Peace

I remember walking into a yoga class that day as a student craving quiet. The world felt loud and sharp around the edges, and I had come to my mat for one simple reason: to settle my nervous system and find my center. But instead of being guided into breath and body, the teacher began weaving commentary about current events throughout the practice. Headlines replaced stillness. Opinions filled the pauses where silence might have softened us. I could feel my jaw tighten, my breath shorten, my mind spin. What was meant to be an hour to check out, regroup, and clear my head slowly became another space where my nervous system had to brace. I left not soothed, but stirred up, reminded how precious and rare true quiet can be.

Nowhere in the description of teaching yoga does it say: Insert your political opinions here. My job is not to persuade. It is not to convince. It is not to comment on the headlines of the day.

Politics shape our lives in very real ways. They touch our bodies, our safety, our families, our sense of future. I am not suggesting we be indifferent or uninformed. I stay engaged. I have opinions. I vote. I have conversations with people I love. I care deeply about the world we live in.

But when I step into the role of teacher, something shifts.

Years ago, after the election that brought Donald Trump into office, my husband, who is a psychotherapist, saw a surge of anxiety in his clients. People who felt destabilized and afraid. His phone was full of messages from people seeking reassurance and grounding.

In my classes, I experienced students who were utterly distraught to others who were activated, already planning what they could do to create change. That is the nature of a group space. Many perspectives and emotions. Many nervous systems. Many lived experiences.

In a one on one setting, it may be appropriate to listen and process. But in a room full of students, my responsibility is different. I am there to lead practice.

Yoga teachers hold meaningful space, but we are not licensed mental health therapists, nor are we trained to process trauma, crisis, or political distress in a clinical way. When we use class time to express strong views about current events, we risk activating students’ nervous systems without having the scope of practice or tools to support what surfaces. A comment meant to inspire can unintentionally trigger anxiety, grief, anger, or shame in someone whose story we do not fully know. In a group setting especially, there is no way to responsibly hold the wide range of reactions that political or social commentary can evoke. Our role is to guide breath, movement, and awareness in ways that promote regulation and resilience, not to open psychological terrain we are not qualified to navigate.

When I teach, my focus is clear. Help people become better friends with their bodies. Help them breathe more fully. Help them feel their feet on the ground. Support their nervous systems so they can shift from reactivity to responsiveness. Create space for compassion, for discernment, for gratitude. Invite them to examine their ethics and align their actions with their values.

That is more than enough.

If I can guide someone toward self regulation, toward a steadier internal locus of control, I have done my job. From that grounded place, they can take whatever action feels true to them. They can march. They can vote. They can advocate. They can serve. They can rest. But they do it from center rather than from chaos.

Yoga loosens more than tight hamstrings. It softens the psycho emotional holding patterns that keep us rigid in our identities and certain in our righteousness. It gives us a little more space around our beliefs about ourselves and about one another.

My work is to help students untangle those patterns. To create an environment where everyone can exhale without fear of being shamed or excluded.

And if helping people come home to themselves is, in some way, a radical act, then I am at peace with that.

But the activism happens inside the practice. The commentary does not.