Fear, Guilt, Shame – Utility and Barrier in Yoga and Veganism

This week’s post brought to you a bit early by hurricane Sandy!

I’ve been thinking, writing, and talking (at a scholarly conference and in yoga classes) about fear, guilt, and shame quite a bit lately. And in those discourses, a theme that has wound its way throughout is that each has utility, but also can present a barrier to growth and wellness (n.b. I’m not going to provide the scholarly source cites here, but if someone needs them, let me know)  As we prepare for hurricane Sandy, taking the necessary precautions but attempting to avoid any freaking out about the situation, it seems a rather appropriate time to put these thoughts in blog form.

Fear is a part of our innate nature as animals. When we encounter situations that we perceive as threatening, the body and mind respond quickly to move into fight or flight mode. This gives us the energy we might need to get out of the situation or to deal with the threat. As we are impacted by things in life that harm us in some way, they are added to our bank of fear-producing events, and that helps to guide behavior in the future. Fear keeps us from doing things that are dangerous to us or to those we care about.

Similarly, guilt helps us to make choices about behavior. Guilt is a more social phenomenon, as it is built on societal precepts of what is acceptable, moral, ethical, and normal. When we stray from the bounds of acceptable, we are corrected in some fashion. From that, we learn what is acceptable and to feel bad (guilty) about straying, or even consider straying, from those expectations, and we use that information to make our life choices. Guilt helps to protect us from making choices that could be bad for others, or have serious social or personal ramifications for us.

Shame is connected to both guilt and fear, but is an entirely social phenomenon. We feel shame when we perceive that others would disapprove of our actions. The distinction between guilt and shame is slight, with the difference being that guilt is more about our own feelings that we are doing something wrong, and shame is about our belief that others would see what we are doing as wrong. While shame is probably of less utility, it does provide social protection that can be important in maintaining community relationships.

While these three facets of our humanity have useful roles in our lives, they can also be negative when they prevent us from the growth and change that is necessary for health, or confine us to narrow personal and social roles. In my life, they have unfolded in both helpful and negative ways in yoga and veganism.

I’m a vegan partly due to guilt and shame. Even from the time I was a small child, I realized that meat came from animals. I would eat hot dogs, sausages, ground beef, and lunchmeat without too much anxiety, but any food that came on a bone, or meat that was very chewy, presented a problem for me. When eating those things, I could not deny or ignore that what I was consuming came from the death of another being. I would get a piece of steak in my mouth and chew chew chew and not be able to swallow. Eventually, as an adult, I finally asked myself why I was continuing to eat meat if it made me so guilty and ashamed. It led me to a diet that has had benefits for me, my family, and probably a good number of animals.

At the same time, I could see how fear, guilt, and shame could become paralyzing in my dietary life. A while ago, a colleague pressed my diet choices, presenting some evidence of plants avoiding damage, and questioning whether I might want to think about how this could mean that plants have a degree of sentience. Similarly, I have had non-vegans lecture me on how the harvesting process inevitably kills insects. Stories of the dangers of soy can make it scary to consume that, as well. It would be easy enough to really take in all of this fear, guilt, and shame and become so conflicted that eating anything would be a trial.

In yoga, also, I have found fear to have its place. Fear of injury can prevent the ego from pushing me into poses that I’m not ready for, or that could be dangerous due to medical issues. Guilt and shame are not as useful, for me, in my yoga practice, but I will say that, now and then, it is feeling guilty about not practicing for a few days that gets me back on my mat. Thus, it can be a motivator in some cases.

Yet, fear, guilt, and shame can stop a person from growing and thriving in his/her yoga practice. I was speaking to a student the other day who has a strong yoga practice. She is dedicated to it and physically capable. But, fear keeps her from most inversions. And then she feels guilty that she is “being a baby” and not doing what she could do, and is ashamed when she perceives herself to be the only person in the room not kicking up to handstand. I know exactly what she is saying, because I’ve had this experience.

Sometimes, fear is not about “rational” or “real” danger.  For a long time, I felt very fearful in camel/ustrasana. I felt like I could not breathe and would begin to panic or not go into the pose at all. Clearly, I could breathe in reality, so there was no fear. And, even if I somehow really could not breathe in camel, I would have come out of it before I suffocated. More recently, I have found myself fearful of wheel. There is a little bit of the rational in this, because I am having a problem with my shoulders in the pose, but most of it is something emotional. It sometimes prevents me from going up into wheel even on days when my back and shoulders feel like they could handle the pose.

Guilt about yoga practice can be, sometimes in small doses, helpful to get us to the mat. But, beyond that, guilt may tend to prevent a practitioner from thinking through different possibilities of yoga. If I’m really busy feeling bad for not getting to a vinyasa class, it might prevent me from remembering that I can do some yin at home. If I’m not able or wanting to do any asana, guilt could get in the way of recalling that mindful meditation is yoga.

Yoga shame can be a powerful demotivator. When we start to worry about how our practice looks to others, and whether others think we are “good” enough or “dedicated” enough or “yogi enough,” it devalues the intrinsic good of the practice and makes it all about the public performance. All yoga practice is imperfectly perfect. It is the path and not the destination that is important, and shame can prevent us from remembering this.

Like so many things in life, fear, guilt, and shame are neither good nor bad. They just are. In any one instance, they can serve our goals and needs or push us further from them. I won’t say that the path is moderation (because, that too implies that there is a “right” level). So, instead, I will say that, when these feelings come up, they deserve some compassionate reflection, that we might use what is helpful to us and let go of what is not.

Namaste,

L

Not Now, Fear.

