In this One Thing You Might Try… blog post, Connie Pertuz-Meza writes about the transformative power of yoga in her life both inside and outside the classroom.
Whenever I am outside of the teaching world, the conversation inevitably turns to what I do. After a measured pause I answer, I am a NYC public school teacher. I wait. The reactions range from admiration and nostalgia all the way to pity and sadness. Other times, I take the liberty to identify myself, usually when I want to assert the illusion of control. I announce, I am a senior teacher of the NYC public school system. I wait. Instead of the reactions from others, I notice my own. My words reverberate like a gong through my whole body; I am exhausted, the deep-in-your bones kind. The image of me in the classroom, my head constantly on a swivel and feet darting from one side of the classroom room to the other, plays over and over on a loop, and my chest constricts with the pressure of it all.
My words reverberate like a gong through my whole body;
I am exhausted, the deep-in-your bones kind.
In the spring of 2018, years of pushing through, and a persistent feeling of being stuck, finally caught up to me. I feared I could never match the beautiful bloom happening all around me. Later, I learned what I longed for exists in nature effortlessly—presence. Crippled by a series of somatic symptoms; constant digestive issues, chronic headaches, endless colds, relentless achy shoulders and reoccurring panic attacks, I sought the help of a therapist. I was quite certain I was dying. A few weeks after working with my therapist, tiny bits of relief began to occur, and I felt hopeful. I took a leap and signed up for a 200-hour yoga teacher training for educators for the following year. This would give me plenty of time. At the time I naively believed one arrived at healing, thinking of it as a milestone you reach, rather than an unfolding journey.
A few weeks after working with my therapist, tiny bits
of relief began to occur, and I felt hopeful. I took a
leap and signed up for a 200-hour yoga
teacher training for educators for the following year.
I was no stranger to yoga. I had practiced on and off since college, but the demands of motherhood and teaching chipped away at my yoga practice till it was mostly nonexistent. Now I would have a whole month of yoga geared towards those in education—my people. During the weeks leading to my training, I found myself sharing with those around me how I would spend my month of August. Some were excited by my excitement, others perplexed why I would choose to spend a month of my summer vacation practicing yoga for twelve-hour days, and a few smiled politely and changed the subject.
Finally, the day had come, and I would be starting my training. Armed with my yoga mat, a brand-new bolster, and an inspired playlist for this occasion to jam out to during my daily commute. I walked into the gymnasium of the high school, which would house the eighty plus attendees over the next few weeks, as we embarked on our journey to be yoga teachers. I found a corner, unrolled my mat, and sat in an easy seat, reading a novel to steady my nerves, as folks poured in. I sighed with relief at the variety of people, majority female, a mix of ages, races and ethnicities, and to my relief, all sizes. After all, at the time I was in my early forties, and as a full-figured Latina, I am always an anomaly in a yoga studio.
I found a corner, unrolled my mat, and sat in an easy seat,
reading a novel to steady my nerves, as folks poured in.
We met our instructors, went over what our days together would look like, and were reminded that the focus would be on ourselves. Several times that first day we were told the journey was inward. Yoga, which meant to yoke the body, mind, and spirit, would calm the fluctuations of our minds through movement. Apparently, breath would become our best friend. I noted how my breath was in a knot in my chest, instead of flowing through me.
Someone raised their hand. “Will you be talking about the implications for the students?”
I nodded. I wondered the same myself.
“The best gift you could give your students is a grounded teacher, guidance counselor, social worker, psychologist, assistant principal, principal who practices self care,” one of the instructors replied, quoting the founder of the program.
A surge of electricity bolted through me as a never-ending teacher to-do list flashed through my mind. In bold neon the words curriculum, assessments, data, lesson plans, teacher observations, report cards, and professional development blinked in my mind. My heart fluttered. I took a deep breath and brought myself back into the auditorium.
There are things I am glad I did not know that first day, like how physically grueling the asana training would be. I arrived home moaning that everything but my hair hurt, rubbing menthol into my lower back and foam rolling my calves. I did not realize how stillness and silence would have to be practiced over and over like sun salutations and how grief remains dormant in your body, ready to greet you in the quiet. I did not know we were spiritual beings who are having a human experience. When you are finally aware of this you can’t unknow it and to do so feels like a betrayal.
On the last day of the training, I looked around me, took inventory of what I had learned during the last several weeks, and celebrated the fact I had made it. At least ten people had dropped out after the first week and a handful of people could not pass the final yoga presentation and would end the program without the certification. But I made it. I was now a certified yoga instructor. I felt so alive. I finally understood this alive feeling exists in every living thing, this life force was also residing in me—prana.
But I made it. I was now a certified yoga instructor.
I felt so alive.
How would I keep up this feeling of being alive? This ease I felt. This immense gratitude for presence once school began and I wasn’t practicing yoga for hours on end? I thought about the checklists I created for students as reminders of what needed to be in their personal narratives, persuasive essays, or literary essays. I could create one for myself.
SELF CARE DURING THE SCHOOL DAY:
- Make sure you drink water
- Keep healthy snacks in the classroom
- Bring some plants, succulents, or crystals into your space
- Check email and phone only at designated times
- Take a break and take a breath when feeling overwhelmed
- Remember you cannot accomplish everything on your to do list– it’s a living document
- Try to get sun and fresh air at least once throughout the day
- Ground by finding your stance, looking at different colors, hearing different sounds, and touching different textures.
I taped this checklist to my desk, put on my favorite crystal necklace, and walked into school hopeful the first day after my training. If this new grounded me was going to continue to exist, I needed to get my students on board. I realized I needed to offer my students a checklist, but first I would have to teach them some breathing, a few simple poses, and introduce them to mindfulness. I introduced gratitude journals, taught them belly breath, silent minute, and the watching of thoughts, using the image of birds in the sky to remind them that thoughts come and go. I made a version of my check list to share with my students.
SELF CARE DURING THE SCHOOL DAY FOR STUDENTS:
- Jot down three things you are grateful every morning in your gratitude journals
- Take a walk if feeling overwhelmed
- Stand in the back of the classroom in chair pose, tree pose, or rag doll to quiet the mind
- Remember to take deep belly breaths if feeling uneasy
- Use a silent minute to center yourself
It’s been a few years since my training and I have tacked on other yoga certifications to my initial 200-hundred-hour training, including 95 hours of kids yoga. I continue on this lifelong journey of healing, unlearning and learning all at once. I have days where I still clutch my head in my hands or rub my hand over my chest as the waves of anxiety leave me breathless, or feel infinitely sad when my students reveal something traumatic they are going through or have gone through. When this happens I know I must have compassion for myself and that means taking care of myself. For self care to really make an impact on my students it must happen outside of the classroom. What started out as a checklist has become a way of life.
SELF CARE
- Meditation
- Breath work
- Morning pages
- Gratitude journal
- Yoga
- Walks
- Unplanned doing nothing
- Good friends to talk to
- Creating art
Yoga teacher training started out as something to benefit my students and ended up filling me with something I needed help to find–love. A love for teaching, my students, and ultimately myself.
About the author
Connie Pertuz-Meza is a two-decade long NYC public school educator, mother and wife. Connie’s writing has appeared in The Rumpus, Kweli Literary Journal, and elsewhere. She is a VONA alum and board member secretary, Tin House participant, a 2022 Pen America Emerging Fellow, and 2023 We Need Diverse Books Mentorship Finalist. You can connect with Connie on at her website.
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