On Teaching, and the Ongoing Pursuit of Joy by Angie Never

When I announced my intention to shut down the Yoga Enlarged program at the end of July 2017, lots of people figured it was all about money.

"Too bad you were never able to make enough money off that one," they said.
"I just wish you had made more money," they said.
"Better luck next time," they said.

But I didn't get it.  My public announcement about the change didn't say anything about money.  I hadn't been skipping sundaes or complaining to my friends about how broke I was.  The more I thought about it I began to understand the underlying assumption that was creating this mistake.

Success in teaching equals making a lot of money.  Failure means not making enough. Success (a.k.a. pile of money) means a class can go on forever.  Failure (a.k.a. broke as a joke) means the class has to meet an untimely demise.  While this seemed to feel true to everyone else, it didn't feel true to me.  Why not?

Because my measurement of success is not now nor never has been about money.  If you must know, I made plenty of money.  I made about the same as I've made teaching other yoga classes, and it was enough.  I paid my bills and went on vacation.  I went out to eat and got some new tattoos.  I gave money to charity and bought some shit I didn't need, all signs that one has enough.

But what became apparent to me is that very little of that money was coming my way based on the quality of the class I was teaching.  The money, for a teacher making her own way in the yoga business, is all about the hustle.  The harder I hustled, the more money I made.

The word hustle can sound kind of sexy, like you're half yoga teacher / half hip hop superstar, but what we're really talking about here is marketing.  Which makes you half yoga teacher / half advertising executive, which sounds way less baller.

Hustling means thinking about what kind of photoshoot you can do to get people to come to your class, then bickering with the photographer because he thought he was going to shoot some circus shit that day.  Hustling means scanning through poems not because you love poems, but because you need an inspirational line to superimpose over your inspirational picture so you can get some likes and some shares.  Hustling means trying to think of ways to turn your friends into soldiers in your hustlers' army.  Hustling means looking at every personal interaction as an opportunity to turn a human into a customer.  

The hours I spent with my yoga books and on my mat didn't matter, but the hours I spent on Instagram did.

If you're a yoga teacher and you complain to other yoga teachers about the hustle, they start to relanguage it for you.  (Yoga teachers are nothing if not peerless relanguagers.)  "Don't think of it as marketing," they say.  "Think of it as sharing your gifts with the world."  I'm happy for teachers who can look at the world through that lens, but I'm not one of them.  I'm an anti-capitalist, anti-consumerist anarchist, and it breaks my heart to think of my "gifts" as a brand.  I can do it, but I don't want to.

When I made the decision years ago to live a simple, minimalist lifestyle, I did so because I wanted to be free.  I wanted to pursue a life that suited me exactly, and I didn't want anything to stand in my way.  I live in a cheap apartment and drive old cars and quit on the stability of office work and use stuff until it's totally worn out so that money doesn't have the opportunity to imprison me.

Teaching, creating a space for practice, helping people unlock the best parts of themselves - that suits me exactly.  Brainstorming clever yet ethical Facebook posts doesn't.  So I don't have to do it, no matter money I might be saying no to.  I'm lucky because when I get very clear, and begin to know my own mind, the universe shows up with a silver platter acting like, "Girl, I was just waiting for you to ask."  I know I'll be taken care of, and that liberates me to explore a lot of directions.  I know there are ways we can find each other and keep going without feeding the machine.

We all participate in this cycle, and we can all participate in creating a new model, if we want to.  If you're a studio owner, think about ways you can support the teachers who are important to your business so they can focus on creating great classes for your clientele.  If you don't have any ideas, ask - I am sure your best teachers are brimming with suggestions on how you can support their efforts to advertise.  If you're a student, understand that your teachers are not infinite resources - what can you do to prolong the health and stability of the teachers and classes you love?  For my fellow teachers, I just want to give you permission to say YES to the things you love about all this and NO to the things you don't.  You are allowed to ask for help.  You are allowed to opt out.  You are allowed to be a visionary, and teach us all more about how things can be done.    

Until next time, y'all.  And a big thanks to Melissa Lopez for affirming that what I wanted to say needed said.

