Slice of Life 2022: 15 of 31- Another yoga-inspired reflection

  It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

I hadn't been to yoga in a while, as it's something I do during the summer and not during the school year. During the summer, I become somewhat of a regular, and sometimes I talk to the teachers. Mostly, I prefer to head to my corner, spread out my mat, and engage in my own practice until class starts. I don't wear my glasses during yoga, and although I'm far from blind, faces are not clear without them. I really am in my own space on my own mat during most of my minutes in class. 

When Amy and I showed up in yoga class on Saturday morning, I am pretty sure that the instructor, Michelle, was surprised to see us. I thought about saying hello, but she was talking to other people, and I didn't want to interrupt. I thought about letting her know that I'd had my booster shingles shot and my left arm wasn't functioning at its best, but I didn't want to sound like an excuse-maker. I'd just go about my practice in my incognito, vision-impaired way. 

 Maybe because the class was small, maybe because I was in my spot, maybe because I was with Amy... I didn't stay incognito for too long. Michelle started class, and she came right over and said a quiet hello. I was great with the hello. What I wasn't great with was when she came up behind me to lift my sore left arm a little higher. Yoga is a pretty quiet activity, so I think even the person in the opposite corner heard my gasp, which was about the last thing I meant to do! Did my arm really hurt that much? Not really. But was I at ALL comfortable with someone touching me because of it? Not at all. And was I expecting it? NOT at all. Michelle apologized. I did too, letting her know why I'd reacted like that, letting her know anywhere besides my left arm was okay for touch. I laughed a little, more to signal we were okay than because I thought anything was funny. I concentrated hard on getting back into my own practice. 

I've reflecting on this experience over the couple of days since it happened. In a yoga class, a safe place for me, Michelle, with all positive intent, touched me in a painful spot. I was momentarily embarrassed and distracted from the work I was doing. Because I am confident in my yoga practice, happy to be there, and replete with positive past experiences with Michelle, I got right over it and continued the class. But what if any of those circumstances weren't true? When do I touch a painful spot when working with a student or a teacher? How do they let me know, or how do they hide it? How do I build the foundation so that when I do, they're able to express it, maybe even laugh, and regain their composure to get back into their work? 

And, continuing the reflection, why wouldn't I have told Michelle in the first place? Why did I feel like what I should have communicated mattered less than some of the other conversations, and how do I make sure that all students feel like they matter enough to express themselves? 

Usually I love yoga because of the strength, balance, and progress I experience, and I also love it because of the parallels I find in life. Almost always, there's something within a class that helps me feel like a better person. 

Perhaps I'm making more sense to myself than to anyone who reads this-- feel free to translate some of my reflections or even expand them! It was a sliver of life that has set me off into reflections!