Published May 29, 2026 at 12:59 pm
“Take a deep breath,” I say as I slowly walk between the carpets, even though I’m unable to take a deep breath for myself.
The pressure in my abdomen and pelvis increases. I feel like my insides are on fire, as opposed to a persistent UTI that won’t go away. I had just emptied my bladder before class, but suddenly I got the signal to go again. I feel weak in my legs due to numbness and tingling that extends to my feet. The pain makes it difficult to breathe, walk, and think clearly.
Most days, this is my reality as a full-time yoga teacher and studio owner.
For nearly two years, not a single day has gone by without me feeling relief from constant pain in my buttocks, pelvis, and lower abdomen. I get sharp, stabbing flares that can stop me mid-sentence or mid-step. There is a deep, painful pressure in my back and hips that never fully lifts. Some days, I feel like my body is quietly bracing itself against something it can’t release. Other days, it’s loud and impossible to ignore, disrupting my sleep, movement, and even simple moments like sitting at a table or having a conversation.
I teach people how to feel better in their bodies, but they live in a body that doesn’t always allow me to. I teach people how to get out of pain. Then I go home and mind my own business.
Learn to live with chronic pain
Pain has been a constant in my life since I was a teenager. Long before I stepped onto a yoga mat, I was learning how to live with discomfort—how to overcome it, ignore it, explain it, and minimize it.
When I was 25, I was diagnosed with endometriosis, a chronic inflammatory disease that can have wide-ranging effects on the body. We’re still not sure if what I’m currently experiencing is related to endometriosis, but I’m starting to feel a connection to it. There is still a lot I don’t understand about what’s going on in my body.
What am I? He does What I do know is that yoga didn’t erase my pain, but it changed the way I deal with it and, over time, how I practice. Because teaching is an extension of this practice, it has changed the way I show up in the room as well.
5 ways chronic pain has changed my yoga practice
Some days, the hardest part of teaching yoga isn’t the sequence or the energy in the room. It determines whether I can sit cross-legged on the floor without making the pain worse. I’m still learning how to live in this body, how to listen to it, adapt to it, and meet it where it is every day. This is what I know so far.
1. My practice is not about performance
There was a time when I felt like my practice was something I needed to prove. When I first started practicing yoga, I – like most people – thought it was mainly about physical postures. So I pushed myself into places I wasn’t ready to explore. I wanted to be seen as strong enough, resilient enough, and capable enough to be at the front of the room.
Naturally, this mindset continued to teach me, until chronic pain disrupted it. Now, there are days when I can’t prove much at all. Days when getting up and down from the ground requires careful thought. Days when my body doesn’t match what a yoga teacher is “supposed” to look like. Days when I can’t do most of the poses I point out. My practice had to change.
Now, it’s not so much how something looks as how it feels and, often, whether it can be controlled at all. Because of this, I no longer feel the same need to perform for others. I braid more than I show. I rest when I need to. I allow my students to be in their bodies rather than watching their bodies.
2. I lead in advocacy
Last summer, I took a 50-hour myofascial release training Tiffany Cruikshank In Boston as part of a 300-hour teacher training. Within the first 20 minutes of sitting on the arranged tables and chairs, my body was already asking for rest.
I find it difficult to sit comfortably for any length of time — especially on soft surfaces — without worsening nerve pain in my glutes, legs, and feet. I’ve gotten used to requesting accommodations at places like restaurants or friends’ houses. But in a room full of yoga teachers, I hesitated. I was embarrassed to ask for something different. However, I knew the alternative: pain, distraction, and disconnection from the experience I had invested time and money to attend. So I ordered a different setup. It was about respecting what I needed rather than falling short of what was expected.
This same approach shows up every time I’m on my mat. I strive to use any tools that I know will make a difference, even when the teacher says we only need two pieces. I choose other variations of poses when suggested poses aggravate symptoms. I encourage my students to do the same.
I tell them, “I’m here to guide you and offer options.” “But you know your body best. You decide what you need to feel supported.”
3. I can’t always plan
I’ve always been someone who thrives on routine. But living with chronic pain, I can’t plan ahead what kind of practice I’ll do. I cannot predict how the combination of medications and supplements I take each morning will affect me, or the level of pain or fatigue I will experience.
I recently read something that said a healthy person would only need to stay awake for three days to feel a fraction of the fatigue that many people with endometriosis experience. Some days, that seems accurate. My symptoms and energy levels fluctuate, which means my practice fluctuates as well.
During a flare, I usually crave something slow and supportive — restorative forms, myofascial release, time on the floor. On quieter days, I may move through a more fluid and dynamic vinyasa practice. Practicing this method forced me to embody Ahimsaor nonviolence, not as a concept, but as a daily decision to show myself in love.
4. Chronic pain has redefined what “strength” actually means
There is an unspoken expectation that yoga teachers are the picture of health – flexible, strong, pain-free. But I built a career in a body that never fit that image.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m strong. Just not in the way most people might assume. I can’t do a lot of asanas or “advanced” poses, and I don’t do hours of yoga every day. Some days, I don’t do the physical aspect of yoga at all. The old version of me would have seemed like a fraud to own a yoga studio and teach full time without a consistent practice of my own. Like many people, I once defined strength as physical ability, endurance, and intensity.
Now I understand it differently. Strength lies in showing up, listening, and adapting. It’s letting go of comparison, respecting my limits, and remembering the cost of overdoing it.
Power is not to do everything, but to know when not to.
5. I have become a more honest yoga teacher
Living in my body makes it difficult to pretend.
I don’t show every situation. I don’t always feel good. And I don’t try to hide it anymore. Sometimes I have to cancel classes because I don’t have the physical or emotional ability to attend. Even when it comes to guilt, I remind myself to listen to my body in the same way I ask my students to listen to theirs.
Because this practice does not end when I fold my rug, but rather follows me everywhere. In my classes, I want students to explore what works for them, such as using props, resting, and adapting as needed. This kind of space starts with how I show up for myself, in and out of the studio. I’m there to direct, not to perform. I am sure people can feel this difference.
