Patient: Doctor, it hurts when I do this. Doctor: Then don't do that.
The old joke rings true all the time, though it's usually not very funny.
Recently, I had a student who came to me after class.
"I think I hurt my elbow in yoga last week," he said.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.
"Well," he said. "I'm not sure it was yoga. Actually, I don't know what I did to it. It might be carpal tunnel or something like that. But it hurts when I do Chaturanga."
"That's too bad," I empathized, remembering times when I've been off balance in my own practice. "Usually when we hurt ourselves in yoga, it's because we haven't been fully present in our practice," I continued. "If you're present and listening to your body, it's unlikely that you'll get hurt."
"So," he continued, nodding as though he understood me. "Do you think I should push through it?" he asked. "You know, keep practicing, keep doing Chaturanga?"
I paused and stared at him for a second.
He didn't know what happened to his elbow. It might have been a yoga injury or it might not have been. Maybe he slept on it weird. I don't know. I don't live in his body. I don't know what his elbow normally feels like. I was surprised he asked for advice but stayed present with him, because he seemed confused what to do.
Beyond giving advice (which, as someone who is NOT a medical professional, is something I do not do in a yoga class, anyway), I realized that this is a deeper pattern in so many people's lives ~ looking for answers outside of ourselves, rather than trusting the inherent wisdom and knowledge that we have within.
If your body hurts when you do something.... should you continue to do it?
This is where being present and conscious comes in, off the mat, in our daily lives. In all of our decision-making. In all of the words we choose to communicate with, and in all of the ways we choose to live in the world. We always have a choice in how we live in and respond to the world around us and the circumstances that make their way into our lives.
We can be still and present and maybe feel uncomfortable... or we can ignore the signs and signals that we may need a break and keep pushing, pushing, pushing, until something actually breaks, forcing us to slow down, maybe for good.
If I told this man to stop practicing, would he would take my word for it? If I told him to just skip Chaturanga, would he do it? If I gave him ANY answers that he did not come up with himself, would he actually learn anything from this situation? I have talked about ahimsa in class, about the need to be non-violent to ourselves. What are those words worth?
If he came to the decision himself, a shift might occur. Making decisions from within and not based on other people's words ~ that's where true learning happens.
This is a tough spot for yoga teachers sometimes. We'd like to tell the students, no, don't do that pose, no, you're going to hurt yourself, do it this way, do it that way, but ultimately, the student HAS to learn on his or her own.
I can teach you philosophy, I can talk to you about ahimsa, I can teach you how to do poses safely and in correct alignment, but if your mind is not ready, your body will follow... and you will probably get injured. If you are already injured and already hurt when you practice, is my telling you to back off going to make any difference?
(Important side note: this student already has a shoulder injury and cannot fully do Downward-Facing Dog or other poses, yet continues to try to push through for reasons I am beyond helping him with at this point.)
"I can't answer that for you," I finally said to him. "You need to listen to your body to find out what's right for you."
A woman nearby glared at me and said to him, "Yes, you should stop."
I wondered at her insistence. What makes her the authority? How does she know what's right for him? She doesn't live in his body. He may have lifetimes of lessons to learn from his body before he understands when and how to ease up. He may never ease up. He may have a breakthrough tomorrow. We can't presume to know anything about this man.
I shook my head and repeated myself.
"You need to listen to your own body to know what's right for you. However," I added, "you may want to ice your elbow."
The following week, he was in class again, stumbling through the poses, including Chaturanga. It made me sad, but ultimately, I am not responsible for his decisions.
What part of "listen to your body" is the hardest to understand?








