I was so worried about worrying, I didn’t see how I was beating myself up
Last week, I was telling my sister how worried I am about my child’s upcoming medical procedure. Without missing a beat, I moved from expressing my fear and anxiety to explaining to my sister how stupid I felt to be focused so entirely on the future rather than on the present moment. “After all,” I said in my best yoga voice, “I know better.”
Without missing a beat of her own, she replied, “Well, I’m not a professional yogi. I’m just a regular person, so there is no judgment coming from me.” Because she had rendered me speechless, she had time to continue, “Of course you’re worried. It’s your kid.” In 15 seconds, my sister managed to shine a bright and desperately needed light on the very foundation of my yoga practice.
Ahimsa (non-violence) is the very first principle that yogis learn on their journey through the eight limbs of the practice. Alan Finger, in his book Tantra of the Yoga Sutras, defines ahimsa as the process of becoming free of all violence, injury, and harm toward others and – pay attention! – toward oneself. He says that we create ahimsa when we neutralize our impulses toward aggression.
Non-violence may be a yoga fundamental, but that doesn’t mean it’s simple
Because Patanjali has all yoga students start here, it would be easy to liken practicing non-violence to a writer learning their ABCs. But that is simply not the case. To quote the cinematic wisdom of the escargot scene in Pretty Woman, ahimsa can be a “slippery little sucker.” No sooner do you think that you’re getting this kindness thing down, than you realize that you’re being awful again in an entirely new and unexpected way.
This learning curve can go on for years – for me, more than 20 years. This is not a gloomy fact. Lasting change for us humans is slow-motion work – especially when what we’re changing are impulses that are so deeply rooted that they feel like they’re a part of us. Yoga is a practice that is meant to last for a lifetime. And, as Glennon Doyle so wisely stated, “a lifetime is exactly how long we have” to practice.
We can model our kindness to ourselves on kindness we received in the past
The slipperiest part of ahimsa is the rough and at times aggressive way that we treat ourselves. We are harder on ourselves than we would ever be to someone else – especially someone with whom we have a lasting relationship. When I teach this aspect of non-violence to a roomful of people who are mostly brand new to yoga, eventually a student will describe a teacher or coach who was kind to them in the wake of a huge mistake.
The transformative “A-HA!” moment arrives when the student realizes that this memorable teacher or coach can become part of their practice of non-violence. When they notice their harsh inner critic slinging blame and shame around after they make a mistake, they can pause and imagine what their teacher or coach would say. Over time, I promise them, they will find themselves quite naturally replacing their own cruelly judgmental voice with the kind and supportive voice of their mentor.
Our inner meanies can be tricky
Up until last week, I would have confidently told you that, after two decades of practice, this works. After all, my own mean inner voice doesn’t speak up very much at all anymore. And when she does, she’s easy for me to recognize and to ignore. But my conversation with my sister sent my confidence in my practice of ahimsa flying across the room like Julia Roberts’ errant escargot. Luckily my sister is as good a catch as the Pretty Woman waiter.
What I can see now, is that my diligent practice of non-violence worked so well that my harsh inner critic decided to masquerade as a wise and serene “professional yogi.” Rather than screeching at me, she began to quietly and calmly point out all the ways I am not true to my practice. Worse yet, she feels free to do so without any regard to my current circumstances.
My sister’s words helped me to realize that I would never entrust my practice to a yoga teacher like that – a teacher so wed to the “law” of yoga that she is blinded to the reality that her student is struggling and needs to be offered a kinder, gentler way. In fact, I hope with every cell in my body that I am not a teacher like that. My intention is always to help my students to seek support from yoga philosophy and default to gentleness when they find that they are not yet ready to manifest an aspect of this way of living.
But eventually we will recognize even the trickiest of tricksters
Now that I see my inner mean yoga teacher, I hope to never un-see her. I hope also that, with time, I will learn to replace her voice with my own – imagining what I’d say to me if I were my own student. And I encourage you also to stay vigilant in your own practice of ahimsa. Not by looking for all the ways you lapse into unkindness in your life, but by paying attention to all the disguises your mean inner critic dons to trick you into paying attention to them again.
These inner meanies of ours can be “slippery little suckers” indeed. But, if we keep practicing, kindness will absolutely triumph.