This is a guest post I wrote concerning developing a home yoga practice. Check it out here:
Photo via North Main Yoga.
Yesterday I taught my first truly HORRIBLE yoga class. I’m not even being hard on myself. It was a freakin’ disaster. I couldn’t remember anything. I cued them for Warrior II and then forgot what Warrior II was and had them do Warrior I arms. I forgot to tell them to put their palm on the floor or a block in Full Moon. I almost knocked someone over when I was assisting. It was straight up mortifying.
It was my last supervised teaching for the 500 hour teacher training program. Considering my teacher/studio owner already hired me and I’ve been teaching a weekly class and subbing, she was expecting a lot. You know when you’re a kid and your parents are disappointed in you, but not necessarily angry? I hated that. I always wished they would just yell at me. Well, that was exactly the situation with my teacher.
She was like, “What happened to you from Sunday to now? You weren’t present for your students and if you teach like that no one will come back to your class. You were so off.” I almost cried. I usually don’t utterly fail at things due to my obsessive need to please and excel.
All day I had been falling asleep, my extremities were tingling, my head was foggy, and I had no clue what was going on. I chalked it up to nerves or anxiety. However, when I got home, I realized that the two pill bottles on my bedside table were in reverse order. I am ALWAYS super careful about taking the right medication and I don’t know how it happened. I took a Lunesta (sleeping pill) instead of my thyroid medication. So I was literally sleep walking through the class. WTF? The side effects are sleep eating, sleep driving, and sleep sex. Why couldn’t I have been sleep banging instead of being half-conscious while teaching? I am a terrible person.
DIY Father’s Day idea. This is so artistic, simple, and affordable. Check out the rest of the DIY ideas in this blog I wrote for a client. I also love the sidewalk chalk photograph.
Photo via Macknzie.net.
Yoga teacher training will come to a close on June 25. Basically I’ll have completed my 500 hours, though not officially with Yoga Alliance until I finish 100 hours of teaching. For all intensive purposes, it’s done. After the 200 hour training, I couldn’t bear the thought of no more teacher training. It was so magical. Now, I am so done. It’s been a year.
I will feel so free. I’ll be able to teach my own class in a way that resonates with me. Being under someone’s watchful eye makes teaching feel so artificial and mechanical. And it means no more freakin’ projects. I hate projects. Seriously, just give me a test and let’s call it a day. But, I will be sad to say goodbye to my newfound family. I’ll miss my sister as well, since she is moving to Chicago as soon as yoga school ends. Teacher training was our time together and I will be absolutely heart broken when she leaves. And I love yoga. Sometimes I need a mandatory heated, advanced Vinyasa class at 9:30am on a Saturday morning. It keeps me from slacking.
But other than that, I never want to look at any school-type papers again. I want to be dumb for a while. I know I should be saying, “This avatar came down from the Poconos and helped me connect with the Divine.” Nope. I’m a bad yogi. And I cannot wait to graduate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Though I really won’t be going anywhere, since I teach a weekly class at the studio. But it will be symbolically awesome.
A “Thank You” to Veterans by Roman Balaev. Heartbreaking.
Song by my talented boo, Pat Smith. When he’s rich and famous I’ll have a huge built-in yoga studio in my house.
Cats get me every time. I don’t know why this woman is dressed so sexy in the rain, on a log, with her cat…but such a pretty picture.
I have so much yoga homework, it’s ridiculous. Those words are just a sneeze and a stumble away from being an oxymoron. Or at least that’s what poppa taught me, when he was training me to be a pilot like Amelia Earhart. He used to make me dress in aviation gear 24 hours per day, seven days a week. I had to brag in class that I was the next American hero. People threw gum in my hair. They bit my ears and called me Maxi Pad Wings.