White people: we need to be talking about the sickness of WHITENESS.
As someone who works hard to read all the “right” books & take in “diverse & inclusive” media (which is a start)—those actions only go so far.
We can’t dismantle white supremacy through fancy words & performative hashtags. This sickness lives in our BODIES. As white people, we are so resistant to discomfort & vulnerability that we constructed a whole system that prioritizes dominance at all costs. This guarantees that we won’t have to do the work of holding up a mirror to our pain.
Spiritual work is deep internal work. We need to move out of the intellectual & into the work of FEELING the ways this sickness has numbed/disrupted/disconnected our nervous system. And those will not be feelings of love & light.
Unspeakable harm has been done to other bodies because we refuse to navigate (with unwavering compassion) our white bodies. Let’s do the deep work.
But still uplift & financially support black people. The fire of this post was fanned by the wisdom of Sonya Renee Taylor:
Follow her & support her: presspatron.com/tbinaa
This practice has been a part of my morning ritual for some time. It weaves together all the things I find myself needing: feeling my body, awakening my social engagement system, & soothing my reactive (& protective) system. I hope it brings you some ease as well. Big love & deep bows. xo.
Despite uncertainty all around us, we are not alone in this. When you have a moment, here’s a practice to help regulate & bring awareness to our breath (with the additional anchor of our hands). Wishing all of us well. xo.
It’s wild to me how persistently my trauma shows up as a need to receive validation from others. I began to name it a while ago when my friend Kim and I were discussing the 5 Love Languages. It's a thing and it's pretty great. Mine? Words of affirmation. 100 percent. What started off as a quiz on romantic reflection quickly became an “oh, shit. here is my entire life” thing.
The avoiding commitment by seeking out fleeting approval thing.
The hiding away in a childhood friend’s closet at a birthday party in hopes of being found and receiving some attention thing.
The years of activism work that distracted me from the quieter, less flashy reminders of “hey, you deserve as much care as you give” thing.
And a few days ago, the racing heartbeat as I spoke up about social justice in a group setting—not because I doubted the compassion in my words, but because a part of me still wanted and wants to keep the bigger waters calm (even if that means I drown in my own deep end…thing).
A key part of my path is reminding myself to take care of my own container—my soma, emotional dances, assumptions and efforts. This involves showing up to the work of healing and, despite and regardless of external validation, journeying onward and inward. To unpack the armor of my ever-so-smart fawn response. Another interaction without reciprocity? Sad, but oddly comfortable. I’m a good listener anyway.
Let’s shake up the narrative of equating approval with value.
My lifetime goal/hope/heart wish?
Trauma Informed Yoga becomes a required component in all yoga teacher trainings.
Nothing relaxes the space between my eyebrows quite like that wish.
As my eyes soften, I can see vulnerable hearts having brave conversations. I can feel nervous systems buzzing with the possibility of being seen and understood. I can see those systems settling as eyes greet eyes with a willingness, time expanding briefly in intentional presence. I hear words that brighten my inner body; consent, choice, community. I can exhale as I hear experiences and stories from faces that don’t look like mine—faces that have been truth-telling on inequality long before I was unpacking or holding myself accountable to my whiteness and social location. Together, we lean in. We can breathe into wider windows of tolerance. Our bodies can feel the wisdom that was for too long covered in dust.
It’s messy. This healing. But I believe in it.
If you’re curious about trauma informed yoga/practices/resources/tools to feel more equipped in your teaching, I’m here to explore with you.
Oh, and my 2020 goal? One pull-up. Just the one will do. (FYI, it was also the 2019 goal). 💪
Okay—*takes a deep breath*
As some of my Abu Dhabi community already knows, Josh and I are taking some time away from the Middle East. We’re heading to Toronto, Canada to—in all honesty—prioritize the parts of ourselves that feel depleted here. We need green spaces (soon to be snowy spaces) & realistic sustainability. Proximity to family. For me, I need to prioritize my social justice work & spiritual activism in ways that aren’t conditional or limited by powers so much bigger than me.
But even so, my heart hurts thinking about stepping away from teaching yoga here. I (selfishly) feel like I’ve already peaked in my short time teaching and I’ll never find a community like this again!
Every day I am excited to teach & learn from you. Every night I am grateful & feel so loved.
Final September classes:
10.30am Gentle Flow at Yoga One
6.30pm Vinyasa at The Room
7.30pm Vinyasa at The Room
9.15am Gentle Flow at Yoga One
5.30pm Gentle Flow & Meditation at The Room
🔅18th September (Wednesday)/
FINAL class (with a little something special that evening) at The Room
5pm / Farewell class at Yoga One
Many more feelings & ramblings about all of this to come. I can’t even begin to praise & love on my amazing bosses enough (Mina, Peter, Mim). ❤️
I respect & admire each of you so much.
