By Laura Sharkey

Ableism: A series of ideologies, systems, institutions and economic and sociocultural practices whose oppressive nature is based on the arbitrary belief that disabled bodies are essentially inferior to those considered to be “normal”. (From Anti-Ableist Glossary of Disability Terms, Sara M. Acevedo, PhD.)

When I started my yoga practice about twelve years ago, I had the very common experience of feeling for the first time ever that I was at home in my body.  I reveled in that, and began to befriend my physicality – an endeavor that would have never occurred to me as a possibility before. The sturdy and highly effective triad of asana, meditation and somatic therapy (which I became aware of through my favorite yoga teacher) provided me with a life-changing opportunity to integrate my mind, body and soul, and to develop tools that helped me become grounded and resilient to a degree that was simply not accessible to me through traditional talk therapy, or any other practice I knew about at the time.

I was exposed to many ways in which North American yoga culture not only sustains, but often amplifies, patterns of marginalization.  

I had the good fortune of being in the honeymoon phase with yoga when I became chronically ill. My fledgling practice was a comfort and a resource that helped me immensely, and I relied on it to create this new version of myself, after every non-disabled attribute that I relied on to define my place in the world had fallen away from me.  I was ecstatically grateful for my yoga community at that time, and couldn’t (and still can’t) imagine trying to navigate that time in my life without it.

But the honeymoon ended, as is inevitable.  Several years into my practice, when I began to venture outside of the sanctuary of classes led by the first few teachers I knew, I was exposed to a much broader swath of yoga culture/community as it exists in the US (USYC).  

I had no idea that the inclusive, grounded practice I had learned was not representative of how yoga is taught in the larger “community.”

For the first time, I was exposed to many ways in which USYC not only sustains, but often amplifies, patterns of marginalization that are embedded in dominant US culture.  

As I ventured out into the larger USYC, I first became painfully aware of the body size bias that led many teachers and other students I hadn’t met before to assume that I was not a “real yogi” (in addition to the judgementally oppressive nature of this attitude, use of the term “yogi,” by the vast majority of US yoga practitioners is problematic anyway, because of how that appropriates the South Asian and African cultures from which yoga originated. For a detailed explanation of white/western appropriation of yoga, read How to Practice Yoga Without Appropriating It on Susanna Barkataki’s blog).

Teachers and other students assumed that I wasn’t a “real yogi.”

I became familiar with the routine of explaining, virtually every time I went to a new studio, that no, I am not new to yoga; yes, I have practiced before; yes, I am sure I have practiced before and no, I don’t want to go to the Intro to Yoga workshop you are hosting next week.  

I suppose I should be happy with the small amount of progress we’ve made since that time; in increasing numbers, fat students have taken the risk of taking classes at studios, and I am no longer always the only fat student in the entire studio.  But I am still quite often the only obviously disabled one, and I still often get the same round of questions when I walk with my limp and my cane into a new yoga space.

But the (slight) lessening of body size bias has introduced a new complication for people like me, who are not only fat, but also disabled.  The still rampant fatmisia – as oppressive as it is – is no longer my primary obstacle. In fact, many of those advocating for fat acceptance have unwittingly joined ranks with the thin and inherently ableist majority of USYC.  In spite of the protests of disabled practitioners, the “Just because I’m fat doesn’t mean I’m not healthy” sound bite has become a common mantra of yoga-centered fat activism, in response to tediously predictable and often fatmisiac concerns about fat practitioners’ health.  Technically, the “just because...” statement is true. It speaks to a common (and erroneous) assumption that all fat people are unhealthy. But here’s the thing: while it’s true that fat doesn’t necessarily mean “unhealthy,” it also doesn’t automatically mean “healthy.” And, it implies that there is something inherently wrong with being unhealthy, in a way that requires the accused to defend themselves against such an accusation. So when I hear the “just because...” defense, I hear my fat and non-disabled cohorts distancing themselves from the disabled – and especially from those of us with chronic illnesses/conditions.  While I’m sure that the distancing isn’t deliberate, it seems to be unconsciously intentional. If creating that distance weren’t important, the common response would be akin to “You cannot accurately assess my state of health based on my body size, nor should you because my health is none of your business.” In contrast, the “just because...” statement implicitly asserts the healthiness of the speaker, and the requirement to reveal one’s state of health. So instead of including the disabled in the scope of “body image” politics, many, if not most, non-disabled fat activists are casting us aside in favor of identification with the moralistic “healthy” ideal.  And so the campaign against fatmisia is now solidly ensconced on a platform of ignoring the existence of “unhealthy” yoga practitioners, just as much as is the dominant, thin-bodied USYC.