Finding Possibility and Inclusion Through Stillness by Jessica May

Jessica in Setu Bandha Sarvangasana

Consider the fat women of the world. We’re champion explainers, aren’t we? We are put on the spot about how often we exercise. Dozens of questions that should be filed under “none of your damn business” fall at our feet.  We have all been conditioned to explain ourselves. In a world where images of us, and others just like us, are used as “before” photos in infomercials, where there is a proclaimed war on obesity, and where fat equals failure, we have been told in very frank terms that we’d better have a pretty compelling reason to be the way that we are.

I’ve been fat for the majority of my life, and I have dozens of explanations for it. I have a hormonal disorder. My massive breasts give me an almost constant backache. I suffer from depression, anxiety, and PTSD so sometimes just pulling myself out of bed is a victory for the day, and eating well and going to the gym isn’t on the agenda. I don’t owe explanations to anyone, nor should they demand them. This became clear to me when I began taking classes at Yoga Enlarged.

My first day was like going to a family reunion. A room full of women, women just like me, and they’re all doing yoga!  All the glorious strangers in the room were happy to welcome me into the fold. Class began, and as Joyce and Angie, the double matriarchs of the extended family guided us with loving and sturdy hands, I felt relaxed for the first time in a very long while.

My journey so far through yoga hasn’t been perfect. I still have a lot of ego to get over, and a lot of silly prejudices about my own body. Not all poses go well. I have incredible balance but can’t get my knees close to my chest at all. I have had to learn to see both of those things as part of my practice, and to accept that there are props to assist me whenever I need them. Looking around the room, I’m not the only one who needs them, and it’s an encouraging thing to see.

One day, about six months in, I did something that surprises me to this day. I showed up to yoga and hardly did a thing. It had been a long day full of forcing myself to do things I didn’t want to do, and I had no desire to hoist myself around a yoga mat. I laid out my mat, placed a blanket under my butt, and settled in for 90 minutes of virtually zero movement. I just sat on my mat with my legs criss-crossed, breathing deeply. I imagined myself moving through Joyce and Angie’s poses. I didn’t overthink, I didn’t judge myself, I just breathed and imagined. In my imagination, my body could do a boat pose for thirty breaths. In my mind, my body was unstoppable.

As Angie prepared the class for a final standing pose before the sweet gift of Savasana, Joyce came towards to my mat. Uh oh, I thought. I’m in trouble. Instincts kicked in, and I was ready with a litany of explanations as to why I wasn’t participating, why I had had put forth so little effort today, yet why I still deserved to be there. She leaned down and whispered in my ear in her strong, honeyed voice.

“Girl, that looks like the yummiest Sukhasana.”

And then she moved on to help another student. I felt the explanations and apologies fizzle to nothing within me. They weren’t needed here. I left that day feeling powerful, having listened to my body for a full 90 minutes, and gave it exactly what it needed. I had given it the gift of rest and acceptance, and by being still long enough to truly relax, I had imagined a world of possibility for my body. I’d just had to stop beating myself up long enough to see it.

Listening to my body, and celebrating the way it could move, was a significant change for me. Class after class, Angie would remind us that there is a benefit in just imagining yourself doing a pose. If you can’t do it, and modifications aren’t helping, just imagine doing it. Imagine the muscles you would use. Picture yourself doing it. You could still learn about your body without moving a single muscle. Joyce would encourage us to do less than 100%, that it was way too much, and that depending on the day, sometimes 20% was too much. My day of rest proved to me how valuable that could be.

At Yoga Enlarged, there are no explanations necessary. There are no judgments about how much, or how little, you do. There is no quantifying the deepness of your pose compared to the deepness of another’s. There is only the quiet conversation between you and your body, interpreting how to enjoy the movements that Angie and Joyce guide you through. It is a studio small in space yet made infinite by the simple inclusion of your own mind. Every stimulus in that room, every word from the instructor, every pose modification, leads to a simple yet powerful conclusion: you belong here.

