Originally published in October 2018.
I teach a gentle yoga class at my dance studio twice a week. All my students are women over 60, including my mother, who is almost 20 years older than I am. Each woman comes to class with her concerns, complaints, wisdom, wit, humor, and willingness to practice yoga.
They arrive stiff, sometimes dealing with arthritis, old athletic injuries, or the effects of recent falls. Many are navigating changes in balance and flexibility after menopause. A few have post-surgical limitations, including being unable to let their heads hang, and many live with chronic pain.
Teaching them has become the highlight of my week. Each one exemplifies what I adore about women. They are willing, coachable, and brave. They’ve chosen to face aging with the support of others—and plenty of humor.
These women faithfully show up for class. Sometimes they gripe about how they feel physically, but they’re always willing to share how they feel emotionally, too. As their yoga teacher, it’s my job to get them out of their heads and into their bodies. But I can’t resist joining the gab session before class. In fact, I’m often guilty of starting a conversation about something on my mind, and they chime in with life experience and support for my latest tribulation. Every time we meet is an opportunity to vent, which means we start and end class 10 minutes late!
Sometimes we begin class sitting on folding chairs, but usually we start cross-legged on the floor. Some of the women use blankets and blocks to support what the yoga community calls “modifications”—adjustments for tight hips, “bad knees,” or newly replaced joints. However we begin, we breathe deeply and turn inward together.
I’m always humbled, and a little amused, by their trust in me. They let me lead them through breathing exercises and mantras while they sit like pretzels with their eyes closed. Once we start moving, though, I’m snapped back to reality: they shamelessly protest my instructions even as they make a valiant effort to follow them.
It’s my responsibility to keep my students safe and make sure they aren’t stretching too far or attempting anything that could cause injury. At the same time, I want them to discover their potential and make changes that help them feel better. Often, one of them reminds me that she has already reached her potential and is as good as she’s going to get!
So I do what any good yoga teacher would do: I keep teaching. One woman will snicker, half the class will obediently get moving, and inevitably someone will bellow, “Robin, that’s just not gonna happen today!”
I respond with solutions involving yoga props, adjustments to body position, and reminders to breathe. Sometimes they tell me the adjustments worked. Other times, my suggestions set off uproarious laughter that sweeps through the whole class—including the teacher.
Even though we spend much of our class laughing, I’m impressed by their progress and eagerness to enrich their lives. They’ve chosen to adapt to the changes they’ve experienced by participating in something supportive, humorous, fun, and healthy.
Congratulations to the women who take my gentle yoga class!
I’m grateful to you for so many reasons. You’ve made me a better yoga and dance teacher. By your example, you’ve shown me how to support one another, how to be brave, how to laugh, and, most of all, how to love each other.
Namaste,
Robin
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