Reconsidering child’s pose, particularly in times of trauma

Why our approach to teaching yoga can be inaccessible, disempowering, and exclusionary

I can’t count how many times I’ve heard the following in a yoga class:

“If down dog isn’t right for you, feel free to take child’s pose.”

“You can always take child’s pose instead of _____ pose.”

“If you want to rest in child’s pose for longer, please do.”

What if the oft-suggested “rest post” isn’t restful for all? Or accessible to all?

Photo by Alexandra Tran on Unsplash

This question was posed to me years ago and deepened during a 2020 training with the Accessible Yoga School (AYT). I was reminded: Using a trauma-sensitive lens when teaching is critical, especially during periods of war, occupation, and revolution—as in right now, and historically, quite often.

Though for many, child’s pose is an ideal shape for anxiety, racing thoughts, and, yes, trauma, it’s not for everyone. It currently isn’t for me.

Thanks to AYT and my own experiences, I’ve learned to offer variations of the pose and sprinkle the following into my classes: “Do what feels best for you.” “If this isn’t feeling good, you are welcome to try something else.” Or, “Wave me down if you’d like extra support. I’m here to help.”

I hope this doesn’t sound like virtue signaling or finger pointing. It comes from a place of compassion and understanding. I didn’t always have a disability. I didn’t always consider students’ differing abilities in my classes or my privilege as a white, thin cisgender teacher. I didn’t always use trauma-informed language when teaching meditation and yoga asana, the physical form of the practice.

As the popular Dr. Maya Angelou phrase goes, “Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know before you learned it.” And, I’d add, try to do better with your newfound knowledge. My intention behind sharing this post is to empower others in the yoga community to join me in trying to do better. 

If my liberation is tied to yours, and yours to mine, our approach to that liberation must be inclusive of all people and all abilities. 

This message is being shared widely right now in regards to the liberation of Palestinians and ability of all people, including and especially Jews and Muslims, to practice their religion freely and without harm.

It also relates to the yoga community and our approach to each word, movement, and pose.

If you’ve read my previous Substacks, you likely know I’m not teaching. I made that decision before my physical ability changed. Now that I’m unable to take child’s pose without pain, my approach to teaching—if or when I return—will be vastly different:

• It will be slower and more welcoming, offering agency to students rather than telling them how or where to move next. 

• It will be more of a conversation, both verbal and nonverbal, with each person who enters the room.

• It will acknowledge we are learning from each other and ourselves. 

• It will prioritize rest and self-compassion, two qualities many of us struggle to adopt on and off the yoga mat.

To do that, I’ll need to continue learning from teachers who create trauma-sensitive, accessible, and inclusive spaces. I’ll need to find alternatives to shapes like balasana (child’s pose), especially as a starting pose. It’s not empowering to start in or take a pose that hurts or isn’t available at all. I’ll need to stay informed about how trauma, including vicarious trauma, can impact fellow students and teachers.

Yoga teachers often say, “What we do on the mat is what we do off the mat.” I’ve struggled to embrace this statement.

What does it communicate to students struggling physically, emotionally, or spiritually…?

• If we don’t feel peaceful and at rest on our mat, we won’t feel that way elsewhere?

• If we push and challenge ourselves during practice, we’ll continue to push and challenge ourselves after it?

• If we think we “can’t” do something yoga-related—a pose, breathing technique, or form of meditation—we will take that perspective of “I can’t” with us once class is over?

• If I’m unable to practice a pose because of pain or disability, does that mean I’m unable to do non-yoga-related things?

Of course not.

Or, are we saying…?

• If we practice self-acceptance and -compassion on the mat, we’ll be better able to practice both off of it?

If that’s the case, then I’m in.

But we need to reframe our language and approach to ensure all students and practitioners feel acceptance and compassion while in our classes. We need to consider local and global events and how they could be affecting those around us. Bypassing has to go.

As my friend and teacher Jivana Heyman says, “Outer ability does not equal inner peace.”

Child’s pose isn’t the vehicle for inner peace for everybody and every body. Yoga, particularly in the context it’s been served to us in the West, isn’t either.

What is?

I long for a world where each of us can decide on our own timeline, at our own pace, with community support and consideration of our differences. That feels more like a path to peace and liberation than anything else. 

With gratitude to Dr. Kristin Joys for inspiring me to write this post