, “What would it be like to have such defined arms?” We’re both grabbing at our arms that lack muscular definition and hang uselessly at our sides. “I just wish I had Michelle Obama’s arms,” I say out loud. As if that would solve everything.

My friend, a petite jiu-jitsu-loving powerhouse, owns her own home and business and is beautiful with incredible boobs, a tiny waist, and a great butt. This same woman longs for different arms. Immediately, I start to see the ridiculousness of this entire conversation. I can’t help but think that this same woman whose arms we are gushing over would probably love to change something about herself— have bigger boobs, fuller hips, a bigger butt, longer hair, or it could be anything. We all just want what we don’t have because we fail to understand that “not having it” doesn’t make any real difference.

I start to think about how I can do a tripod headstand and a forearm headstand, but I cannot, for the life of me, transition into it from Prasarita Padottanasana. No matter how successful my other inversions are, I always feel hung up on the fact that my head is on the ground, my elbows are at a 90-degree angle, and my weight is in the balls of my feet, and I still can’t take flight.

Maybe my core isn’t strong enough.

Maybe I’m scared of taking down the person next to me.

Maybe I should acknowledge that the day that I take flight from the forward fold will be the day I find some other thing that I “can’t do” or “don’t have.”

Maybe the fact that my hamstrings used to be less flexible is progress worth celebrating.

Day Six

A very close friend of mine is throwing her daughter a third birthday party. Everything is princess themed and a little extra. She asks if I could come over two hours before the party begins to help her set up. Not having children of my own, I love being “the cool aunt” to my friends’ kids and the person someone relies on to help with the birthday party that has to be perfect.

My friend, mom of the birthday girl, tells me I am the first person she trusts to get things done amidst stress without becoming overwhelmed and while lightening the mood for everyone. At first, I interpret her very sweet explanation as a justification for asking the favor in the first place.

I recently learned that my Human Design type is Generator. Our energy allows for productivity, creativity, and the generation of ideas. We are, apparently, always in motion. As a type, we can often feel like we’re on an energetic rollercoaster, riding high when engaged in what excites, and feeling stuck or drained when we’re not.

I can’t stop thinking about what my friend said in relation to my Generator diagnosis. Maybe the point of the entire system is simply to provide a framework or a lens to interpret the world through, regardless of whether it’s accurate. My friend called me to diffuse a stressful situation and lend support for herself and her family.

What’s more, I felt embodied the entire day.

I never once thought about my outfit. It wasn’t relevant.

I never once thought about what I ate. It was just delicious.

I never once looked in the mirror. There wasn’t time.

By the end of the night, I allow myself to accept the compliment and, for a few moments, see myself in the same light my friend does.

Day Seven

I have a busy week coming up. Tomorrow I’m flying home to see my grandmother in hospice and spend four days with family, most of whom I haven’t seen in more than a year. I’m really excited to see them. But the city I lived in for the first 32 years of my life doesn’t feel like home anymore. Rather, it gives me anxiety.

I need to sweat before I go. I’m sitting on the couch, literally counting down the minutes until it’s time to leave for class.

For the last two-ish years, I’ve been on a quest to reprogram the notion of exercise in my brain. I want to exercise for enrichment and health rather than body aesthetics and physical results. I’ve managed to stop obsessively exercising and injuring my body in an attempt to shrink myself into nothing but a bag of bones and lean muscle. Finding exercise programs that I enjoy makes the whole experience feel less rigid and unimaginative, and for the most part, my body image issues have improved. All of that said, it ebbs and flows.

I feel a little on edge when I step into the studio, but I make a deal with myself before class: “Just don’t look in the mirror.”

I don’t need the mirror to make adjustments and assess my alignment. I’m not a beginner.  I actually have my 200-hour yoga teacher training certification and I used to practice in a studio that didn’t even have a mirror.

Instead, I feel tiny micro-alignment improvements click into place during Warrior 2. Pressing the pinky edge side of the back foot down is both for stability and opening the hip to the side wall rather than to the front of the room. Today I actually felt my hips open. I felt the purpose of the pose. I felt stable, as if I had found the pose through my exhalatione instead of searching for it in the body reflected to me in the mirror.

It’s almost as if being a slave to the mirror and looking at things that neither exist to the outside world (how my body looks) nor in my yoga practice, keeps my muscle tension high, my wobbles wobbling, and my confusion about which side is left and which is right especially confusing.

I keep my deal with myself and keep my gaze soft, away from the mirror. I find contentment and I leave feeling light.