Why We Cry in Yoga Teacher Training
Originally published Jan. 15, 2020, at brittjohnsenyoga.com.
When I first met the person who would become my yoga teacher — Mary Beth, the woman who trained me to be an instructor — I held back tears.
Upon meeting, she took my hand in hers and walked me through the home that she and her carpenter husband built, complete with sacred geometry and om symbols carved into the wood.
“Britt! It’s so nice to meet you.” And then she looked at me with her intense blue-eyed gaze and said with a deeper sincerity than I had ever heard in my life, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I dove into a pool of emotions. I wanted to cry, I wanted to run, I felt like I was home and I felt terrified yet relieved — all at once.
My big reaction surprised me. I had been bending and flexing and namaste-ing on my mat for about a year. After classes, I would look up every Yoga Journal article and vegetarian recipe that I could find. I loved it deeply and I wanted more. But I didn’t even really know Mary Beth, I had just heard about her legend — the peace-inducing Ashtanga yoga classes, her big personality and even bigger heart, the spiritual movie nights hosted in her home as yogis shared pizza, salad and wine.
I definitely didn’t know I would have such a deep emotional response to her. And to the sweet, shy, smiling yogis who would become my fellow teacher trainee colleagues. And to the serene guest bedroom I stayed in, across from the deck overlooking the small but shining lake in a quiet small town in central Minnesota.
That evening, after our first lecture and dinner that followed, I crawled between the crisp sheets and into the whispers of 11 p.m. in rural Minnesota in September. Then I bawled. Something in me had cracked open that day. I didn’t even know why I was crying. But I knew something important was happening.
After the first intensive finished, I wrote my mom an email saying how incredible of a weekend I had and how I couldn’t wait to tell her all about what I experienced. When I talked to her on the phone and said it was yoga teacher training, she was disappointed that I found a pursuit beyond trying to find a husband.
“Oh,” she said blankly. “I thought maybe you met somebody.”
Before yoga teacher training, I was sick with toxic cultural norms. I had been running on adrenaline for years because of what kids learn from a young age in school — that being loveable and valuable comes from what you do and how much you accomplish.
I pushed hard for my achievements. I graduated from a Big Ten school, the University of Minnesota, having worked as Editor in Chief of The Minnesota Daily, the student-run newspaper, during my senior year. In this prestigious and difficult-to-land role, I got to meet regularly with everyone from metro daily newspaper executives to the president of the university. While I enjoyed journalism, I was also hooked on the feelings of importance and positive recognition.
After school, I pushed even harder as I wrote at newspapers around the state. All the pushing kept working — I won awards and fellowships from some of the top institutions in the industry, like Columbia University in New York City and the National Society of Professional Journalists. My mentors were Pulitzer winners.
Despite my outward success, my body was growing sicker and sicker. The harder I pushed, the more my body revolted. I began struggling with panic attacks, which then morphed into a variety of digestive problems. No matter how many dietary changes I made or therapy sessions I went to, the intensity of my physical and psychic pain ramped up.
Within several months, I had my gallbladder removed and then I learned I had a precancerous polyp in my intestines. Doctors removed it, of course, but said they had no idea why I had these problems at just 26 years old. I was on my own to heal, it seemed, and I would have to learn to take better care of myself.
This shook me to my core. As I reflected on my lifestyle, I realized I had been running on adrenaline for too long. I had funneled most of my energy into work success. When I focused on relationships (all kinds, not just romance), sleep went to the wayside. I was living on coffee and accomplishments. Bodies can only do this for so long before they surrender.
A dear friend said to me that she believed I needed to start listening more — not just to my body, but to my life. To start being more and stop doing so much.
Her words sounded a bell, not unlike getting up for school when you’re a kid. I was resistant, if I’m totally honest. But I became aware.
That first weekend of yoga teacher training, a dramatic shift was taking place every time I left tears on the pillow. I cried each night I slept there, and again when I got home.
It would take some time to understand what had happened that weekend. But I know now why the cascade of emotion crashed into me.
I cried because I would finally learn to start valuing myself for who I am, not just what I do.
I cried because I was finally paying attention to my body, when I had been disconnected from it for years.
I cried because I felt connected to women who were kind to each other instead of mean or competitive, which had been a norm with several women in my life at the time.
I cried because it was time to begin healing the deepest places I had been wounded.
And I cried because this is the magic of a transformative healing modality like yoga. (In fact, it’s quite normal to weep in class.)
This experience was almost nine years ago now. Since then, I have taught yoga on and off at a variety of studios and settings around the state. This included one studio where I regularly wrote newsletters and press releases, which helped me transition into a new phase of my writing career — one that is kinder to my whole self. I’ve also studied energy medicine, astrology and psychology, and I continue to learn more about the healing arts all the time. I have healed deeply and I have found ways to manage stress and keep digestive troubles at bay. And about a year ago I had another colonoscopy where doctors found me to be polyp-free. So much has changed for the better since my health crises woke me up.
Overall, I have slowly but surely pivoted to value myself for who I am, not just what I do. I have learned to say no to demands on my time more than I ever could before — though if I’m honest I still struggle with this at times, whether at work or in my personal life. But I’ve also learned that it’s OK to struggle sometimes; this life is a winding journey, not a narrow, linear path.
I’m here for the joy and the love and the adventure, because that’s all what ultimately matters. If we aren’t having fun, there is no point.