I’d been doing Yoga for a couple of years when, pushing myself hard in kurmasana, or tortoise pose, my instructor approached and leant his entire weight on my body. His aim was to assist me going even further into the pose. I felt something snap in my lower back. I gingerly continued the class too scared to let him know.
That single experience led to an expensive couple of years of physical therapies and a deep dive into Pilates that finally healed my body before I could venture back to Yoga, a little wiser and much warier.
I was left feeling sad and bereft. I was in love with this practice but was it going to love me back? I started attending yoga classes in the late nineties in a grubby carpeted room north of Tooting and fell immediately under its spell. I’d been a gymnast as a child and teenager and it felt wonderful to reconnect with my body. I relished the challenge of the most complicated poses and I went to a whole new place in the stillness of Savasana. It felt a bit like coming home.
Ahiṃsā - meaning ‘nonviolence’- is considered a practice of a Yogic life. It sounds simple - just don’t hurt anything! But on closer examination, it seems more complex. All of us will have caused harm to ourselves, to loved ones, to colleagues and even strangers by our actions, words and thoughts. Sometimes purposefully, sometimes carelessly. Some of the hurt we inflict is within our control, some is not.
When I look back at that incident I think it was unwise of the teacher to do what he did, but I find it difficult to blame him. He caused harm but not intentionally and he acted from ignorance. His purpose was likely to help, yet that day he caused me harm.
I find it troublesome that I mutely submitted to the adjustment and then didn’t have the courage to tell him what happened. I caused myself harm by not asking him to stop, and further harm by being harshly self-critical about my lack of assertiveness. I may have caused other students harm by not bringing attention to his teaching practices.
Nowadays as a student, I generally reject a teacher’s offered adjustment. I’m more protective of my body and my space and I trust myself more. I care less about pushing myself to my physical limits or about being perceived as rude. My desire to remain injury free feels more important than another’s opinion.
As a teacher, I take great care to encourage people to listen to their bodies, go slowly and at their own pace. But where there are humans there is the potential for harm. This week a student let me know she had pulled something in her back during a gentle chair yoga session. Another week a student slipped on her way to class.
Some other thoughts and reflections:
Is ahiṃsā even possible where there are humans interacting? Is the best we can ever do to seek to reduce harm?
Good intentions aren’t good enough - As the proverb says, the road to hell is paved with them…
We are strongly culturally conditioned to accept the role of active teacher and passive student - how can we question this in Yoga spaces?
Do some Pilates, it’s great.