What Is Yoga Without the Namaste?
I found my happy place in a space free of microaggressions
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During the opening circle of the Starshine & Clay Retreat, the founder, Octavia Raheem, instructed the more than 40 Black and brown women assembled at Mandala Hall on Bald Mountain in Sautee Nacoochee, Georgia, to simply breathe. Eyes closed, legs crossed, and bottoms planted firmly on the ground, we exhaled. And with that collective whoosh, it felt as though we were releasing the weight of the world.
It wasn’t my first yoga class for women of color, but it was the first time I’d exhaled out loud in a yoga class, for fear of being too loud or too much. But that weekend, we managed to carve out a safe space for ourselves to just be. Here, in this circle, with our sisters, we were the embodiment of #BlackGirlMagic.
In sharing her reasoning for creating the retreat, Raheem has said: “I needed a place to both affirm my wholeness and practice being well in my body and soul; I needed a place that felt like home to do that. A place where I don’t need to worry ‘bout the small things, like my edges.”
I knew exactly what she meant. Back home in Chicago, I was accustomed to making myself smaller at the yoga studios populated by mostly thin white women. In fact, there was an older white woman in one of my Pilates classes who’d asked me if I could move over, even though I was already bumped up against the wall in a crowded class. Her message was clear: this was her space and my comfort was inconsequential.
Why did we have to conform and contort just to fit in — both literally and figuratively?
I started doing yoga in undergrad to vary my workout routine, but as an adult I’ve found the practice to be more of a spiritual exercise than an athletic one — in theory. But it’s hard to fully relax while worrying about whether or not I was good enough to be in these classes. No, Susan, I cannot bust out into a handstand, and no amount of you coaxing me, forcing me, and judging me is going to make it happen any faster.
Then, there was the social anxiety — comparing everyone else’s slender frames and Lululemon leggings to my curvy figure and $10 T.J. Maxx knockoffs. My thighs rub…
