Sensitivities as superpowers?
a yoga teacher's dilemma
When I taught yoga in person in studios, I’d say I was mildly successful. Actually, I’m hesitant to use the word successful. I did okay. I had enough people in my classes that I made a little money. But I came home every day exhausted, and I couldn’t figure out why. Yes I taught 10-12 classes a week, some of them quite active, but my tiredness went beyond the physical.
When everything moved online during the pandemic, I thrived. I loved walking into my living room, welcoming people into the virtual studio, and practicing by myself. We were all still connected—via Zoom and energetically, I would argue—but I didn’t have to hold space for people the same way I did when I taught in the studio.
And when I was diagnosed as being on the spectrum in 2022, this all made much more sense. Perhaps I was proficient at holding space for people in-person, but it took a big toll on my nervous system.
Yup, online was the place for me. As the pandemic began to show up in our rearview mirrors, the size of my Zoom classes dwindled and I gave up teaching everything other than chair yoga.
Before she passed away, my Aunt Ellie used to tell me that I am a very good yoga teacher. While I was flattered, this also sort of confounded me. If I was so great, how come I never became the next Yoga With Adrienne: Neurodivergent Edition?
I suppose, based on our devolved culture and the impossible-for-me-to-replicate hard work of some of my family members, I equate “being good” at something with “being well known” and/or “being successful,” and maybe even “being wealthy.”
But of course that’s not real life. Lots of people are really good at something and simply do it because they love it. And that is perfect too.
So while I may not be great (or decent) at self-promotion, or marketing, or creating a sustainable online yoga teaching business, maybe I can say I’m good at it in other ways.
I think I’m highly sensitive to what I’m feeling in my body. I think this is common for neurodivergents and people who have other types of physical issues going on (shout-out to my fellow peeps with less-than-optimized gut microbiomes). So when I have a headache, I don’t just have a headache. I have a HEADACHE. (And at the same time, only need 1/2 of a Tylenol to get rid of it.) I often get INTESTINAL DISCOMFORT that I can 100% correlate to feelings of depression or anxiety. It is how I’m currently wired.
But maybe these things can be positive aspects.
Maybe I am good at reminding people to breathe through their movement because I forget so often.
Maybe I am good at offering multiple versions of a pose or movement, because I hurt, and need to find different ways to move that feel good.
Perhaps I understand what sensations people might experience in a pose, or can anticipate them, because I myself am feeling all the feels.
Maybe I am distracted or antsy before or after class because managing multiple expectations is stressful. It’s possible I forget to ask how people are doing because my brain has the zoomies. But when I sit down to practice, I offer myself a chance to reestablish a balanced mind-body connection. Maybe then I have the presence to hold space for others and offer them an opportunity to take care of themselves for thirty minutes.
Maybe I remind myself I’m there in the first place because I care about other people and know the only way for way forward out the quagmire we’re in is by each one of us being kind to everyone we know.
It's possible that for the few moments each day when I’m in that space, I somehow magically know the right things to say.
I also have very forgiving students, who seem to put up with a regular stream of bad jokes and the occasional moment of self-promotion for my fiction writing.
In any case, maybe this seemingly constant state of hyper vigilance that I have about my physical self, perhaps this heightened sensitivity, can be a benefit to someone else.
I don’t know how much longer I’m going to teach yoga. I do wonder what it will be like to no longer communicate about movement and breath and feelings in that way, in that space.
My aunt asked me why I didn’t try to pursue becoming a bigger yoga teacher. I told her it’s because in my heart, I want to be A Writer. She didn’t have much to say to that. I’m not sure she understood it, although you would think she would , being a prolific and brilliant artist herself. Maybe she thought I wasn’t a very good writer?
I wonder what it was she couldn’t understand about my statement. (Although in this age of literally anyone being able to “publish a book,” being A Writer doesn’t mean as much?)
Maybe someday I’ll find a way to be a good yoga teacher “off the mat,” as they say. Maybe I’ll find a way to use my sensitivities in a way that makes me feel successful* but more importantly, makes my own heart sing. Perhaps what I’ve always thought of as weaknesses might someday be my superpowers.
*We’ll have a whole discussion on “what is success?” some other day
I loved your yoga classes because, you took yoga seriously, you took teaching yoga seriously, you offered help when needed, and you were just a nice person to be around.
And now you are becoming a great writer!
I always enjoyed your yoga classes, both in person and on-line! :)