When your yoga teacher talks about ego in class, what comes to mind? When I hear the word ego, I associate it with negativity. In this culture, we say things like, “Oh that person is egotistical,” to describe an individual who is full of themselves. Clearly, there are particular connotations that come with “I-ness.”
We’re somebody, right?
Ram Dass talks about this at length, and he’s far more eloquent than me. You can read some of what he has to say here. He makes the point that ideas about "somebodiness" are constructs and speaks often about becoming nobody in his lectures. (This topic could and likely will be its own post.)
I believe him. I think our “somebody training” separates us from our truest nature and serves as the backdrop for how we perceive our world. I also think we need a degree of "somebodiness." It seems that being somebody gives us the drive to tackle issues and work to eliminate suffering.
How much ego is too much?
Possessing motivation to make meaningful contributions to humanity sounds healthy from where I’m standing. How do we differentiate between being a functioning member of society and being full of beans? It can be a fine line.
In the past, we’ve demonstrated that there are many valuable aspects of yoga that have nothing to do with asana. Movement is a great classroom, however, and it’s a place where you can find your ego wearing a Day-Glo stretchy leotard. It’s all out there in hot pink and neon chartreuse, and when you can see it, you can get a better sense of the difference between a healthy amount of ego and a troublesome dependence on "somebodiness."
We all want to be the hero of our own story
For the purposes of today, though, I’ll tell you a story about ego as it manifests in asana in three acts. Instead of being the hero, I’ll be the turd in this tale. It’s all for science, though.
Act I: The warm up
The teacher opens class by recommending props. I use them because I know they're helpful. Then, around 75% of the way through our opening sequence, the teacher tells the class to head into Lizard Lunge. I’ve done this pose approximately 800 times. I know it’s in my body to be able to do this, and I’m a teacher for heaven’s sake!
For these reasons, I ignore the steps we’ve been given to gradually work our way into the pose. Forget props. I’m on my elbows and asking the forward hip to do some really dramatic movement. I spend the duration of the lunge questioning my choices and vowing to be a better listener on the second side. Ego is sneaky like that.
Act II: Things are getting funky and I like it
We’re still in class, but now we’re in the most challenging part. Let’s say that the teacher has decided to give us all the opportunity to go into Hurdler’s Pose. They give plenty of options so that everyone can find their fullest expression. What a great teacher!
Hurdler’s Pose is not in my wheelhouse. There are a few things that I haven’t quite nailed down about it. Usually, I try it and tip over like a fainting goat.
Today is different. I’m warmed up and feeling strong. I stick the landing! I get into Hurdler’s Pose. I hope the teacher sees that I did it! (Translation: I hope the teacher sees that I did it and gives me some form of external validation.) Since I stop paying attention to my breath, I promptly tip over like a fainting goat. True story.
Act III: Partner Work
Those examples are the sorts of things that crop up all the time when I practice. You might be nodding your head remembering something similar that you’ve thought or done in class. You don't even need to feel bad about it if you relate to those things a lot. I usually have a good chuckle and work on it for next time.
I’m embarrassed about this next one, though. Unlike the first two acts, this final act happened just once. In this case, my ego, and the imposter syndrome that rides in the passenger seat beside it, had a field day in a yoga class. (Note: What you’re about to read did not happen at Union Yoga.)
I was in an especially challenging class. My body dysmorphia and my average flexibility made me feel like a stumpy pigeon in a room full of swans whenever I was in this place.
The teacher decided that we’d be doing partner work to get into Full Bow Pose. To demonstrate, the teacher needed a partner. Of all the beautiful, bendy swans in the room, I, the stumpy-pigeon, was chosen. My ego immediately lit up at all the external validation I received.
Full Bow is in my practice. We were warmed up, so I wasn’t worried as I popped into it. Since everyone was watching me, I gave my fullest expression of the pose.
I didn’t anticipate the adjustment that followed. The teacher proceeded to sit on the soles of my feet like they were a barstool. This action drove my knees toward the mat. Then, they took a hand in front of each of my shoulders and encouraged my collarbones to open. This was a whole lot of backbend.
Since I’d already gone to my fullest extent, there wasn’t really anywhere left to go. All the swans listened with rapt attention and my lower back cursed while the teacher gave a lengthy explanation from their perch.
When I was finally released, I didn’t allow my face to betray that the effort and ease scales were swinging wildly out of balance.
How was that? the teacher asked.
Awesome, I lied.
I didn’t want to hurt my teacher’s feelings or admit to my fellow students that the experience was anything less than stellar. I could have said any number of things during or after this stunt, but my ego decided it was better to handle my physical pain quietly.
I was rewarded for my dishonesty by having to do the whole thing over again with a student who had never given the adjustment before. I’m truly lucky that I didn’t do permanent damage. Way to go, ego.
Empower yourself by knowing yourself
When you notice these patterns related to ego, you can become a better advocate for yourself. You might go into a posture, realize it’s too intense, and back out of it. You could achieve something you find challenging, and instead of craving an audience, you may opt to focus on maintaining equanimity. When you’re put in a position that could be harmful to you or others, you won’t do what I did. Instead, you’ll ask the teacher to kindly not sit on your feet. You’ll tell them that what’s happening hurts your back.
I hope that putting these subtler shades of ego on full display will help you in your practice.
May you never compromise on your well-being for the sake of keeping up appearances.