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.

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.

Donation-Based Yoga: Behind the Curtain by Angie Hay

Angie, Dhanurasana

Replenish: the Spa Co-Op, which is the home to Yoga Enlarged, is Columbus’ only donation-based yoga studio. This unique model of support is a new-ish idea in the yoga community that hopes to destroy financial barriers that stop people from practicing yoga.

In a traditional model, the studio tells you what to pay when you come to class. This may vary depending on a number of things, but the price of the class is decided upon by the business end of the studio. Usually, a teacher in this environment is paid a fixed amount. This model provides a level of predictability and stability for the studio and its teachers, but can create difficulty for students.

In a donation-based model, the students decide what to pay when they come to class. Some students pay a lot, some students pay a little. In this environment, the teacher is usually compensated based on the total donations received for her class. You can see how this turns the above equation on its head a bit. This model creates a level of financial ease for students and unpredictability for the studio and its teachers.

Let’s look at how this works at Replenish, where the suggested donation is $15 per class. Because we believe in the importance of transparency, students are asked to write down the amount of their donation when they sign in. All donations are honored, regardless of the size. The value of the donation is split between the studio and the teachers. In our case, that means that Replenish receives 50% for providing the space, administrative support, and supplies, and Joyce and I receive 25% each for teaching the class.

Being a teacher at a donation-based studio means that I don’t know what I’ll be paid for the classes I teach. Yoga teaching is my full-time job, and this is my primary source of income. Can you imagine clocking in to work with no idea of what you might be paid for a day’s work? It can be a little scary. So why do it?

Teaching donation-based classes allows me to walk my talk in a lot of ways. It’s vitally important to me that the practice of yoga be cracked open for everyone that needs it - all bodies, all ability levels, all financial situations. I don’t want yoga to be limited to wealthy bodies any more than I want yoga to be limited to skinny bodies. I don’t want you to have to choose between school supplies for your kid and yoga, or getting an oil change and yoga, or paying rent and yoga. I want you to be able to do all of that.

It also requires me to trust (and to practice trusting) that the universe is actually a benevolent place with my best interest at heart. I have to trust that my students want to give what they’re able, and that gift will be enough. I have to trust that some students will give a little more when they’re feeling fortunate to cover those who are struggling. I have to trust that I have something valuable to offer, and that the people who need it will happily show up.

Donation-supported yoga classes have become an important part of the conversation about accessibility and financial disparity in yoga practice and are a much needed resource in our community. I want to thank those of you who have voted with your wallets to support this class, and I hope you know how valuable that support has been to its ongoing creation. If you would like to participate, join us at Replenish in Columbus, OH, or look up donation-based yoga in your area.

The Fullest Expression of the Pose by Angie Hay

Joyce and Sara, partner-supported heart opening.

Yoga teachers love to tell you about “the fullest expression of the pose.” I first started hearing this little phrase a few years ago when some Vinyasa teachers I know began to experiment with bringing inclusive language into their classrooms. Everybody was getting clear on the fact that saying “the real pose” was going to have to be abandoned because of the division it created - here I am in the real pose, there you are in that fake shit. Folks were casting about for a more yogic way to describe pose levels, and suddenly the “fullest expression of the pose” arrived.

Like so many mistakes, it was quick to catch fire. Reach back and grasp the opposite foot to come into the fullest expression of the pose. Touch your forehead to the floor to come into the fullest expression of the pose. Lift the feet off the ground to come into the fullest expression of the pose.

This phrase tends to hang out with poses that contain some degree of impossibility. Despite its many lovely levels of complexity, I have yet to hear anyone talk about the fullest expression of downward facing dog. Or the fullest expression of criss-cross applesauce, also known as sukasana. It always describes something to be attained, a goal to be accomplished.

Just like circus performers, we yogis want our bodies to do amazing things. We want to measure our progress from who we once were to who we are now. We want our bodies to be our temples, our playgrounds, and our measures of worth. Remember when I couldn’t put my foot behind my head? Well, look at me now. How long a road I’ve travelled. How different I’ve become.

The problem with thinking of poses in terms of their fullest expression, the problem with this endgame asana, is what we allow it to infer about the rest of the practice, ours and everyone else’s.

The first time I kicked my feet over my head into forearm balance, I rested upside down against the wall for a few seconds, then laid down on my mat and cried with the sheer joy of living inside a miraculous vehicle. Was this the fullest expression of the pose, or would that arrive when I could balance in the middle of the room? After my friend’s knee surgery, she practiced a beautifully aligned tree pose laying on her back. Was this the fullest expression of the pose, or just a placeholder for a day when the real thing could show back up? I have seen many pictures of B.K.S. Iyengar draped over a solid wooden arch practicing a wheel pose. Would you suggest that this was not the fullest expression of the pose because of the prop? I triple dog dare you to say that to his face.

Outside of the laboratory of your own body, can you really say what the fullest expression of any pose is? What resource can give you this information? Light on Yoga? The nationally famous yogi you took a workshop with last weekend? Your Instagram feed? These are all likely to disagree in many ways.

Furthermore, supposing that such a thing as “the fullest expression” exists, what is its real value? From a therapeutic perspective, we know that we can see measurable results from the simplest and most relaxing forms of asana. From a spiritual perspective, we know that the yogi in class who can take every bind may not even be the nicest person in the room, let alone the most enlightened. From a physical perspective, we know that the ability to achieve extreme poses actually says very little about the health of the body creating them.

In truth, “the fullest expression of the pose” is just “the real pose” in disguise. Here I am in the fullest expression, there you are in that empty shit.  It's a way to separate the wheat from the chaff.  

But when I look at my students, wherever they show up in the vast spectrum of a pose, I don't see chaff.  I see wheat for days.  To be increasingly effective yoga teachers, we need to practice dissolving our biases in every way - around race, around class, around sexual orientation and expression, around gender, around size, around age, and definitely around ability. This is not a liberal PC imperative but the revealed truth of the philosophy that surrounds the practice we love, which tells us that we are all one, all Divine, in no way divided from or less than all that is. The language you choose in class will surely and steadfastly reveal the ways in which you remain trapped in the illusion that we are separate from, and therefore measurable against, each other, and this language will inform your students thinking about themselves and the practice.

Honestly, sometimes grabbing a toe is just grabbing a toe.  And the fullest expression of yoga asana is something that can never be captured in a photograph.