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When my body image was at its worst, I was a travel writer and influencer in Bali surrounded by beautiful people. Toned midriffs were exposed everywhere, bikini tops were worn like regular streetwear, and flowing dresses effortlessly hugged their owners’ curves in all the right places. Everywhere I turned, it was like an Instagram feed in real life.
I viewed my physical shape and size as an ever-present problem that stopped me from feeling like I could be a part of the yoga community. For years, the unspoken but widely accepted yoga uniform—yoga leggings and sports bra—had been everywhere on YouTube, in clothing stores, and throughout most studios. It was also everywhere in Bali. The tight, skin-showing getup of modern yoga was far from the loose, light, and breezy layers that the ancient yogis wore, but I didn’t know that then. I only knew what I saw.
And I saw that my body was rounder, larger, and looser than everyone else’s. I felt awkward and uncomfortable. I wanted to shrink. I wanted to see anyone in the community who looked like me, but I didn’t. Acutely aware of my differences, I imagined others giving me sideways glances and thinking “How did she let herself get so big?” and “Who is she to be wearing that?”
I didn’t let my self-consciousness keep me from practicing. But riddled with self-hate, I compensated by covering up more. Even as I tried to get as close to the yoga uniform as I could, I pretended that I could hide what I looked like beneath layers of clothing, using them as a security blanket to fend off judgment—some from others but mostly from myself. I wedged myself toward the back or edge of the room where I thought fewer people would see me. I hiked my high-waisted leggings up and pulled my long tank tops down to hide my belly, which was my least favorite part of my body.
I concealed myself as best I could so that I could feel even an iota of comfort as I moved, rolled, and stretched myself into different shapes. But when I was on the mat, my fear of judgment—in any shape and form, internal or external—slowly disappeared as I submerged myself in my practice. I had been drawn to yoga because of how open, light, strong, and capable the practice made me feel. I didn’t feel any of those things when I was off the mat. But I did feel a desperate desire to fit in with everyone else who were practicing the one thing that helped me feel incredible.
Not long before I began my yoga teacher training, I attended a yoga festival. It was a typical day on the island and I was feeling like an imposter surrounded by the same influencer-type yoga practitioners I always saw. In the heat and humidity, the layers of my clothes clung to me. I could feel my hair plastered to the sides of my head, my neck, and my forehead and the sweat dripping down my back. I was hot and miserable. And I was tired of forcing myself to cover up during raging temperatures well above what my Canadian body considered tolerable.
Then something in me snapped. I found myself asking, “Why do I have to cover up? Who says I have to?”
And then, standing in the middle of a large grassy area, I peeled off my trusty top layer, a tight sleeveless top that added protection from my self-inflicted judgment. I stood in my sports bra and leggings, the sweaty top hanging from my fingers, and I let the sun beat down on me.
My breath shortened at the discomfort of being so exposed. But no one turned to look in my direction. Nothing stopped or even slowed down. The buzz and energy of the event continued as if nothing had happened. The world around me was unaware of the tremendous courage I had mustered to take off my top. Everyone seemed blissfully happy in their own worlds even as mine just did a 180.
All this time, I had thought that people were watching, talking, even caring. But it was only ever me judging myself. My reflection of what I saw was distorted by the misconceptions I had so harmfully held onto in my mind.
Taking off my top was like shedding a layer of unwanted belief from my mind and a layer of hate from my skin. It was profound, and something only I could feel as I shifted my mental, emotional, and energetic layers, what I know today as the koshas. I had finally released myself from my own restrictions.
A few hours after my revelation, I was walking with a friend to the next class when she said, “I really like your outfit. It looks great on you.” In that moment, my entire world expanded beyond the box I had believed was mine. I made a silent vow to myself to continue to show up to yoga exactly as I pleased.
I didn’t put my shirt back on the rest of that day. Years later, I show up to practice and teach almost exclusively in my go-to sports bra and leggings. But on the days when I crave that touch of comfort or am not feeling my usual confident self, I don’t deny myself the chance to wear my once protective top layer.
I’m aware of how unconventional our contemporary uniform can be, especially compared to what’s considered more traditional attire. Not to mention the yoga clothes industry continues to grow faster than the practice of yoga itself. But for me, the act of wearing the very thing that I had let shame me for so long liberated me from the standards I had held for myself. That single liberating act initiated a shift in how I show up to my entire life. It started my understanding of who I am and what I stand for in life.
Yoga continues to take me on a journey of self-discovery as I explore the inner depths of my self-criticism, my love of control, and fear of not knowing enough. But the change began with my body image. Exploring the outermost layer of myself, my physical body, and coming to accept it just as I am has given me the space to go deeper, be more confident, and inspire others to live authentically in whatever shape they inhabit. I just happen to feel most like myself doing that in my go-to sports bra and leggings.
About Our Contributor
Taylor Lorenz is a travel and yoga writer, yoga teacher, and self-acceptance advocate from Ottawa, Canada. Her writing and yoga classes teach that travel is a form of expansion instead of escapism and that self-acceptance is the cure to many of life’s woes. She aims to help others feel comfortable and confident in their bodies and their dreams so they can live their lives freely. Follow her on Instagram and YouTube.
This content was originally published here.
