Let me tell you about the Scorpion pose.
It sounds impossibly awkward (or impossible, period), but it’s elegant.
Even outsideyoga class, I daydream about the Scorpion, envisioning myself striving for perfection.
We’re not doing the Scorpion today.
Today we’re doing hip openers, and I’m trying to focus, until the teacher interrupts me.
“Don’t worry,” she says, giving me a quick pat as she breezes by.
“You’ll get there eventually.”
And I know why: It’s because I’m fat.
I also happen to be an extremely adept yoga student.
When I started doing yoga seven years ago, it wasn’t what I expected.
It wasn’t a lot of chanting or relaxing.
It was hard work, and it was emotional.
Yoga helped me conquer demons I used to medicate away with antidepressants.
It made me feel free.
But after I gotpregnant, I developed anemia.
Except the delivery didn’t go quite as I had planned.
Instead, I got 30 hours of induced labor followed by complications that ended in an emergency cesarean section.
But I was so grateful to feel like myself again that I almost didn’t mind.
Besides, once I felt better mentally, I was ready for yoga again.
I wanted to get back into the game.
Moving into my first handstand, I felt the strain in my wrists, due to the extra pounds.
My usually intense seated forward bend felt muted by a new roll of belly fat.
My ankles ached in high lunges.
I told myself I simply had to work harder, that there were advantages to starting over.
I could rediscover the beginner’s highs and appreciate the milestones I’d been taking for granted.
Maybe the extra weight would turn out to be a blessing.
One change I hadn’t counted on was the teachers' treating me differently.
Over the course of three weeks, six different instructors approached me to offer extra encouragement.
Maybe I was being oversensitive, but I had more experience than many of my skinnier classmates did.
My defenses kicked into high gear.
My scar isn’t healed."
Then I saw an instructor do the Scorpion, and I fell in love.
I jumped at the chance to try it.
I was the first one at the wall, where you learn new poses.
Almost there, I thought.
And then it happened: My teacher walked by and said, “I like your spirit.”
My weight made it impossible for anyone to see my ability, it seemed.
I didn’t finish the Scorpion.
You say you like my spirit?
Honey, you have no idea."
Gently, he suggested that I needed to make more time for yoga.
I didn’t have the heart to admit that I’d been there that very day.
But I didn’t mind that.
Yoga was a challenge for me; I liked it that way.
I hoped that meant it would never seem rote.
In class, when a teacher drew near, I’d pray she wouldn’t comment.
I was so tired; getting into shape felt so hard.
Why couldn’t they leave me alone?
I had counted on yoga to be the thing that stayed the same.
I didn’t want the teachers to congratulate me for merely showing up.
I felt worn down from envy and need.
Did it truly matter what my classmates could or couldn’t do?
Wouldn’t it be more gratifying to measure myself against myownabilities?
If I wanted to move forward in yoga, I needed to stop wallowing in the negative.
I couldn’t let the drama of my son’s delivery be the story of my life.
I wanted to feel healthy and happy again.
If I pushed myself hard enough, maybe I could get there.
I began making a point of keeping my mouth shut when I couldn’t master a pose.
No worrying about other people’s expectations or wondering what they thought of my weight.
I needed all my energy to rebuild my body and repair my confidence.
After all, yoga instructors, like the rest of us, are human.
I decided to forgive them.
More important, I decided to forgive myself.
I am on my back in my new favorite teacher’s yoga class.
A few months have passed since that first failed Scorpion.
I am not much thinner, but I am much stronger.
Still, in the middle of doing core work, I get tired and quit.
(Yoga possesses special ways of making your midsection scream.)
My teacher stands over me, teasing, “C’mon, Cathy, just a few more.
You’re not here to rest.”
I don’t tell her my name is Taffy.
I don’t feel especially guilty.
After all, I’ve been through a lotbecoming a mother, beating depression.
Not that I’m complaining.
Time has built layers of tissue between me and my past hurts.
Besides, I’ve done the Scorpion today, and not even against the wall.
I don’t need anyone else to tell me that’s awesome.
I know it for myself.
SELF’s Happy Weight Handbook
Fall In Love With Your Body!
Photo Credit: Allard de Witte/Hollandse Hoogte/Redux