To My Fat Friend Who Is Scared of Yoga by Harmony Mae

Harmony in Virabhadrasana 1

To My Fat Friend Who Is Scared Of Yoga:

Look, I know why you don't want to try it. We both well know the annoying double lives we fat girls lead in exercise classes, which are generally tailored to the taut and tan. I see you out there, doubling up your exercise bras and compression pants, staking your spots in the back so people won't see your struggles to keep up with the instructor. The way you keep your chins up around the looky-loos and the whispers and giggles in the locker room. Girl, I see you! I know you. I am you. I have joined and quit more gyms than I can count on my fingers and toes. It isn't that I don't want to be there, it's just that there are only so many nasty whispers and giggles a person can take before they question their choice to pay to be mocked while sweating in front of strangers.

It isn't our fault- a typical gym isn't for you and I, or at least it feels that way sometimes. It's reinforced in a million tiny ways- the exercise equipment that doesn't fit our bodies; the complete absence of other people that look like us; the ways pictures of us exercising at said gyms are used for mockery, or even worse, fit-speration memes (vomit). It isn't that fat bodies CAN'T exercise. It's that the gym experience as we know it has been built on a foundation of mandating the transformation of fat bodies to thin at the sacrifice of all other things. By saying one kind of body is good and one kind is bad, and tailoring exercise and gym environments to "good" bodies, a lot of our "bad" bodies get left out. And then we get yelled at for not going to the gym. Ain't that something?

I weigh just north of 250 lbs. My body has always been fat, and if science is to be believed, probably always will be. My job is to love my body and take care of it to the best of my abilities, not apologize for it. It's taken a long time for me to learn that, and I won't put my hard-won confidence on the line in any exercise environment that makes me feel less than a person. Which leaves me with a dilemma: When you weigh as much as I do, people feel free to pile on the fitness advice, but they seem a hell of a lot less bothered to make you feel comfortable and welcome when you try to take it. There is a real need for spaces that nurture and encourage people like me to exercise. Fat bodies are different then thin bodies. We have different centers of gravity, we have flesh where skinny people do not, and our muscles are different because we carry our weight in different places. To exercise in a space where that is not only acknowledged but celebrated? It's amazing.

Before Yoga Enlarged, I always avoided yoga because I assumed it wasn't "for" me. Yoga people were tiny, perfectly balanced gazelles in Lululemons with coordinated water bottles. I am a curmudgeonly beast with a neurological condition that gives me the grace and agility of a tipsy circus bear. But after a strained knee derailed my weekly jogs, I realized I needed to diversify my physical activities to include flexibility and strength training if I wanted to make it to my 40s with both legs intact. After watching a few videos of fat yogis online and being amazed at what they could do, I decided to give Yoga Enlarged a try. Worse comes to worse I figured I'd fall on my ass, which I do frequently anyway. At least this time it would be on a padded mat.

In my first class, Joyce had us all sit, then asked us to reach behind ourselves and pull our butt flesh out of the way so we could feel where our sitbones were underneath us. This was a moment of epiphany for me. It literally never occurred to me that I could just pick up my flesh and scoot it out of the way like that before, and I'll be damned if that didn't make things easier. We talked about how to make poses work with big bellies, big boobs, big butts. We used foam blocks, straps, double and triple yoga mats, whatever it took to make a pose work. The challenge of yoga could be met, if I rose to it. And, you know, moved my butt out of the way first.

I am pleased to share that my body exceeded my every expectation.  It turns out I'm incredibly flexible and fairly strong, which means my body can do a lot more than I thought it could. Of course, that begs the question- why didn't I realize I could do those things? My body can do a sun salute! My body can downward dog! I would have never even tried to do those things before yoga taught me I could. And yes, it takes hard work, and perhaps they do not come as easily to me as they do to others, but I will be damned if anyone ever invited me to try them before Joyce and Angie did.

I think the reason that yoga in particular is an important practice for fat people is that it forces you to make an ally out of your body. Fat people are encouraged to keep a mental separation between themselves and their bodies. We always hear about the “skinny girl within”. The general idea is that the awful disgusting no-good fat body you're in is only acceptable if you consider it to be a transitional state to the nice, acceptable skinny body that you could have if you just wanted it enough. We disconnect from our current bodies, insulate ourselves with self-loathing, and convince ourselves that these useless fat lumps aren't worth the price of the clothes we dress them in. In the name of our imaginary perfect bodies, we forget that the real ones exist and can do amazing things.