Much more daunting for me than fatmisia is the ableism that encourages teachers and practitioners alike to assume they know better than I do what is important and necessary for my disabled body, as well as for my autistic and clinically depressed neurology.

The belief that yoga can deliver us from the unsettling, earthly reality that our state of health is impermanent and unpredictable is relentlessly and ferociously guarded.

That belief requires those that hold fast to it to perceive yoga as an all-purpose antidote to not only their own, but also my health-related challenges.  The stereotypical assumptions and judgments required to support the belief are so ubiquitous and overwhelming that picking an example to share is like trying to decide which drop of water to point to in the ocean.  Suffice it to say that it is not at all surprising to me anymore when someone I barely know foists upon me unsolicited advice about how I should ditch my mainstream medical treatments and pharmaceutical meds, and let yoga heal me instead (every chakra I have is, apparently, in need of some sort of balancing, which, once done, will cure me forever). US dominant culture is way too invested in the belief that all human traits or conditions that are not culturally approved as healthy and ideal must be cured. And cure, in and of itself, is a very troubling concept for many reasons, including the reality of who holds the power to offer, withold or mandate cure, and who is subjected to the whims of the dominant cultural ideals that dictate it.

It is not at all surprising to me anymore when someone I barely know foists upon me unsolicited advice about how I should ditch my mainstream medical treatments and pharmaceutical meds, and let yoga heal me instead. We are way too invested in the concept of “cure.”

In retrospect, it became painfully obvious to me how naive I had been to trust in the Utopian “we’re all one” rhetoric; I really should have known better, but I, like so many other practitioners, wanted to believe that a dedicated practice would make me impervious to the hardships of day-to-day life in the real world.  But in spite of my wish to hang on to this faith in eventual deliverance, I was exposed to so many instances of people like me being routinely judged, silenced, ignored and exiled for the sake of allowing others to maintain the belief, that I had to let it go. In effect, we – the disabled, the “unhealthy,” – are deemed unworthy of inclusion because our very existence calls the dogma of yoga as the provider of perfect and perpetual health into question.

There is no way anyone can look at me and believe in the value of my practice without discarding the oh-so-comforting belief that yoga is a panacea for the hardships of life.  Even if I keep my mouth shut, cultural assumptions about physical ideals will suggest to anyone looking at me that I have not transcended — and probably can not transcend — to a self-made reality where everything is as I would have it be.  But transcendence is not my goal. I practice because yoga helps me ground and self-regulate in the world I live in. I want to live in this world and learn to be at home in this bodymind – in whatever form it takes in each moment of my life. That is, to me, the only viable path to being as present, connected and part of the world, as I can possibly be. I have no wish to transcend the world or my body.

Transcendence is not my goal. I want to live in this world and learn to be at home in this bodymind – in whatever form it takes in each moment of my life. That is, to me, the only viable path to being as present, connected and part of the world, as I can possibly be.

Many practitioners have the option of holding fast to the belief that an “authentic” and dedicated practice will someday soon bring them to a state of constant equanimity, free of suffering, where they will no longer be affected by the hardships and drudgery of day-to-day life.  

I don’t have that option, because the belief’s bedrock is a fanciful and unrealistic faith in an escape hatch that is accessible only to the most finely tuned and perfected physical form.  And how that perfection is defined supports and amplifies the biases against the conditions it is designed to escape.

