My Journey to Handstand
"This is an ongoing practice. From the instant we begin this bodhisattva training until we completely trust the freedom of our unconditional, unbiased mind, we are surrendering moment by moment to whatever is happening in this very instant of time. With precision and gentleness, we surrender our cherished ways of holding it all together, our cherished ways of blocking bodhichitta. We do this again and again over many challenging and inspiring years, and in the process develop an appetite for groundlessness."
{From The Places That Scare You, by Pema Chodron}
I have been practicing yoga for nearly a decade. For more than eight years, I have continually returned, sweat, practiced, disciplined, fallen, risen, child's-posed, learned, and so on. I have witnessed my entire life transform from something small, lonely, and afraid, into something overflowing with love and hope.
But I still can't do a handstand.
Ugh. Handstands. It seems a yogi can't get away from the damned pose, these days. They are all over the social media yoga world. Handstand is yoga_girl's signature pose. They're very photogenic, energizing, gymnastic, impressive. They've become this kind of rite-of-passage in the yoga community. They're the peak pose. It seems like everyone is doing them.
Everyone, except for me.
I am many years into my yoga practice. I have two teacher trainings under my belt. I spent a summer training with Maty Ezraty, for crying out loud! And still, I haven't ever--not once--been able to kick up into handstand, even against a wall.
I've been incredibly hard on myself about it. I've felt inadequate. I've felt unworthy to even teach yoga. I've given up the idea of even trying. I've felt ashamed and not wanted anyone to know. I've felt like a second-rate yogi. (As if that even exists!)
Still, I've been aware for several years, now, that my handstanding problem hasn't been a matter of physical inadequacy, or lack of strength. I've been pretty sure that my body could do the damn pose.
But.
My mind keeps getting in the way. I'm scared. Handstand is a pose that confronts me with the very feeling I fear most: groundlessness. Not having my feet firmly on the ground. Feeling out of control, and literally upside-down. Every time I place my hands down and start drawing my shoulders forward of my wrists I start to panic. I start to list, in rapid-fire, all the reasons I can't do this thing:
This isn't safe.
You're not ready.
You'll never be ready.
Maybe later.
Probably never.
You're too weak.
You don't have the right body type for a pose like this.
Remember how you could never do the splits in ballet?
You still can't do the splits.
Nothing's changed.
What if you kick up and your arms can't hold you?
You'll break something, and then what?
It's not worth it.
See?! You can't even kick up! Don't bother. Just go do something else.
I've been mean to myself. I've demeaned my very hard and earnest work as being "not good enough," only because I haven't been able to conquer this one pose. But it hasn't been about the pose. The pose has only confronted me with the real problem: fear.
In the last couple of weeks, I've been reading Pema Chodron's book, The Places That Scare You. The place that scares me is handstand, so as I've been turning the pages, I've been relating Pema's instructions to my yoga practice. Two days ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table, reading, and came upon this passage: "As we tentatively step out of our cocoon, we're bound to be afraid and grab on to what's familiar... A first step is to understand that a feeling of dread or psychological discomfort might just be a sign that old habits are getting liberated, that we are moving closer to the natural open state."
"A feeling of dread or psychological discomfort." Well, that described my experience with handstand perfectly. It sparked something in me. The thought that handstanding could be a path to "old habits getting liberated"--I mean, that is why I practice yoga.
That's when I felt it. Somewhere deep in my gut I felt a little fire start to burn, and the smoke swirling up my spine formed these words as it made it's way out of my mouth:
I said out loud, "I am going to handstand right now."
I shot out of my chair, ran upstairs and into my practice room, set up my camera to record because I knew I was going to want to save this moment for myself, set my hands down and started kicking. I kicked and kicked. I thought about all the moments in my life thus far that I'd found myself in this position:
In my first vinyasa classes, dripping with sweat, body trembling, turning around to see a room full of beautiful women pressing up, floating up, as my teacher instructed us all to "be light." And all I felt was heavy, and out of place.
In teacher training with Maty, feeling so ashamed and disappointing to her, when all I wanted was for her to know that I was dedicated to learning. That I was good enough.
In Brooklyn, on the rooftop of my friends' apartment, crying in frustration as the sun rose over Manhattan.
In my own practice room, playing youtube videos with countless different methods and teachings. And none of them worked for me.
It was an overwhelming movie reel, and a total distraction from the present moment and my current endeavor, so it took me a moment to realize that, after all, I had kicked into handstand.
I was up. My heels were resting against the wall. My arms were strong. I was ok. I was handstanding. I held it for a bit longer, just to savor it. Then I came down, dropped to my knees, and started laugh-crying. It was an energetic break-through. I had cracked something open. I had busted a wall down. I had accomplished the thing I had convinced myself I would never accomplish. I had felt the fear, and done it anyway.
No Filter: This is an unedited, unbeautified screenshot of my first-ever unassisted handstand. I am using a strap around my upper arms for support (both physical and psychological ;).
What comes next? I don't know what comes after handstand. It only happened two days ago, and I'm still trying to fully appreciate all my effort and victory. But I know this: I have a lot more practice ahead of me. And, if all goes well, a whole lot more dread and psychological discomfort :)
Are you ready to face your fears?
Whatever leap into the unknown you’re looking to make, I can help you. Learn more here.
