From Fear to Freedom

One woman's journey into Handstand, and how it turned her life upside down.

By Dayna Macy

I'm in yoga class, and I know what's coming next. Frankly, I'm not thrilled. "Handstand," my teacher says.

I dutifully trot to the wall with the other students and place my now-sweaty palms on my mat. As I move into Downward Dog and get ready to kick up, I feel my heart start to race. I kick. I don't make it up. I try again—and then three more times—and I still don't make it up.

Here's the naked truth: I'm afraid of kicking up into Adho Mukha Vrksasana (Handstand). I'm afraid of falling. I'm afraid that my arms will buckle underneath the weight of my curvy body. And while my rational mind knows that the wall really is there, I'm afraid that once I'm airborne, the wall will take on a life of its own and move back a few inches.

I'd like to say that I'm afraid of Handstand because I'm a beginner, but I've been practicing yoga for 14 years. I've tried kicking up hundreds of times, with more or less the same results. And though I truly believe that it's all about the journey and not the destination, it is still embarrassing not being able to do Handstand. I even feel angry with myself and disillusioned with my practice because I don't do the pose.

And I know I'm not alone. I've seen plenty of people, like me, who've practiced for years and still can't get up. So when my friend, who is editor of this magazine, issued me a challenge to write a piece about my fear of going upside down, I said yes. Even though a part of me (OK, a big part) was terrified, I wanted to challenge my notion of what was possible—and perhaps learn more about myself in the process.

(Un)True Stories?

After accepting the assignment, I reflected on what had been holding me back all these years. I came to this realization: Trying to kick into Handstand leads me straight into the heart of fear and shame and negative body image, which I've hung on to since childhood. When I was young, I was amazed when other kids flipped up onto their hands. I watched the crazed joy on their faces as their bodies sliced through the air with abandon. I was never that kid—I never felt that kind of unfettered freedom and trust.

When I found yoga, as an adult, I connected with my body's inherent strength and grace for the first time. Now, at 46 and cruising into midlife, I'm profoundly grateful to my body for many things—like surviving months of bed rest and the complicated delivery of my beautiful twin boys. But I'm also embarrassed by my sagging flesh and stretch marks, and the extra 25 pounds I put on during pregnancy. None of those things fit my picture of what a competent, together woman looks like. I look more like the Venus of Willendorf than a Degas dancer, and taking flight does not come naturally to me.

This picture of myself has unconsciously infused my practice. While I've achieved reasonable levels of competence in some poses, inversions elicit an internal monologue that goes something like this: I look ridiculous. I'm not strong enough. I feel clumsy. I can't do this! Handstand, I tell myself, has become a breeding ground for the negative stories. Hopefully, confronting the pose will give me a chance to examine and perhaps even shift my self-imposed limitations. Can this earthbound mama learn to fly? It's time to find out.

Handstand Dos and Don'ts

If inverting is so difficult, why do it? Aadil Palkhivala, founder of Purna Yoga, in Bellevue, Washington, tells me that next to backbends, inversions are the most powerful poses. "Physically, inversions increase blood volume to the heart, thereby exercising the heart." In addition, Handstand develops strength in the upper back. "Because we are bipeds, our arms get weaker as we get older, and our hips get jammed. All inversions reverse this process," says Palkhivala. Beyond the physical benefits, there's an energetic payoff with Handstand. It's like breaking the sound barrier, he tells me. "Just before you break through, there's loud noise, trembling, and fierce vibrations. But once through," he says, "everything becomes quiet, and you are free." His words inspire me. Can I get through all the noise and find a sense of ease?

Back to Basics

My inversion immersion begins with Judith Hanson Lasater, a renowned yoga teacher who began her studies of Iyengar Yoga in the 1970s. During our time together, Lasater (who created the sequence that you see on these pages) helps me build the physical foundation for a healthy Handstand. After giving me a once-over to get a sense of my unique physical issues, she reviews structural alignment with me, and we work on poses to build strength and flexibility where I need it. She believes that having a complete understanding of the physical components of the pose builds confidence, which helps to gradually reduce fear. She gives me a sequence that she insists I practice every day. "The highest form of discipline is consistency," she tells me.

Some folks (well, most often men) need to work on creating more openness in the body to get into Handstand; others (you guessed it—most often women) need to build more strength. I'm one of the "lucky" ones who needs to do both. The first thing Lasater notices about me is the tightness in my mid and upper back and my chest muscles, which can be an issue when kicking into Handstand because having openness in those areas is necessary to achieve length and proper alignment in the pose.

To create more opening in my upper body, she has me lie over a small foam roller, with my head resting on a fully upright block. As I bring my arms out to the side, I feel a huge stretch in my upper body and arms, which runs down the back of my spine. I feel as though I'm on the rack.

Next, she shows me Dolphin Pose, telling me to move my shoulder blades down my back (away from my ears) in order to achieve length in the upper back and neck. Then we move on to the strength builders—Dolphin Plank and Upward Staff Pose at the wall. She teaches me how to draw my lower belly muscles back toward my spine and up to engage Uddiyana Bandha (Upward Abdominal Lock). This lock will prevent me from collapsing into my lower back, which is crucial to avoid when kicking up.

After 30 minutes of prep poses, we work on imprinting correct alignment in the body—that is, becoming familiar with Handstand's setup, alignment, and kicking motion. Lasater tells me that most students focus on getting their legs to the wall, when it's actually more helpful to think about moving the pelvis to the wall. When you harness your momentum and move the pelvis up and back, the arc of movement is smaller, and the pose becomes easier and more economical.

I move to the wall and place my hands on the mat. I stack my wrists, elbows, and shoulders. Lasater tells me to keep them perfectly straight, to prevent my arms from buckling. I lift my head slightly and gaze at my thumbs: If I focus my eyes, I focus my pose—which will create greater steadiness.

I walk my legs closer to the wall, pull up from my abdomen, and on my exhalation, I kick. I get nowhere near the wall. Lasater sees the look of disappointment on my face and says in a kind voice, "This is practice, Dayna, not a performance." After a brief rest, I repeat the process. This time, I'm a bit closer to the wall. On my third try, closer still. There's hope in the universe after all!

I will meet with Lasater again in two weeks. In the meantime, I practice doing my Down Dogs and my Dolphin, stacking my joints, and kicking. It's a lot of work, and despite my wish that my legs would just fly to the wall, they don't. And yet, things inside begin to shift. I feel myself getting stronger, and I notice that my perseverance confers a level of self-respect previously unknown to me. I realize that although I have practiced the pose on and off for many years, I've never done it with such diligence. I feel slightly disappointed with myself—not because I can't kick up, but because of all the energy I've spent believing that I am someone who will never do the pose. I believe, for the first time, that my story might not be so true.

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