So,  here we are, back again at the discomfort non-disabled people tend to feel when confronted by the possibility that they will someday end up like me.  As much as that is true in mainstream culture, it is raised to a pitch that, while mostly subliminal, is frantic and ubiquitous in USYC. It makes sense, really. Because of its uniquely blended focus on both physical fitness and spiritual transcendence (thereby blending the two into a moralistic imperative), USYC is a magnet for exactly those people who have a strong aversion to the reality that life is impermanent, and physical impairment is inevitable for anyone who doesn’t die suddenly at a relatively young age.  While I in no way mean to imply that all US yoga practitioners are intent on denying the reality of aging and eventual death, the saturation of people who are is much higher than in mainstream culture. And so the biases and marginalization that support that denial are amplified. I, as a disabled person, am covertly discarded or censured because I am an unavoidable reminder that none of us are invincible and that we never have complete control over our destinies.  Yoga cannot protect us from age and death, nor can it make us invulnerable to life’s precariousness. It cannot grant any of us immunity from the ever-present possibility of pain, injury or illness.

And so I will seldom be believed, or trusted as the authority on my own practice, because believing what I say about who I am and why I practice is not compatible with the needs of those who leverage their non-disabled, “healthy” privilege to deny the uncomfortable realities of life and death.  One of the most insidious aspects of marginalization is that those who are marginalized are not to be believed; if you believe us, you have to acknowledge that the culture that supports you does so at our expense.  In USYC, that means that we – the disabled – are collateral damage in the war on acceptance of life as fraught with uncertainty and some amount of danger. There is only one way out. For me to be included, accommodated, and respected, you, my abled friends, must be willing to confront the fear and anxiety – in short, the suffering so aptly identified by the Buddha – of knowing your eventual death is unavoidable.  If you confront that fear, we will both be better off for it.

I know it sounds overwhelming.  And t’s scary. But it’s really not as hard as it sounds.  It’s a practice.

Here are 10-WAYS to embody that practice:

(Hint – they all require some amount of rigorous self-inquiry and critical observation of USYC)

1. Examine your beliefs and assumptions about the role traditional physical alignment plays in asana practice.  Do you believe that there is an external ideal alignment, or can you allow that alignment should be adapted to the needs and attributes of the person in the pose?

2. Examine assumptions you make about other yoga practitioners based on how you perceive their physical grace or stability.  Include tics, eye contact, “fidgeting”, gait and posture in your consideration. Also consider assumptions you make about typical body construction, eg, that all practitioners have two feet, two arms, a typically curved spine, etc.

3. If you are a teacher, don’t assume that all students want, or can even tolerate, physical contact/adjustments.  Ask permission. Every time.

4. Examine your beliefs about the relationship between health, disability and physical appearance.  Make sure to include any judgments you might have about people based on their physical appearance or your perception of their state of health.

5. Examine your assumptions and feelings about the relationship between culturally prescribed definitions of physical attractiveness and a person’s perceived state of health, including emotional/mental well-being and stability.

6. Examine assumptions that you make about the relevance, strength or purity of another’s yoga or meditation practice, based on their physical appearance, the ways they move, or their mannerisms.

7. Observe, in a mindful way, all the yoga-related imagery you see in one day, and think about who is missing, based on presumed race, gender expression, body shape and size, apparent age, clothing cost/style, or presumed affluence based on background setting/location.  It’s just as important to notice your assumptions and inferences as it is to notice objective attributes (e.g., do you assume they are neurotypical? if the person is not obviously physically disabled, do you assume that they are not disabled?).

8. Get introspective, and practice sitting with the discomfort of contemplating how your life would change if you were to become disabled.  Notice, also, the type of disabilities that come to mind when you do this. Do you think only of physically obvious disabilities, or do you include invisiblized disabilities and mind-based attributes or conditions?

9. Practice respecting the choices of yoga practitioners who say they take psychotropic medications, struggle with a mental illness/condition, or are neurodivergent.  Notice if you see a correlation between your perceptions about their mental/emotional stability and your judgments about the quality or authenticity of their practice.

10. If someone tells you about a condition, illness, disorder, injury or disability that they have, do not offer unsolicited advice.  Do not assume that they are looking for a cure or a fix, and do not presume to think that you have a solution to offer them that they just haven’t thought of yet. Err on the side of assuming they don’t need or want you to fix them, unless they ask for your input.  Above all, do not suggest that yoga can cure them. Just don’t. Ever.