It's a damn shame. But no worries: your fat body is already a perfect body, and it’s waiting to kick ass for you. Yoga reinforces that, because it doesn't permit you to distance yourself from your body at all. It demands that you embrace it and learn to live within it well. Every yoga class is a chance to breathe deep and appreciate everything it can do for you. It's a safe space to be physical, be playful, and enjoy living in the body you have instead of rejecting it or reducing it or thrashing it into submission.  Practicing yoga is a way to show your body some love, and enjoy being active in a space made just for you. That alone is worth attendance. Being able to hang out with a bunch of badass ladies and learn how to twist yourself up like a pretzel is just a bonus. (Though it does look pretty cool.) I hope you come find out for yourself sometime.

The Power of Permission: A Student's Story by Jenny Maro

Jenny in Ustrasana

I have been the fat girl since I was 9 years old.

I remember when I was younger and thinner my mother always took me to dance classes (tap, ballet, jazz). It stopped at 9. I don't recall why, however, since that point I began thinking there were just things you were not allowed to do if you weren't thin enough. I would, as I grew older, sometimes try activities but if I saw that I was only fat person in the room I would feel uncomfortable and any time I missed a step or couldn't pick up on a move as a fast as others I'd shut down and move on.

Yoga was one of those activities. I had tried a few dvds but my body could not do what the skinny people on the TV could. Years later I had begun learning belly dance from Angie Hay. This lead me to face the fact that body size didn't restrict me from anything, my own beliefs were the only limitation. Angie decided to take yoga teacher training. She offered to teach a series of yoga classes to prepare for her evaluation. Here was an opportunity to see if I could get past my limiting belief about my size and practice yoga. Turns out I could. 

When Angie and Joyce began offering classes by and for the fuller bodied yogi, I happily signed up. Where I'd often felt self conscious in classes being the big and awkward student at Yoga Enlarged I am not distracted by my size. Angie and Joyce often offer modifications without students having to ask. I feel empowered to ask for additional instruction if my particular curves need a different work around. Angie and Joyce answer without making me feel awkward or that I am distracting from the rest of the class. They are thoughtful, mindful, resourceful and educated. The class is embracing and a haven where I do not feel my body takes up too much space, or that I have to punish myself or apologize for my size. It is a safe space where I can freely experiment with what my body can accomplish without feeling like I have to force it into a pose the way a skinny person would.

If You Fall, You Don't Have Far To Go: A Student's Story by Brooke Jackson

Brooke in Virabhadrasana III

A little over two years ago, I delivered my second son by emergency c-section. Not the birth plan I was going for, instead of basking in the same type of post-baby glow that I had with my firstborn, I found myself physically drained, in a lot of pain, and dependent on others to do even the simplest thing for me. The impact of that experience not only bruised my body, but my emotions. I have struggled with anxiety all my life and the out-of-my-control circumstances of my little man’s entrance into the world kicked it into high gear.

Because exercise would be restricted for a few months, my doctor suggested yoga. I told her I would consider it; but, I was terrified thinking about it. The only other time that I had attempted a formal class was abysmal – I couldn't move as fluidly as the others and I didn't seem to possess the same strength and control over my own body. I looked online for a local class, but kept seeing picture after picture of women who didn't look like me twisted into shapes or balance poses that I could never fathom myself attempting. The closer I got to walking into a studio for a session, the more panicked I became. One day, my internet search brought me to a picture of Joyce, with her personal yoga story detailed next to her photo. I felt an immediate comfort reading the words of her own experiences and realizing that she was a yoga instructor! So, I signed up for class.

My first class concluded with such a sense of relief—not because I had mastered any move at all, but because I felt like I fit there – like we were all in the same boat, heading the same direction. Instead of fat-shaming, Angie and Joyce helped us appreciate the things our bodies could do. Rather than focus on our limitations, they showed us variations of asanas that let everyone participate and grow in their own practice, in their own time. Angie’s gentle admonitions that our version of tree pose was “whatever your body can do today”, and Joyce’s encouragement to try something, because “what's the worst that can happen? If you fall, you don't have far to go,” were perfectly planted and made me love what I could accomplish, rather than focus on what I couldn't.  Over the past two years, I went from not being able to do a sit up anymore (cut muscles will do that for you) to being able to balance in crow and support myself in shoulder stand. I vividly remember the first time I felt strong again post-op; and, it was powerful.

