I Finally Went to a Yoga Class (and Didn’t Die of Embarrassment)

Turns Out, I Needed This

I don’t know why I avoided going to an actual yoga studio for so long.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I do know.

Let’s start with the obvious: I’m a little... off when it comes to coordination. I’m the one who falls down the escalator at the Las Vegas airport (true story). I’ve crashed a motorized bicycle, accidentally fallen into the play pool three times, and thought I was drowning when all I had to do was stand up, and once pulled a muscle in my neck while trying to do the Macarena.

So the idea of walking into a dimly lit studio with a group of graceful gazelles twisting into swan-like positions while I fumble and groan into something that resembles an injured beetle? Hard pass.

And yet, something has shifted over the years. Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s wisdom, maybe it’s just that I’ve finally burned through all my f***s to give. Whatever it is, I’ve noticed that I care less about how I look when trying something new, and more about how I feel afterward.

My daughter, Amy, is a beautiful Yogi...inside and out. She’s been teaching yoga for years and has been gently (and sometimes not so gently) nudging me to experience a yoga class with her. I always had an excuse. I’m busy. I’m tired. I don’t have the right pants. My third chakra isn’t feeling cooperative today.

But this last visit, Amy looked me dead in the eye and said, “You’re going. I’m taking you to a restorative Yin class. No arguments.”

I paused, looked back at her, and for the first time ever, said, “Okay.”

I honestly don’t know where that came from. But I said it. And I meant it.

So, there I was...walking into the studio with my rolled-up mat under one arm and my ego clinging for dear life to the other. I tried to act casual. Confident. Like someone who absolutely knows what a bolster is and isn’t quietly panicking about whether I’ll fart during a hip opener.

We walked in, and to my surprise, it wasn’t full of bendy, intimidating 20-somethings. It was full of...people. All kinds. And the energy in the room? Soft. Welcoming. Peaceful.

The lights dimmed. The music played. The instructor spoke with the voice of a lullaby angel. And I… well, I immediately realized I had no idea what I was doing.

But something else happened, too.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t care that I looked like a lopsided pretzel. I didn’t care that my body wouldn’t quite fold or hold the way theirs did. I didn’t even care when my foot fell asleep mid-pose and I had to subtly shake it awake like I was doing the hokey pokey.

Instead, I listened.

I listened to the instructor’s calm voice, which seemed to speak directly to my tired, restless heart. I listened to my breath...shallow at first, then deeper. I noticed how my body softened the longer I stayed. I noticed how my thoughts grew quieter.

I had surrendered. Not just to the class. But to the moment. To the not-knowing. To the part of me that doesn’t need to do everything “right” to belong.

And wouldn’t you know it...I loved it. So much so, I went back two days later. And this time, I didn’t just love it. I felt joy. I felt peace. I felt awe. Of my body. Of the instructor. Of this quiet little world, I’d resisted for far too long.

All because I let go.

Which, to be honest, is something I’ve been working on and is coming easier with practice.  

I’m a recovering perfectionist with a pretty solid background in trying to control the uncontrollable. But yoga reminded me of a lesson I keep learning over and over again...resistance doesn’t protect us. It disconnects us.

From experiences.
From people.
From peace.

How many times have we said no to something new...not because it wasn’t good for us...but because we didn’t want to look foolish?

How many times have we skipped the dance, the dinner, the class, the call, the love, the connection…because we were afraid of the awkward, the unknown, the possibility that we wouldn’t measure up?

And how many beautiful moments have we missed because of that?

Surrender, I’m learning, isn’t weakness. It’s strength. It’s not giving up. It’s letting go of the idea that we have to already be good at something to be worthy of trying it.

If I had waited until I felt “ready” or “graceful” to walk into that studio, I’d still be on the outside, watching the light spill through the windows while telling myself stories about why I didn’t belong…like I have for years.

But instead, this time, I got to lie on a mat, listen to divine music, and feel something holy move through me...not because I was good at it, but because I showed up.

So here’s to the awkward, to the uncoordinated, to the first steps, the wobbles, the courage to look silly in service of something real.

Here’s to the surrender.

And if you’re standing on the edge of something new, something calling you forward, something you’ve quietly wanted but haven’t dared to try...let this be your nudge.

Try the class.
Call the friend.
Write the story.
Sing the song.
Say yes to the thing you’ve been quietly craving.

You might surprise yourself.

I sure did. 

With love...and a newfound respect for my hips, hamstrings, and humble heart,

Diana
Love is ALL there is.