Stepping Back — Exploring Inward

For well over a year I have been managing a reoccurring thought;  or, perhaps, desire is a better word. What would it be like to pause my teaching and spend time delving deeper into my practice (both movement and meditation), writing, and self-study? What would that look like? How would I spend my time? Do I need some guidance from others? What will studio owners/managers think? How will it be received by the wonderful folks I have guided and developed friendships with over the past six years? What will my family and friends say?

Notice a pattern here? All of my thoughts and concerns were (who am I kidding? Are!) placed squarely in the control others. It was only recently while on retreat in New Mexico that two of my beloved teachers challenged me to listen to myself. To recognize this persistent pattern of putting everyone else ahead of myself. I thought this concern about other’s view of me was limited to my body image, but clearly this externalizing of validation and approval extends well beyond how people see my physically. Apparently there is still this need , need, or desire to be liked and accepted. Clearly something for me to add this to the list of things to explore. 

After a considerable amount of hand-wringing, I finally found the courage to honor this heart’s longing.

I am stepping back from all day-to-day, in-studio teaching.

I teach at different four studios in Washington, DC, and Maryland. I wrapped up my teaching schedule at three of these studios this past week, and I will teaching until the end of August at the fourth.

Come September, my intention is to spend time returning to an asana (movement) practice that I have gotten away from; a meditation practice that was fledgling, at best; and develop a daily writing practice. I also want to lean into the idea of recording meditations and possibly audiobooks. I think writing it all down here is an act of or attempt at self-accountability. At the same time, I also plan to afford myself the space to simply sit and be still. 

In all of my classes I frequently encourage students to embrace the importance of, and the insights that can come with, being still. As I write this down, the almost embarrassing level of irony in how I guide classes versus how I live my own life has not been lost on me. I am sure that it’s not all that uncommon for teachers to be much better at offering sage advice than actually following it themselves. I found that I started to create a narrative in my head that I was “practicing” five days week in the eight to nine classes I guided. In reality, though, I was present for others — which is not a bad thing — but increasingly neglecting my own needs and insight that come with a commitment to practice.

In other words, at times I felt like a hypocrite. How can I genuinely guide others when I am not drawing from a well of my own ongoing experiences? I’d like to think that I lead with heart. I care deeply about the space I have been asked to hold for others. I care about attempting to create the conditions for others to explore peace and ease in the bodies and minds. All the while, I have been sitting with the question of whether I am leading more from my head. Am I simply someone who is very adept at repackaging concepts that I’ve been taught? I’d like to believe everything I do is from a place of love and caring for the folks who trust me with their presence in classes, but something in me is not satisfied with the answer. 

When I worked for all those years in politics and congressional relations, I was proud of my ability to be agile. Nimble. An inch deep and a mile wide. I was someone who could take quick, deep dives to become cogent (enough) to manage a particular issue and then I would move on to the next thing. Though I was pretty good at this ability to shift quickly, something in me was never quite content with my lack of depth in a specific subject matter. Any subject matter. I simply knew enough to get through, but there was very little that endured. I hold great admiration for people who strike me as bottomless well of knowledge on a subject or field. That admiration, however, was really just thinly-veiled envy and masked self-loathing. What that is that quote attributed to Roosevelt? “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

It was this very word and feeling — JOY — that came front and center while on retreat in New Mexico last month. When asked to notice where and how I observed joy in my body, I was empty. In fact, there was such a void and feeling of emptiness, bordering in the moment on despair, that I broke down and experienced a full-on ugly cry. It was tough to feel that I was unable to locate joy within me. Sure I have love all around me, but where was the internal feeling. As much as I talk about embracing vulnerability, I tend to be pretty buttoned up and self-conscious. Maybe it’s my Michigan/Midwest upbringing, but I did not really have any modeling of emotional expression growing up. Even in that moment, something in my head told me to pull it together. I told myself “Get off your knees and stop crying!”

The outburst of tears was cathartic, though. It was a far-from-subtle reminder, or an admonishment from the universe, to feel with my whole heart and let my overthinking mind take a seat. It was at that retreat that it became glaringly obvious that I needed time for deeper reflection, exploration, and stillness. I realized that I unapologetically need time for me, my spirit, and my heart. For those who were there or talked to me on the other side; who held space for me and offered loving counsel and heart-felt hugs … I cannot thank you enough. You didn’t try to fix me. You allowed me to express myself, trusting that the answers will find their way to me in time.

I freely admit that I am work in progress. So, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t also share that part of me hopes that I will be a much better guide and teacher on the other side of this time of inquiry and exploration. I cannot control the experience that anyone has in my classes, but I can come into each space with a heart and spirit that is more at peace and, hopefully, has more substance to offer. I care so much about the well being of others and want to be helpful to anyone on a path toward personal fulfillment, self-love, and self-compassion. At the same time, I cannot lose sight that I am also on a lifelong path. I have been, and know that I will continue to be, truly blessed for any amount of time that our paths coincide. 

Let me end with this. Though I am stepping back from day-to-day teaching, I do intend to pop up here and there with deep rest workshops, and/or participate in retreats and events, if invited. So, please consider signing up for my newsletter. It’s a good way to keep up with any new events and happenings. 

Until then … Thank you! I’ll be seeing you. 🖤