My yoga journey

After many years away from the gym, I was really rusty. To ease back in, I decided to start with yoga. Lots of breathing and stretching — not too hard, I thought, right?

Wrong.

When I walked into my first yoga class at a new gym, I found myself surrounded by a sea of Lululemons and other high-end exercise gear. Immediately, I felt self-conscious and underdressed in my Target leggings and nondescript T-shirt. Mats covered the floor with barely enough room to squeeze through to a spot in the back. On my way there, I accidentally stepped onto someone’s mat.

“Hey, be careful — you’re on my mat!”

Wow, these yoga people are touchy, I thought.

The class began slowly but accelerated quickly. The instructor called out poses in rapid succession while everyone around me looked so darn graceful. My downward-facing dog faced the wrong direction, my cobra looked like a squashed insect, and I somehow lost my balance in the mountain pose. The resting poses of child’s pose and shavasana, however, were another story. We were clearly meant for each other, besties for life.

I tried a few more classes at that gym, but things didn’t improve much — except that I made a few acquaintances. I naturally gravitated toward the people who looked more like me: more Target and Costco than Lululemon. When I admitted to one woman that yoga and I weren’t exactly clicking, she encouraged me not to give up.

“Yoga saved my life,” she said.

The comment startled me. I wanted to hear the whole story and all the gritty details, but since we barely knew each other, I simply nodded as if I understood.

After several classes, I realized the problem wasn’t yoga. I actually liked yoga. This gym just wasn’t the right fit. So I tried another studio, but that experience was even worse. The instructor, a young Israeli woman, ran the class as if she were leading army drills. She barked out poses and called people out by name from the front of the room. The final straw came when she marched over to my mat, adjusted my pose, and gave me a firm tap on the back that seemed to say, “Get it together.”

Next.

My third try was the charm. I finally found my people — and Melissa, my wonderful yoga instructor and master high school educator and administrator. She has the perfect balance of encouragement, humor, and calm. Each week, Melissa reads the mood and tone of the class and customizes the practice. She demonstrates each pose carefully, reminds us to breathe throughout, and repeats reassuring mantras:

“Don’t compete with anyone else. This is your own practice. If a pose doesn’t work for your body, modify it, or don’t do it. Breathe. Listen to your body.”

Melissa also keeps things light. During foot stretches, she often jokes, “Now check whether you need a pedicure.”

As a teacher myself, I know that success in any classroom — whether in school or at the gym — is not just about what we teach, but how we teach it and how we make people feel in the learning process.

Slowly, I became more comfortable with the poses. More importantly, I learned to trust myself. If a movement felt wrong or risked injury, I stopped. Yoga taught me how breathing could support movement and also help me throughout daily life. Breath became a tool for relaxation, focus, and decompression.

And what if I lose my balance during a pose? I try again.

Melissa often admits, “This pose is hard for me too. Let’s just recalibrate.”

I stuck with yoga, and before long the practice became a source of strength during life’s ups and downs. Eventually, I understood what that acquaintance had meant when she said yoga saved her life.

Then covid hit, and the gyms closed.

Our yoga community moved online. Seeing familiar faces on a screen, moving together through familiar poses, and settling into shavasana — the final relaxation pose — felt deeply life-affirming during an isolating time. At the end of each class, we wished one another “namaste,” a greeting that reflects respect, gratitude, hope, and connection.

Over the years, yoga has also introduced me to mindfulness: paying deliberate attention to what is happening right now — in my body, breath, and thoughts. Instead of judging distractions or mistakes, mindfulness teaches us to gently redirect our attention back to the present moment.

Through yoga, I’ve met some wonderful people. I connected with Nancy Siegel through yoga and teacher training at school. She is someone who brings yoga and mindfulness into every aspect of her life, both personally and professionally. As a trainer of mindfulness and yoga to teachers and parents, she shares practical, yoga-inspired ways to create calm in classrooms and at home.

After all these years, are all my poses perfect? No, some days are better than others, and many poses are still a work in progress.  It’s all a part of the learning process, and I accept that.

Esther Kook of Teaneck is a reading specialist and freelance writer.