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By Hanne
You are unique! What works for you and your body does not work for someone else and vice versa. You may have heard this in yoga class. The book “Your Body, Your Yoga” goes through the concept of uniqueness, and it inspired me to write this post, maybe because the first sentence of the book reads, “You are unique.” Now, what exactly does that bring to your body, your yoga?
Your body, your yoga
The phrase “you are unique” is easily kind of superficial if thrown into the air without further consideration. What does uniqueness consist of? What is it made of? It consists of the raw materials you are made of and the life events that have shaped you. From your birth until today, all the details have created something unique, something as unique as you.
But what about your body, your yoga? In yoga practice, uniqueness can emerge in many ways. Take a moment and think; Do you have any asanas that you would like to blend into? Do you have any asana that is a great challenge to you? Maybe you dream of sitting in a lotus asana. You practice with that goal in mind, even though it still seems very distant and quite impossible for you even to do.
Then in the yoga class, your teacher mentions the uniqueness of the bodies and the fact that not all asanas are accessible for each of us. The specific anatomical structure ultimately determines which asanas are possible and which aren’t. At the same time, you realize the story’s plot and realize that the lotus that was your dream just went out of your reach. You understand your body and the challenges of that asana as an equation that is impossible for you.
Sthira Sukham Asanam
I always wince a little when I hear the word goal and yoga in the same sentence. It, of course, has to do with my unique goal-oriented background, which has shaped me. The practice should, of course, lead us forward, but the force that guides it should be a natural continuum to our practice and should indeed emerge from within and not be directed from the outside.
If you think carefully, not a single asana should be the goal as the asana itself but as a state. Patanjali describes asana as a solid and comfortable state (= Sthira sukham asanam). It means you can comfortably spend time in the asana without thinking about how it looks like or when it will end. However, instead of seeking a stable state, we often make the asana a performance. You know, settling in asana, aligning perfectly, five breathing cycles, and then exiting the pose. Does it sound familiar?
The moment you realize that your dream of sitting in the lotus is gone is likely to disappoint you. Maybe you’re comparing yourself to yogis that make the lotus, feeling a little envious. It is ok, and it is natural. Your ego has experienced a bump, and it’s hard to digest. Take a moment to think about why that asana is so important to you? Listen carefully; what comes up from within in regards to this? What added value does the asana bring to your life? Why is it important to you? Peel the meaning of that asana layer by layer until you know precisely why it is essential to you. The process requires digging and, more likely, acceptance and mercy not only for oneself but also for one’s own body.
Dancing with my Ego
I’ll tell you a story. A little over five years ago, I was able to do a split for the first time since elementary school. It was an essential thing to me, vain but essential, and I was excited about it. I wanted to show my boyfriend what a tremendous and significant thing had happened. I got down to my split, and at the same time, I heard a scratchy sound. “Did you hear that sound wasn’t my pants,” I said. I got up and thought, no worries, I could move, all is well. Except that no, all was not well. Something happened to my hamstring, and as a result, my forward bending e.g., paschimottanasana, was about 5 cm forward bend. Luckily the injury did not interfere with my activities or other exercises.
In a yoga class, I was ashamed of this deficiency of mine. I felt like people should know that my forward bend is usually much deeper, as if it had mattered. Well, it mattered, but only to me. At that time, my practice’s focus was somewhere else besides on my mat and in my own body. And I had a tough time accepting it.
I did the practice outside my own mat, imagining that others in the class would be interested in what is happening on my mat. I was dancing with my ego throughout the practice, in its firm grip. I was hardly in any of my asanas according to Patajanli’s definition of sthira sukham asanam but more likely tightly intertwined with the gentle embrace of my ego. In yoga teacher training six months after the split event, the forward folds were still painful, but then I got out of my ego grip, and accepted what is. Yoga wasn’t a performance anymore.
The path of Realizations
Now, just over five years later, my hamstring almost fine. I must say that the process has taken longer than I thought, and sometimes I still got a reminder of the event when trying to push myself too far in the pose. For me, this was, above all, a process with my ego. It taught me about the limitations of my body and what truly matters. Listening to the body is vital during the practice every time, and understanding that my body, my yoga, is different every day.
When our practice is led by some force or state of will that comes from outside of us, we are then outside of both our mat and our body. Comparing yourself to the person doing the practice on the mat next to yours will also push you to that mat, even though the exercise on anyone else’s mat has no significance to your practice. It doesn’t matter who is and who isn’t sitting in the lotus.
Yoga is a path of realization, struggle with ego, and acceptance. Your body, your yoga, is a continuum of events that consists of moments you spend on your mat and moments outside of your mat. These make up your unique path, and it is the path that your unique body takes you through. And that is because you are unique.
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Hanne Nousiainen
Yoga teacher • Personal Trainer
Hanne Nousiainen
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