But in the meantime, please come practice with me.
Yours in love & compassionate action,
Kilimanjaro. The roof of Africa. The tallest free-standing mountain in the world. Over a week of “pole, pole” & “hakuna matata” culminated in one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. At the summit, my head was foggy & and my legs were unsteady. I hugged Josh & our tears embraced the frigid air of sunrise. The full moon was still soft in the distance.
But (despite the thin air at 19,340 feet) my breath never wavered. In eight days & across five distinct climate zones, that anchor of awareness never retreated or tightened. My breath (my practice) held me in deep trust. It was yoga. I’ve never rested in such trust before; it means something & that’s all I know now.
As an Accessible Yoga Ambassador, I’m humbled to bring a practice like this to my community here in Abu Dhabi, UAE. At the same time, I acknowledge that in doing so I am centering myself (a body very much in alignment with our conditioned notion of what a yoga practitioner “looks like”).
If you come on Friday I will do my best to meet you where you are in the worthy body that you have.
I promise we will move and breathe in new and adaptive ways.
I promise to speak from my heart while naming where I still need to grow (and where I hope we can grow together).
I also promise to uplift/share/celebrate the voices that have been carrying this torch long before I chose to gather behind them.
I listen to awaken because I want to be a good ancestor.
I do the work of unpacking my whiteness because I want to be a good ancestor.
I partner empathy with action because I want to be a good ancestor.
As my heart gets educated on the reality of what has always been I hold space for my white tears but I don’t let that fragility take up more space because I want to be a good ancestor.
My yoga practice intersects with social justice & accessibility & trauma because it is violent to google yoga, attend a retreat/training, or scroll through social media only seeing (or seeking out) bodies that look & move like mine (& I acknowledge the hypocrisy in the picture I’ve chosen—also my knee will definitely fall off being this far past my ankle).
I practice yoga to soften the ego of the intellectual & it’s default towards white exceptionalism.
I practice yoga to unlearn my conditioning & compassionately mess up & do it again because I want to be a good ancestor.
As a teacher I promise to wake up every day and hold up a mirror.
I am saying “I” a lot.
If this doesn’t align or resonate (& I’ve learned lately that it doesn’t with everyone)—then tell me what does?
My friends like to joke that my university degree was in rainbows and kaleidoscopes.
From the perspective of folks with a degree in business or finance, my friends are probably not too far off (my degree was Liberal Studies with an emphasis in Human Rights & Social Justice….so yeah, rainbows).
By the time I was graduating college, I didn’t have a clear direction of what to do next. My motto had always been to “do the best you can in the space you’re in, and the rest will fall into place.” So, I began applying to a bunch of volunteer positions with AmeriCorps (a program that aims at supporting communities in need). By the time of my graduation in 2010, I had been accepted into a yearlong program with an organization in New York City.
The job? A full-time volunteer position as the Program Coordinator for an after-school program for 6th and 7th graders in the Bronx (leading, recruiting, and organizing it all).
Had I ever worked in education? Not really. A couple of tutoring and short-term volunteer jobs.
Had I ever lived in/visited the Bronx? Was I familiar with the community/schools there? No. I had never stepped foot in New York City.
Was working with youth my #1 choice on my application? No. I preferred and had more experience with adults, specifically women.
Was I open to learning and compassionate about social justice? Absolutely, even though I was extremely under-qualified for the job.
During my volunteer year I met Group Leaders and Program Aides who had grown up next door to the young people we were educating/supporting. They had already spent years working in the school while I was still getting lost on my way to the gymnasium. They knew Alyssa’s younger siblings while I was trying to remember Alyssa’s name. They looked like the kids. They didn’t look like an anxious, but hopeful blonde white woman from Michigan. And I was in the higher position.
I made beautiful connections with my students and the staff that year, but I want to be clear: I was another under-qualified white volunteer with good intentions passing through for a year to do the best that I could.
It took me many years to recognize how problematic my time in the Bronx was. I did stay in NYC and continued working in education with the same non-profit organization, but rarely did I or the other white educators in those spaces push each other to have harder discussions around race and why so many in power were (and are) white when the communities were (and are) not. I’m not minimizing my compassionate heart or the relationships I cherish to no end—but I am saying that I didn’t deserve it. Acknowledging that doesn’t mean my work wasn’t meaningful; it shaped who I am today.
“Do the best you can in the space that you’re in, and the rest will fall into place”—that motto of mine was rooted in white supremacy. That trust in the unknown existed because, beyond the rainbows and the work done, the hopeful intentions of my white skin were always prioritized over the potential of those already doing the work.
#satya #truthtelling #yoga