Yoga as Medicine
February 2016
Yoga is so much more than exercise and stretching. It’s been a vital piece of my holistic wellness plan for years now. My essential Vitamin Y. It’s a standing appointment with my body. Mat therapy, if you will.
Like so many women, I grew up not appreciating the beauty and strength of my body, but instead pretty much hating it and thinking nothing about it was right. And really using exercise and food as a means of reward and punishment.
I went to my first hot yoga class when I was 17 or so as a freshman at the College of Charleston, and didn’t particularly like it: it was too hot, I was uncomfortable in my skin, I felt very disconnected from my body, I found myself too self-conscious and distracted by body comparison. And yet, some mysterious force kept me going back intermittently for years.
It wasn’t until about 5 or 6 years ago that I made yoga a regular and non-negotiable part of my life and really started to fall in love with it. At that time, I was still deeply uncomfortable in my skin and I can recall wearing baggy clothes to the studio for hot yoga class—where it’s appropriate to wear nothing but spandex shorts and a sports bra. I would wear only roomy t-shirts because I didn’t like my arms or my love-handles. But wearing baggy clothes through a series of quick poses meant that I was constantly readjusting my clothes and making sure my shirt didn’t ride up which did not make for a pleasurable experience in the slightest.
Cringe-worthy discomfort was endured both mentally and physically, but something kept me going back to yoga class. I was unknowingly learning how to sit still with myself, IN the center of the discomfort. And every time, I not only came out on the other side alive, but so much stronger. For someone in addiction recovery, this is crucial to learn. And eventually—slowly, but surely—I started to wear form-fitting tank tops. Not because I suddenly became obsessed with my figure, but rather because I accepted it. Now-it’s not about the clothes, just like it’s not about the food. It’s about the feelings beneath, and the soul inside the body. At some point, I felt good about myself on the inside, and strong, and I no longer had the desire to cover up with extra fabric. I appreciated my body and what it could do, despite me putting it through so much mistreatment. I accepted my body, with it's flaws, strengths, and limitations.
Yoga has evolved into something so much more than a way to sweat and detox and stay in shape. It’s like windex to my soul. It cleans the spirit-lens so I can see clearly and lovingly again. It’s the restart button on my day. Every time I get on my mat, I come home to myself again. No matter what’s going on in my life—good days, bad days, hardship, happiness—I know I can always get on my mat and flow through whatever life throws.
I spent many years abandoning myself and neglecting my body that to simply spend an hour or so just being with my breath, quieting my mind, and moving my body mindfully is such an intense full-body experience that I often feel reborn by the end of a practice.
As trendy as yoga has become—with Lululemon symbols peppering any yoga studio room, I really hope I never lose sight of the true gift that this practice has given me. Yoga comes from a Sanskrit word that means “to yoke, unite, or bind” and that it has—yoked my mind, body, and spirit into one. This is why it is medicine to me. It’s not just a place to sport expensive luon and symbolic body ink, fly into crows and hop into headstands, chant “oms,” and utter “namastes”—it’s also my church and my temple. It's a place to come home to me.