Earlier this week, for the first time ever, I taught yoga classes in a mental hospital environment as part of a visionary experimental program to see if
Yoga with Naomi will help the outpatient children at this hospital. It was also my first time teaching a very large group of children (12 kids in one class; 8 in another) across a wide age range (ages 5-12 in one class; ages 14-17 in the second). All of these students had different developmental and mental health challenges--and one student was in a wheelchair.
If you have ever worked with children--especially if you have worked with young kids who've been abused, neglected, traumatized, or maltreated; if you've ever worked with teenage girls who are suicidal, cutting, or otherwise fighting to hold it together (or, frankly, just teenage girls, in general); if you've ever had to corral a large group of kids of any age, regardless of their mental health status, then you quite rightly cringed, tensed up, or took a nice deep breath as you imagined what it would be like to be the grown-up in the room attempting to create an environment of calm and safe playfulness through yoga under these conditions.
Imagine how on earth you would learn everyone's names, deal with the fussing and fights and demands and moods and fidgeting and hyperactivity and trouble focusing and spats and stubbornness and fear and questions and all the other things that would likely happen in the room with 12 kids ages 5 to 12 (!)--plus all the stuff you couldn't anticipate--all while also trying to convey a message of kindness and calm and safety and self-empowerment through yoga.
I am trained as a children's yoga teacher using the ChildLight method, but other than that, I have no special training that equips me to work with this population. I literally had months to prepare my classes, which meant that I spent months fretting about how on earth this could work.
I kept thinking I wasn't qualified; how could I serve? I kept thinking I couldn't do it. It would be a disaster, a mess. It would harm the children instead of helping them. We'd go up in flames or down the drain--or both. It was completely overwhelming. I almost bailed on the whole project twice.
But one thing got me to this moment, and I share it with you now, because you know what? Teaching that day was *wonderful.* I'm telling you, it was WONDERFUL. It was a miracle. The classes went so well that instead of ending after half an hour, which we thought would be the maximum attention span for, say, a 5-year-old with ADHD, we were having such a good time, that I agreed to stay (unpaid) for an extra half hour. It was an investment in the future of the program, for me, and I was happy to stay. This happened in both classes! Even the surly teens in jeans wanted more yoga. And they wanted me to come back tomorrow! They won't actually see me for two weeks...but they loved class so much, they were eager for more.
I mean, really, is there a better day than the one where a teenage girl in a wheelchair tells you with a beaming smile that her back feels better? That she's happy? That she loves yoga?
That beauty may only have been topped by the miraculous awareness the youngest children had of what the right rules would be. When I told this group of 5 - 12 year olds that we had only two rules in yoga, "Kindness and Safety," and then I asked them what they thought that meant, they raised their little hands and--I swear to God!--said, "Listen" and "Observe personal boundaries." Oh, my darlings, YES! These are the rules. And I taught them that the very most important person to listen to is...themselves. Listen to your own body and your own feelings; take good care of yourself. Then, you listen to your teacher. They were SO good and SO smart and SO kind and SO intuitive and SO, just, delightful. Sure, some of it was bonkers, but that's okay. Everything was totally okay.
So, what was it that kept me in the game long enough to enjoy this very special day, this glorious feeling of happiness and victory? One thing: I was reminded by one teacher and one very good friend along the way of the most important thing of all... that I am me, Naomi, and that I am special, because there is only one of me in all of space and time, which, really, is what I am hoping to convey to these children, so it's a good thing that it finally sunk into my own noggin.
When we were in Costa Rica, my teacher reminded us of the truism, "Be yourself; everyone else is already taken." And on the one day when I was most freaked out about this upcoming series of classes and I was feeling totally unqualified and also utterly certain that I couldn't handle the hospital environment after having had a somewhat traumatic day of training there, my friend Whitney reminded me that I was specially chosen for this project, not because I hold a degree or special certification in this field; not because I have a long CV of work with this population of kids; I was chosen because I am me. I was chosen by the organizer of the program because of word-of-mouth about my classes, and because she came and practiced with me and then she knew with 100% confidence that I was the one, the one who should do it. (This, by the way, is also how I came to be working with cancer patients and survivors. Word-of-mouth brought someone to class who knew I would be right for the work. Not because of special training. Just because I am me.)
"Don't worry about the environment bringing you down," counseled Whitney on that dark day when I wanted to quit. "Trust with absolute certainty that your power of goodness and love is so great that you will bring the environment UP! These kids need you," she said.
And I believed her.
And so...on Sunday, the day before I was supposed to teach, after hours and hours of planning and preparing and trying to make up class plans that would be "perfect," I just decided: I can't be anyone else. They are already taken. I can only be Naomi. This can only be
Yoga with Naomi. I can't use my intellect to "figure out" the best class plan. I can't rely on experience or expertise I do not possess. I can only teach intuitively and with tremendous love, joy, kindness, and patience. That's what I've got, that's why I was chosen, so that's what I'm doing. Come hell or high water, I'm just going in as Me. Naomi. The Yoga Teacher.
So, I did what I do with all my classes. I sketched out a plan. I set my intention. I packed a big bag of tricks. I said my prayers. And I showed up. I showed up and I shined. I loved. I taught. We laughed. We relaxed. We learned. We practiced kindness and safety.
And at the end of the day, almost every single person in the room felt happier and better in their bodies and a little more okay than they did when they walked or wheeled in. Whitney was right; of course she was.
I share this narrative partly because it just felt so darn *good* to teach those classes that day, and partly because I hope that if you, too, struggle sometimes to feel up-to-the-task or if you don't trust that you are special or worthwhile in the world; or if you're trying to be someone other than yourself, that this will be your reminder to honor your own inherent goodness, to honor your gifts and talents rather than focusing on how you think you "should" be.
I thank Whitney and my teacher
Jillian Pransky for reminding me of this wisdom.
I'm actually really proud of the courage it took for my heart to understand that she is much greater than she thinks she is, despite all the evidence I presented to myself to the contrary. Today, my Heart and my Self trusted that I am special, and I only needed be Myself to get the job done (and done with beauty)...which is lucky...seeing as how everyone else is already taken.smile emoticon
I told this story in some of my classes this week, to share the message and to encourage us all to practice being ourselves without apology or doubt. Our mantra was, "I am" or "I am enough."
