All The Space You Need by Angie Hay

(Originally published at yogacolumbus.com, February 4, 2013)

Years ago I came across this quote from supermodel Cindy Crawford:  “They were doing a full back shot of me in a swimsuit and I thought, Oh my God, I have to be so brave. See, every woman hates herself from behind.”

I was recently reminded of this arguable statement when I received an invitation from my colleague to be photographed doing yoga for the studio’s new promotional materials.  The instructions specified that one’s hair should be neat, and included hopes that clothing for the shoot would be provided by a fancy national yoga gear chain known for their behind-flattering pants.

My brain, known for occasional moments of cruelty, instantly flooded me with images of my out-of-control dreads, my big butt, and the package of vegan cookies I ate almost entirely by myself the week before.  They sent this to everyone, my brain said, but clearly they didn’t mean you.  I mean, let’s be realistic.

Oh.  Right.  You’re probably right.

I took my first yoga class when I was twenty-one through Gahanna Parks & Rec.  One day, unannounced, a guy from the local free paper showed up asking to photograph our class.  The other yogis refused, but I was feeling fearless and said yes.  In class I felt like a gazelle, like a waterlily, like the Grand Canyon, and it was new feeling for me.  Why not capture it in pictures?  I practiced like he was shooting a feature and waited anxiously for the paper to come out.  The image that made it to the cover was my face in profile in Trikonasana.  My round cheeks.  My soft neck.  Me, just me.  Not the yoga model I expected to see.  My face was as serene as a bonsai tree, but it was difficult to see that through my disappointment.  I didn’t even save a copy, not one.

These are the facts:  there has never been a body shaped like mine on the cover of Yoga Journal.  Lululemon’s snazzy yoga gear isn’t made in my size.  They don’t look at me and see a yogi.  But, miraculously, I do.  Almost every hour of the day, almost every day of the week.  When seeing myself as a beautiful and valuable person is the hardest thing I have to do all day, I stay in the fight.  But not in that particular moment when I was invited to have my picture taken.  In that instant, it was a fight I couldn’t win.  It was bravery I didn’t have.

As a fat lady, professions other than belly dancer and yoga teacher might have made more sense.  Maybe there are jobs where a big gal is just the thing.  I worked in a café for a year where the boxy men’s chef coat I had to wear because the ladies sizes didn’t fit made my eyes sting with tears.  For two years I sat in a basement office where all anyone talked about was how few calories they allowed into their bellies.  The truth is that there are no safe havens for fatness, not yet.  So I take my body to the dance floor and the yoga mat, the places it feels best in the whole world.

This is the type of bravery I do have.  To stick with it.  The courage to be the fattest lady in class so another woman doesn’t have to worry that it’s her.  The courage to come to the mat as I am, even if I’ve never received the “yoga body” promised by the world’s ad men with the purchase of your first mat.  The body I see in the mirror is a yogi’s body shaped by fifteen years of practice.  A dancer’s body shaped by sixteen years of undulations and shimmies.  The body of someone’s favorite aunt, someone’s beloved girlfriend, a girl who watches hours of vampire TV and eats too much ice cream, who rides her bike singing down High Street in the spring.  A body created by two lineages of exceptional women who I am proud to call my ancestors.  I am shaped exactly like myself.  On this point I am unfalteringly, unshakably clear.

Though the yoga industry does not make space for all of us, the practice of yoga does.  I believe there is a room somewhere with a vacant space that is exactly your size, waiting for you to roll out your mat.  I promise to greet you there exactly as you are, with my head bowed and my palms pressed together in front of my heart.  

If what we want does not exist, it becomes our responsibility to create it.  Knowing this, I will put on my own clothes, and, when invited, turn to face the camera.