Being Unbalanced and Falling Over In Yoga {Self-Discovery, Word by Word}

When I use the word balance in a group with my patients, I can often expect a collective groan.

“Balance schmalence,” they say. “We know, we know… it’s all about this elusive balance.” And then there are often some eyerolls and incredulous looks. Their eyes asking, Is that the best you got?

Yes, yes it is.

The older, and hopefully wiser, that I get, the more that I understand that it really all comes down the simply stated (but not simply implemented) concept of creating balance. But before we can create balance, we have to create a willingness to be unbalanced. Sound a little funny?

I recognized this idea in myself the other day while practicing yoga. (The other thing I understand as I get older is that yoga is truly the key to all understanding, but that’s another post.) Our teacher for the class was guiding us into sirsha-asana, a yogic headstand. It’s a classic yoga pose, and one that emphasizes balance and vitality (and reportedly even promotes hair growth, but I don’t know about all that…).

It’s also really hard. Now, it’s not the pose itself that’s challenging – though it of course takes a bit of basic practice – but rather the idea of it. As I listened to the teacher walk us gently through the process of achieving the full height of the pose, I found myself looking around the room with bulging eyes, certain that there was no way in hell my feet were going above my head like that.

I quickly remembered that one of my intentions for yoga was to focus only on my own experience and practice not comparing, so I returned my attention to my body and began attempting the pose. As I settled into a kneeling pose and rested my head firmly on the ground, I observed that familiar sense of panic spread through my body. What if I fall over? What if my falling over causes someone else to fall over? What if my too tight pants rip? What if I make a fool of myself? What if I get a concussion and can’t work?What if…?

I was caught in a space of unwillingness in that moment. I knew – or rather, I thought I knew – that I wasn’t so good at balance poses. And my buying into these thoughts was creating a hole in my sense of willingness to let myself fail – or succeed, for that matter.

I realized that there was absolutely no way to practice my balance pose if I wasn’t willing to become unbalanced. And so I summoned up every ounce of acceptance that I could and gently began lifting my knees off the floor. My abdominal muscles were screaming, but not louder than my mind telling me I was going to crash. But I let my mind (and muscles) yammer on as I pushed myself into the air.

And then I fell.

I tried again. And I fell. I tried a third time. And I fell. I didn’t make it up that day. But I did make it up a little farther, my legs extending a couple more inches in the air and for a few more seconds without falling.

And then we moved into another set of poses and I allowed myself to move on with my body and mind.

I won’t tell you that I wasn’t frustrated, or that I’ve now mastered the pose (because I haven’t). But I did grow in those moments of discomfort. I grew not only a couple inches and few seconds, but in my ability to reach beyond what my reliance on what is stable and “true.”

And in that space of being willing to feel off center, unsteady, and to come crashing into the unknown, I found a second of balance.

This post was written as part of the Self-Discovery, Word by Word series. This month’s host is Myrite at Tasty Life and she’s chosen the word balance for the blogging community to reflect upon. Please check out this post to learn more!

{image credit :: yogamoma.co.uk}