A little help from my friends

I am trying, and I am tired. But I am trying! That about sums up my recent sentiments regarding one of my greatest challenges thus far as a yogi: holding a safe space for a crew of kids ranging from age 4 to age 12.

It’s hard. I knew it would be–I’m working with a community program partnered with Street Yoga, teaching at an urban summer camp, so it’s not like I was expecting my class to resemble the illustrations in my jaunty book of yoga games.

But, still, dang.

Even though logically I have known from the start that I have a lot to learn, part of me thought bravely welcoming opportunity and cheerfully taking on responsibility would somehow make the job easier.

And surely it has. But I’m nonetheless being pushed, and I’ve very nearly made it harder for myself, because I haven’t wanted to ask for help.

Help is for people who can’t care for themselves. (Or so my ego told me.) The last few weeks have gone relatively well, and I liked the idea of teaching alone, of proving I could singlehandedly corral and calm a gaggle of children. I still believe that I can. But I sure didn’t last Friday, and there is no denying that failure.

Of course I don’t want to call it a failure, both because I am stubbornly optimistic and because I don’t like failing. But if success is guiding an engaged group safely through a structured yoga class, well…no.

There were some successful moments, at least. One girl proudly proclaimed she’d “come prepared” and showed off her stretchy pants. That means she was thinking about yoga outside of class! And even though she rolled their eyes, another girl knew the meaning of “namaste.” (“Hello, good-bye, I respect myself and others, blah blah blah.”) And the young man who practices yoga at home on his Wii Fit? His peaceful enthusiasm and quiet eagerness to learn was a welcome contrast to the persistent rough-housing of his peers.

(Honestly. I could never have anticipated the number of times I would have to repeat, “Hitting is not yoga!”)

I am aware of the value in successful moments. I know they add up to something bigger. But even though I understand baby steps are necessary and that they help, it can feel like I’m not getting anywhere.

It feels like a drop in the bucket, my work. A small drop in a big bucket. But I return again and again because I believe in the power of droplets, know that slow and steady drips can carve stone.

And I know that I’m not alone. I almost forgot that after last week, when I left (fled?) the community center with my smile plastered in place and a panicked certainty that I was in over my head. On my train ride home, I wrote that “either no lifeguards are around or they are content to watch me struggle.”

Thankfully I have since considered a third possibility–that lifeguards may be on duty, but if I pretend I’m treading water when really I am sinking, no one is going to throw me a floatie.

And so I asked for help, because I know how to care for myself. (So my true spirit assures me.) And in return I’m receiving support. I know that next time will be better, because already I am better equipped, lifted up by the assurances and suggestions of my peers–and an increased awareness of my own limitations.

As I was told in the yoga class I took tonight (one that involved absolutely no rough-housing), limitations can be helpful guidelines that highlight different needs. And as long as I listen–to my body, to my students, to my mentors and friends–I will receive good guidance.