Ableism In Yoga

 

            When I recently listened to the Yoga is Dead Podcast episode “Vegans killed yoga,” it first made me reflect on the need to stop prioritizing the way ourbody looks. But then, as I thought more about it, I realized that we also need to stop idealizing certain ways our body can act. To do anything else is to further enable the culture of ableism commonly seen in yoga and other wellness.

 

            The podcast talked about a man who was upset by the fact that some yoga classes were called “advanced”, when on some days for someone with chronic illness “advanced” is getting out of bed. As someone who has experienced chronic illness, I immediately connected to this feeling. It isn’t fair to label some actions as for “more advanced yogis” when in fact, it has nothing to do with your ability to do yoga. It has to do with physical ability. And for some, that might look different.

 

            For me, there are days when getting out of bed is not possible, and there are other days when I can get up but I could never dream of doing an “advanced” yoga class. And other days, those are my favorite things. But on the days when it isn’t possible, the last thing I need is someone else telling me that I “should” be able to do that. That as a yoga teacher, or someone who has been practicing yoga for a long time, I should be at a high enough level to do that. Because my ability to practice yoga should have nothing to do with what my body can physically do on any given day. On those days, the voice in my head usually makes me feel guilty enough for things I can’t do. If I can go to a yoga class or practice yoga at home, there is no reason I should feel guilty for what that practice looks like or doesn’t look like.

 

            Yoga is defined as “the ability to direct the mind without distraction or interruption” according to Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. This text is often considered by yoga teachers and experts to be the standard guide to yoga, as it outlines basic principles that yoga follows. In this definition, it says nothing about the physical body. Similarly, in the Bhagavad Gita as translated by EknathEaswaran, Krishna (the embodiment of The Self) says, “yoga is perfect evenness of mind.” (Easwaran 94). Yoga isn’t about contorting your body into poses for pictures on Instagram. Some of the most accomplished yogis in the world never practice many of the asanas. Monks are advanced yoga practitioners, even those who sit still for hours every day, for they are practicing evenness of mind. Yoga literally means- to yoke- or union, of body, mind, and soul. Thus, yoga is any practice which unifies the body, mind, and soul.

 

Meditation is practicing yoga

 

            In my own life, I have seen the negative effects of this type of language. In college, I never went to “power yoga” with my friends. I was too sick to be able to do the physically demanding poses, and I didn’t want to be judged as not being “good at yoga.” The class was very fitness-based, and people didn’t go to that class who couldn’t keep up. I once heard people laughing about the “old people” who came to the class and “couldn’t even do the two minute planks.” After that, I knew I would never go to that class. There have been times in my life when I can do those planks, but at that point in my life, I would often be in tears of pain just from walking to class. Why would I subject myself to a yoga class where I would be mocked for not being able to keep up? Luckily, I found another workshop that was based on mindfulness and reflection that allowed me to practice yoga in a group setting that wasn’t physically demanding. I could go there no matter how I was feeling, and knowing that made me always feel welcome and part of the group: they would accept me even knowing that I was sick. These experiences have showed me how personal the problems that ableism creates can be. I already felt so guilty about my physical disabilities during those years that I would never have put myself in a setting where my ability might be questioned. Until I found that mindfulness course, I avoided any mention of yoga because I feared my body “couldn’t do it anymore.”

 

            I realize that yoga teachers need a way to set “levels” for their courses so students can know what to expect. I plan to use an idea that was used to describe our college orientation trips: flavors of salsa. The most physically demanding classes will be “Spicy”, moderate intensity will be “medium,” and less active/restorative classes will be “mild.” This way, there is no correlation between yoga “skill” and the type of class. How can you make the language you use in your yoga classes more welcoming to all? This week, as you practice yoga in your own practice and in classes, be aware of ableism as it appears. Be gentle with yourself first: it’s okay if you can’t do every pose or it doesn’t look the way you wish it did. Remember, there is no way yogis are supposed to look. Be yourself, and be proud of it.

Can we stop complimenting people for this?

I just listened to an episode of the Yoga Is Dead Podcast called “Vegans killed Yoga.” And I didn’t expect to have such a strong reaction to it, but I definitely did. The part that resonated the most strongly with me was the common practice of equating thinness with wellness. In yoga, we often see white, thin, strong women as the ideal “yoga body.” Obviously, there is no yoga body. But that isn’t always easy to remember. And I think everybody (and especially anybody with influence in the wellness industry) needs to actively work to dismantle this idea.

 

            In this episode, they did a great job of discussing how often being heavier is often healthy, while losing weight can be a sign of unhealthy habits or a symptom of disease. People often loose weight when they get cancer, or while on medication for many different diseases. Additionally, some people lose weight because of unhealthy eating habits: maybe they restrict their eating and aren’t giving themselves enough fuel and nutrients for their body to be healthy.

 

            For me personally, this has really been an issue lately. When I was extremely sick with a chronic illness for the past two years, my weight fluctuated. At the beginning, I gained weight because I stopped almost all physical activity because it was too painful to even walk to class. But more recently, I’ve been losing weight.

 

            As I’ve lost weight, I’ve been more hyperaware of comments surrounding my weight. Some people have complimented me on it, “Wow, you’ve lost weight recently,” or “You look so much healthier now.” Other people have made comments implying that everyone should lose weight-when a cousin sent a picture of the pre-packaged breakfasts she was given at college during COVID, another relative responded “Well at least you won’t have to worry about gaining weight.”

 

            When I hear those comments, part of me immediately realizes its wrong. I want to speak up, but usually I don’t. And I think the reason that I don’t is because I still partially believe that thinness is the ideal. Even though I know that the way I’ve lost weight hasn’t been healthy, a part of me is happy that they’ve noticed. It feels like a compliment: like they’re acknowledging the work I’ve done.

      

           Even if they're complimenting me on "looking strong," I don’t like it because I know they’re still referring to this unrealistic ideal. But I am grateful when people acknowledge the work that I’ve done, not in the way that it’s changed my body, but in the way that it’s enabled me to live a healthier lifestyle. I’ve gotten stronger not because of changing my diet, but because of hiking more, running, and doing yoga daily. And that is something I’m proud of and something I'm grateful to be able to do. Doing these things makes me feel strong and healthy, and I believe that is great.

 

Hiking adventures appreciating what my body can do

     

       However, I will not accept any “compliments” about how my body looks. Because while I’ve gotten stronger, I’ve also lost weight that I shouldn’t have lost. I’ve lost weight because I started a new medication that made me so nauseous I couldn’t stand the thought of food, and would have to force myself to eat small things throughout the day so I won’t pass out. There’s nothing healthy about that. And I’ve lost weight because I’ve had a really bad sore throat for a long time which makes me not want to eat. And that’s not healthy either.

 

            When people compliment me on how my body looks, it doesn’t matter if they’re complimenting me on my weight or the fact that I look “stronger.” It isn’t okay. Because they don’t know the story, they’re only comparing me to what they see as the ideal.

 

            I’m writing this article as a reminder to myself and to others. I don’t need to share my story when I’m “complimented” about my weight loss. And even though a part of me appreciates the compliment because it feels good to match the ideal of “strength” or “wellness,” I am trying to practice being more aware of the problems that come from these messages and start conversations. Try to take a few minutes today to reflect on your thoughts about wellness. What does a healthy body look like to you? Is that what your body actually looks like when it feels its best?