When I was 12, I was diagnosed with tinnitus — a constant high-pitched noise in my ears. In the 15 years since, I’ve never experienced true silence. My mom took me to a series of doctors as it spread from my right ear to my left, as the volume amplified. Inevitably each doctor brought up the fact that it was pretty much unheard of for someone as young as I was, with no significant trauma and good hearing, to experience this. They warned that I would be more likely to experience depression or suicidal thoughts. I was left feeling like something was seriously wrong with me. But over the years I got used to it. After I moved to NYC it was easier to deal with, the noises of the hustle and bustle generally drowning it out. Sometimes when it’s quiet I feel hopeless and depressed as the whine fills my head, but who doesn’t have those moments for their own reasons?
Fast forward to last year, when I started experiencing constant neck pain. It radiated into my skull, it gave me headaches, sometimes it crept down my arm and landed in my wrist and elbow. I went to a couple of doctors who told me it would go away. One said it was just a bad muscle spasm and put me on muscle relaxers for two weeks, which didn’t reduce my pain but made me nap the days away. I was told I was too young to be experiencing anything long-term. After a couple of months with minimal improvement, I went to a spine specialist and did an MRI on my neck. I started physical therapy. I did yoga and meditated every day. My pain reduced slightly but I still struggled to sleep and had to modify basically every exercise class I did to not aggravate it further. I found a new physical therapist and the pain decreased slightly again, but was still there, still distracting and discouraging. I was told I had spinal stenosis, a narrowing in the spine often due to arthritis which lasts years or the rest of your life. I started to seriously resent my body, angry that I was experiencing things I was constantly told shouldn’t be happening at my age.
During all of this I started yoga teacher training. I was advised not to do arm balances, inversions (headstands, handstands, etc), or big backbends. I watched as my fellow teacher trainees did amazing things with their bodies, while I hung out in child’s pose when a flow incorporated something that would irritate my body further. Or I pushed myself to do it too and got home and felt worse than ever. My resentment of my body deepened further, as well as the pain. Your body has a really strong ability to reflect your mind.
After training, I took so many yoga classes that felt built to show off your handstand, while I again sat in child’s pose. I started practicing at home more, focusing on teaching beginners and practicing the flows I was leading. My themes were often about accepting where you were and not pushing yourself past your limits to look like someone you saw on Instagram. It really resonated with a lot of people, many coming up to me after to tell me they’d never felt ok modifying before, or stopped doing yoga because they felt like they were bad at it.
It hit me like a brick one day that I was telling others what I needed to hear. Sure, I modified regularly and didn’t make myself do things that would cause me more harm most of the time. But was I accepting my body’s limitations? Absolutely not. I was constantly wishing for a different body, feeling major imposter syndrome because I couldn’t do these “advanced” poses. Since then I’ve made an effort each day to love my body and embrace that so many people feel this way, that what limits me gives me a niche in the community — a focus on accessible yoga flows and guided meditations. I can safely instruct someone into a handstand, but I love teaching people to be comfortable where they are, with their feet firmly on the ground. When I make an effort not to resent my body, my pain melts into the background. Like my tinnitus, it is always there, but not center stage. I still wake up feeling sorry for myself sometimes, but self-acceptance is a practice. I meditate, focusing on accepting where I am and sending love into these imperfect parts, and gaining perspective that in the grand scheme of things my limitations aren’t so severe. I do yoga that’s accessible to me. I lead meditations on acceptance and compassion, each time feeling the message sink deeper into my brain. Getting mad at my body won’t change it’s situation, but loving it might improve how I feel. And whether you struggle with body image, pain and illness, mental health issues, or anything else that makes you unhappy with your body or mind, you’re not alone. So send a little compassion to that aching part, and compassion to all of those people struggling with you. You might feel a little better.
I made a guided meditation in honor of accepting discomfort and limitations. You can listen here: https://soundcloud.com/asiawolfyoga/guided-meditation-for-acceptance-of-discomfort