Doing YTT With My Disability Isn’t Easy. Here’s Why I Stayed.

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I rolled up my yoga mat, placed the cork blocks back on the studio’s shelf, and slogged to my car. It had been a long, tiring weekend of yoga teacher training. I had known the process would be mentally and physically exhausting, although as a lifelong athlete and avid rock climber, I had always abided by the motto, “Get out of your head and into your body.”

But as I schlepped through the snow-covered sidewalk, sadness began to creep in. I took a deep breath, tossed my mat and belongings into the back seat, and shut the door thinking, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I belong here.

I knew I needed yoga. But I wasn’t sure yoga needed me.

Yoga Before and After My Accident

My body doesn’t work the way it used to several years ago. I wear a below-knee prosthesis on my right leg, and as I climbed into the driver’s seat, I could feel a bottoming out of my residual limb in its socket. Following hours of twisting during teacher training, my lower back was also sore due to a hypermobile SI joint. This was a result of the rock climbing accident that led to my pelvic and vertebral fractures and my leg amputation.

My body is unpredictable. It fluctuates from moment to moment, depending on my exercise intensity, diet, weather, and other variables that I’ve learned to become mindful of over the years. Even my water intake affects my prosthetic socket fit. This keen awareness of my body’s unique symptom constellation has become a handy pain management tool, like a weather barometer signaling atmospheric pressure changes. I’ve found that if I pay attention to my body, she will let me know when to go full speed ahead, when to rest, and when to pull back.

Sometimes, though, the way through isn’t so clear. Like a mental tug-of-war, my pre-injured and post-injured selves pull me in opposite directions as I make my way through different yoga poses, modifying as necessary. Remnants of my pre-injured self judge this “different” me, and those judgments feel harsh. As someone who’s experienced yoga both before and after experiencing a disability, questions and concerns whiz around my mind like a bee in a jar.

These thoughts have amplified since I started YTT, including:

• I know Dancer Pose really aggravates my left SI joint, but do I do it anyway?
• How do I demonstrate Tree Pose while standing on my prosthetic leg?
• Wheel Pose is out of the question. Is it okay if I just never do it?
• I have no dorsiflexion in my prosthetic foot. How do I navigate this throughout class?
• What about the wear-and-tear to my foot shell? The replacements aren’t covered by insurance.
• How do I teach yoga without making it about my issues?

On my drive home, I tell myself to focus on my breath. I know these questions have their place, but the answers will come in time. Ahimsa, I tell myself, recalling one of the eight limbs of yoga. Be kind to yourself. Let go. 

Still, feelings of loss and longing are there. Longing for “normalcy.” Longing for simplicity and grace and ease. I don’t want to feel different.

Suddenly, I’m reminded of a comment made by another YTT trainee the day of our orientation “I’m so glad you are here! I was on the fence, dealing with an injury of my own, but now that I see you here working through your disability, I know I can do this.” Like a balm to the soul, the comment felt genuine and warm and made me feel validated and less alone.

I think I can continue, I tell myself, as I turn into my driveway. I know there are others in similar situations, dealing with injuries, energy-limiting conditions, and other disabilities. Each of them is working through similar questions.

By the time I walked into my house, I had convinced myself to stay in YTT. I realized that this, too, is all part of the process: self-study, uncovering limiting beliefs, and practicing self-compassion.

Learning to Stay

Life can change in an instant. This is true for any of us. Our bodies are wonderful, yet subject to changes that happen outside of our control through trauma, injury, aging, and time.

The belief that folks with disabilities are “few and far between” is false. We are everywhere! The practice of yoga can be an amazing tool that helps us understand and celebrate the human condition in all its forms.

Still, showing up on the mat is an act of bravery. Here are the steps I continually take to help me do that.

Reframing What “Ability” Means

Some days, I find that I’d rather revert to being “normal” or “one of the gang,” just like I felt when I was a young competitive athlete. But I know it’s not that simple. I now know that “ability” is a social construct, and that the continuum of ability is infinite.

I understand these feelings are also a hangover of my previous self, likely compounded by the social media images I’ve seen of beautiful people doing all the “right” poses.

Along with learning to teach yoga, I’m also working through my own internalized ableism and trying to shake the belief system that “adaptations” or “modifications” are somehow less-than-ideal representations of poses. This requires that I honor who I am now, in this very moment. And I know this will make me a more understanding teacher.

Realizing Everyone Has Doubts

It can be draining to sort through mental clutter and not only practice but consider teaching yoga at the same time. Thoughts drift from I can do this, to How do I do this? It’s not as simple or straightforward as I had hoped.

When I shared my concern with Melanie, my warmhearted YTT instructor, I discovered we had similar doubts. She talked about approaching middle age and needing to be mindful of the strain of certain poses on her own body. We pondered the same questions: Just because I can do this pose, should I? Will I regret it in time? We talked about balancing our efforts on the mat with a sense of ease, using yoga as a vehicle toward greater self-acceptance.

Finding Community

I’ve realized the importance of having the companionship of like-minded folks, and working with bodies or minds that don’t always cooperate or function in predictable ways. I feel fortunate to have found the Accessible Yoga Ambassador and Mentorship Program and knew I was in good company when Rodrigo Souza, the program’s leader, and a spinal cord injury survivor and wheelchair user, commented “Living with a disability can be a very lonely experience, but you know what? Community is healing!”

One of the main reasons I chose to do YTT is my desire to share the practice with the limb loss community. I don’t want others to feel lonely because I know the isolation that this feeling creates. I know well the slippery slope of sadness that can easily lead to depression. I am learning the treasure of community.

Remembering My “Why”

My disability offers me the gift of befriending my shadows and learning from them, walking the ever-present line between doing and being, and gaining a self-awareness that comes as a byproduct of living in a body that sometimes surprises me in unwelcome ways.

I know the importance of truly cherishing movement and trusting a spiritual path. I am learning to move the needle toward yoga’s more authentic teachings, which embody inclusivity, intentionality, social justice, loving kindness, joy, and radical acceptance. This is literally the point of yoga!

Embracing a Beginner’s Mind

I’ve also learned that a beginner’s mind is a gift. It involves dropping expectations and preconceived ideas, and seeing things with a childlike wonder and receptivity to experience. I’ve had to really befriend myself and take things more slowly than my pre-injured self would prefer.

My Yoga Practice Is an Opportunity

After deciding to remain in the training, I’ve restructured my expectations. Now, each time I arrive on my mat, I’m much less harsh with myself. I’m as proud of my curiosity, openness, and ability to tolerate life’s ambiguities as I am of my badassery.

When I connect to my breath, I’m aware of the amazing life force that I embody and which we all share. Yoga is teaching me that we never really arrive anywhere or achieve anything. We find acceptance, peace, and a home within ourselves—wherever we are—and that’s a wonderful thing.

Even when my tendency toward self-doubt arises. I know I belong here. I say this not just as an affirmation to myself, but for anyone else on the fence about boldly stepping into their power despite physical, emotional or socially-determined obstacles. It isn’t easy! And I guess this is why they call yoga a practice.