But, the strength I gained was not merely physical. Yoga helped me breathe – not just through asanas, but through stresses off the mat. It helped me understand what feeling grounded is like, even in the midst of external annoyances and drama. And, it has increased my confidence to do things I have been historically afraid of. Because of yoga, this year, at 36 years of age, I signed up for swimming lessons! After a lifetime of being terrified of the water, I thought back over my last two years and realized how much richer and stronger I had become and decided, why not? What's the worst that can happen? (And then practiced some pranayama before signing up, because thinking the worst is something I do very well!) But three weeks in, I'm actually swimming – something that I would not have done two years ago. Because pre-Yoga Enlarged Brooke never would have thought she could.

Why Yoga Enlarged: A Student's Story by Anna Beach

Anna in Natarajasana

One of my greatest struggles as a human has always been vacillating between extremes of low self-worth and potentially outsized notions of grandeur. I want to take on the world, but routinely become discouraged when the world reminds me how large and unconquerable it can be. My attitudes toward physical activity have often taken on a similar vibe. I want to run a marathon, I want to be able to do the splits. I want to be perfect, which, alas, is impossible. And so, for as long as I can remember classifying myself as fat (9 years old on) I have alternately endeavored to overcome my perceived imperfection, and hated myself when I couldn’t change all at once.

I first encountered Angie when she taught my mother and I to knit socks when I was a senior in high school. I remember being impressed, amidst my Fiona Apple-fueled teenage angst, at how clearly she knew herself and at how she seemed very content with the life she had built. I signed up for a beginner’s Hatha class after college, and there was Angie again, teaching. I enjoyed it, but mostly because of scheduling, I didn’t keep up with it. So when I encountered her yet again, teaching something geared toward plus-size women, late last year, I was intrigued.

I know that being in a plus-size only zone allowed me to initially relax enough to stay with it and not be super concerned about whether I could do the same things everyone else was doing. Almost eight months after committing to practicing yoga on a regular basis, I have lost 35 pounds, the shape of my body has changed, and I can move in ways that used to seem impossible or very uncomfortable. But the real shift for me has been in the way I mentally process myself. I have grown leaps and bounds in loving myself this year, and I know that this would not have been possible without yoga, and specifically without the guidance of Joyce and Angie.

The space at Replenish is quite lovely. I have an affinity for old buildings, and I feel that practicing in a space that has itself withstood years of change is energetically powerful. The emphasis on making modifications readily available and listening to your body makes this a healing and restorative practice, even as it is active. I feel that often, in the world of yoga, there are teachers who spew a lot of jargon and yogic philosophy and then completely abandon that in their physical practice. Both Angie and Joyce are masterful at real talk. They want you to get the best out of the class, but they aren’t afraid to acknowledge difficulty, tell you it’s okay not to do something, and call bullshit on Rodney Yee (my personal favorite). I don’t believe I have ever attended a class where there hasn’t been some laughter, and I love this. Yoga Enlarged is spiritual without being preachy, challenging without being difficult, and impactful without being somber.

Whatever the world may tell me, I leave each class reminded that big women are powerful, that power and vulnerability are not mutually exclusive, and that I am capable of more than I think. Osho writes, “The moment you accept yourself, you become beautiful.” Over the past couple months, there’s been an uptick in customers, friends, and family members telling me I look pretty, or simply gravitating toward me. I know that sounds vain, and perhaps it is. But I truly think it is because they can sense a happiness in me that wasn’t there before, and I attribute much of this to yoga. Unlike Osho, I don’t think self-acceptance comes in a moment. As a woman, a perfectionist, a creative, I’m going to be working on achieving that feeling my whole life. I know only this: when I get on the mat, surrounded by distressed brick walls, when I am guided through poses by Angie, when Joyce Eubanks’ Maya Angelou voice tells me to breathe, the noise in my head quiets enough that happiness seems within reach. Without ever looking at my reflection, I feel beautiful. I am beautiful.

No Class on Sunday, March 27

Hey, everybody!  Due to the holiday, Yoga Enlarged will not be holding class on Sunday, March 26.  Enjoy your day and we'll see you next week!