Photo: Francesco Rachello

Fear is a subject that comes up more than once in a while in yoga practice, particularly in the practice of asana. Just this week, I’ve heard yoga students say that they were afraid of handstand (multiple times), headstand, pinca myurasana, and arm balances. And, I have only been at three classes so far! I’ve written in the past about fear and backbends, fear of falling, and fear about having a different teacher, so I’m certainly not unfamiliar with having fear in the practice.

In all of these situations, it’s not the “thing itself” that we are afraid of, it’s some potential future outcome. Jiddu Krishnamurti said it clearly in On Fear:

Fear is never an actuality; it is either before or after the active present. When there is fear in the active present, is it fear? It is there and there is no escape from it, no evasion possible. There, at that actual moment, there is total attention at the moment of danger, physical or psychological. When there is complete attention there is no fear. But the actual fact of inattention breeds fear; fear arises when there is an avoidance of the fact, a flight; then the very escape itself is fear.

That is, fear is about what will happen, or maybe what has happened, but not so much about what is happening. This isn’t so surprising when you think about it. When real danger presents itself, something big like a child struggling in deep water, you aren’t fearing, you are acting. You are moving and taking steps to deal with the situation right then. But, when the danger isn’t present, sometimes we think about the danger and then we think about the potential outcomes (the child will be injured or worse) and that is where the fear arises.

In our asana practice, we may feel fear when we think about a particular pose or type of pose, but it isn’t about the pose. It is about some potential outcome we imagine might occur, and based on associations with the past, we have labeled that outcome bad.

Thus, fear of handstand or headstand is not about the pose, it is about possible outcomes of falling out of the pose. One might fear injury (though, realistically, your most important parts are closer to the ground than when standing), embarrassment, or to appear incapable. My fear of backbends isn’t about backbends, really. Because they make me feel slightly breathless, some part of my brain connects it to moments of claustrophobia and then I become anxious about not being able to breathe, or something (I’m still figuring that out).

So, what does this all mean for us and our practices? Well, I don’t think it means we can get rid of fear. It is part of the animal condition (some might say human animals only, but I’m not so sure about that). And even if we could get rid of fear, I don’t think we should. Fear can be useful. It prevents us from making bad choices sometimes.

What we can learn to do is sit with the fear and try to work through what it is really about. When the fear arises, we can ask the self, “What is actually going on here?”  We can consider whether the outcomes we are worrying about are likely, are truly dangerous, or are more related to ego or superstition. This won’t necessarily remove the fear for good, but it can help us to work through that situation, or to decide not to.

Maybe this means that in one class, I say, “Ok, I won’t get stuck in this backbend and I won’t be without air, so I am going to go ahead and do it.” And then in the next class I might decide that I’m just not in a good place that day to forge ahead. But, at least the reflection gives me the opportunity to make the choice and to try to really respond to what is happening.

Namaste,

L

Maybe I Don’t Want to Open My Heart

Art by Gosia Janik

Upward facing bow, or urdhva dhanurasana, is a beautiful pose.  Just seeing it makes me sigh with a feeling of joy.  It’s a pose that I want to be able to do, and something that I remember doing as a child, just for fun, when I was the child that rarely ever did anything physical.   But, something isn’t right in my practice when it comes to this pose.  The same thing happens to me with camel pose (ustrasana) and bow pose (dhanurasana), though not quite to the same extent as with wheel.

It’s not that when practice starts I am thinking “oh, I don’t want to do wheel.”  I really don’t think about it until it gets close to backbend time in the class flow.  And, then I start checking how I feel, trying to decide if it’s a good day or a bad day to try one.  I double check my plans after class, knowing that a lot of backbending does seem to affect my ability to sleep (so, if it’s too close to bedtime, maybe I can reasonably opt out?).  I also hope, more than just a little, that the teacher just won’t say anything about doing urdhva dhanurasana at all. And then, we go into bridge pose.  All good.  I can do that.  Not a problem.  But next… DUM DUM DUM, wheel.  Crap.

I bring my hands back by my shoulders, and immediately something feels wrong.  I’m not sure they are quite in the right position.  Why are my fingers pointing off to the side a little.  Should they be?  No, that’s too much in.  Ok, check the elbows.  Fine.  You know, maybe I just won’t go up.  Maybe I’ll just stay right here.  I could stay right here.

And I push up, and my body remembers how to get me into that position.  And then, within a second, I start to feel this struggle in my chest.  I’m pretty sure that I’m still breathing, but there is a sense of body panic.  I immediately start to wonder if I can come back down yet.  I try to focus on what my alignment is like, knowing pretty well that my feet are splaying out and I need to bring them in.  That pulls me together for a second or two, and then the panic comes sweeping back in.  What is that?

Image from My Yoga Online (click for page about U.D.)

I keep wondering whether this is about my physical body or my emotional body.  Is the issue my inability to do a good wheel, or is the issue my fear of opening up my heart, of exposing my soft underside to the world.  Maybe, in this shape, I feel a little bit like a turtle that’s been turned over on its back and all its protection is gone.  Perhaps this is also related to my tendency to round my upper back and pull my shoulders in, creating a little protective cave for my front body.

Or, you know, maybe it’s none of that.  Maybe it’s not about anything psychological at all and my sternum, ribs, and abdomen just don’t like to stretch in that way.  Maybe six or so years of yoga just isn’t enough to get that opened up on me and I need to not over think it and just keep at it.  Or maybe it’s not a pose that is meant for me and I need to stop worry about it.

I just don’t know.  And that, for me, isn’t the most comfortable place to be either.