I don’t always teach dynamic vinyasas. In fact, most of my permanent classes nowadays are Yin classes, which is pretty ironic, considering that I used to not enjoy that practice very much.

If you don’t know Yin, I wrote an article about this style a few years ago that explains in more detail the benefits and challenges of this practice. But in a nutshell, I see it as another angle - another way into the mind-body connection - using stillness instead of movement. Quiet the distractions. Shush the noise. Remain present despite the discomfort - physical, emotional, or mental. See what comes up, and hold ourselves accountable without judgment. Arguably, I find Yin way more challenging than any movement-based practice.

The first principle of Yin is to find your edge.

Which means being able to identify the fine line between discomfort and pain.

Breathing through discomfort is practicing resilience. Over time, our threshold expands: we make more space. But pain isn’t a place we wish to visit. So the first step in Yin is tuning in and assessing what it is we’re working with. Despite my best efforts and countless cues, there are always a few students who want to push through what their body clearly doesn’t seem ready for. That’s the ego talking. I don’t blame them, though: I’ve been there myself. On, and mostly off, the mat.

A few weeks ago, I bought a brand-new toothpaste. It was advertised as a new formula, even more efficient at brightening your teeth, and it was 50% off. A whitening bargain. When I first used it, it felt as if I was literally brushing my teeth with bleach - or what I imagine bleach would taste like (not that I’ve ever tried that… don’t). But because I’d invested in this product, and in the promise of it, I pushed through and kept using it despite its horrible taste.

Since then, it’s almost become a running joke at home. “I’m off brushing my teeth. Wish me luck.” What used to be part of a pleasant ritual - getting ready for bed - turned into a reluctant step.

I’m now about two-thirds of the tube down, and as I was brushing my teeth the other night, I told my husband: “I’ve forgotten how good toothpaste tastes like. I’m wondering how I’ll react next time I use something nice, or just regular mint-flavoured toothpaste. It’s going to feel weird.” He looked at me and said, “Funny how we get used to uncomfortable things, right?”

He wasn’t talking about toothpaste.

In Yin, we hold each pose for three to five minutes on average. Each pose works with an area of compression and an area of stress (we don’t talk about stretch when it comes to ligaments, tendons, or fascia), which is what creates the discomfort. When we release from a pose, we enter what’s called a rebound. A rebound is essentially the absence of compression and stress; a return to neutral. It’s how we remember what comfort feels like.

I’ve always applied this principle in my Yin classes. I understand the need for a physical release. But I’d never really thought about the off-the-mat practice of rebound.

And that made me wonder: am I truly capable of identifying stress if I don’t give myself moments of peace?

My agenda is always packed. I work, I teach yoga, I practice, I play music, I spend time with friends. I’m always out and about. Most of the time, it doesn’t feel like stress. But when everything slows down, I realise how rarely I allow myself to do literally nothing. Just rest. Rebound.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve had quite a lot of time for that. And guess what? My body reacted immediately. I slept like a baby. My mood improved. My energy came back. And I realised I’d forgotten what comfort feels like.

Rest is part of the practice. Rebound is necessary to properly integrate the work, like learning by contrast. When we skip the rebound, we forget how comfort feels.

When I teach Yin, I always invite my students to notice what emotions or thoughts arise while holding a pose. Because everything we feel and think affects our practice; it can make it more challenging or more manageable. But we all need to come out of the pose at some point. I guess I forgot to do that off the mat.

The body reacts first; the mind then intellectualises and overrides.

I’m not saying we should never push ourselves. I’m saying it’s important to pause and ask why we’re pushing.

Does it serve us?
Does it honour our needs in this specific moment?
Do we need to push or do we need to let go?

That’s the practice. That delicate balance between too much and not enough. That’s yoga.