Author Archives: Laura De Stefano

Clarity: Going Into 2020 With Eyes Wide Open

Once upon a time, I used to write. Not fiction, no – mind you, I am still determined to try my hand at a novel – but a blog. I wasn’t just a “blogger” though. I wrote about mental health. I wasn’t just another mental health blogger either. I was lucky enough to be able to turn my vast back-catalogue of articles (each ranging from around 1500 to 4000 words) into a book, which I self-published in 2016, and to reach a massive audience with one piece in particular “A Letter To Those I Love”.

I stopped writing after that though. I stopped writing because I didn’t know how to write any more. I didn’t feel I had anything more to say. And I didn’t want to just be talking about mental health any more, either. I felt like I’d put myself in a box: I was the girl who liked guinea pigs and who had almost a lifetime of mental illness and trauma that had made me who I was.

But who was I? I wasn’t sure. Since 2016 I’ve been through episodes of depression, suicidal ideation, anxiety, pain (physical), low (no) self-esteem, weight gain, weight loss, new meds, old meds, loving yoga, hating yoga, hating lifting weights to loving lifting weights.

I think a combination of two things have finally helped me settle back into myself, comfortable with who I am, understanding of most of my quirks and habits, feeling a spark in me again and feeling ambitious for the future. All of which are very conducive to writing. Depression was not so conducive. Even the idea of writing while staying under the duvet all day in bed didn’t appeal, so for a time I slept 18+ hours a day just to avoid the world.

I digress. Turning 30 last year was an important milestone. Those who know me from days of old or who have known me through all my ups and downs will understand what I mean when I say I really didn’t believe I’d see 30. To have made it through my 20s feels…euphoric. It feels like I’ve achieved something by surviving. By hanging on in there through all the pain. I don’t count the years in terms of suffering or pain any more, and to be honest, I don’t consider “time” as a concept at all in day to day living. I don’t think “this is the THIRD WEEK of awful knee pain, I’m sick of it”. I don’t go around counting off the years I’ve been agoraphobic for. I’ve freed myself from time. Somehow it feels like surviving my 20s was pivotal in setting me up for my future.

The second factor in my change in outlook has been work. I left what I thought was my dream job in 2016. I not only helped to shape Guinea Pig Magazine, but I WAS Guinea Pig Magazine in those early days and I was a proud part of it for the first 6 years of its life. It took a long time to let go of my relationship to my former boss, having actual nightmares which on one occasion actually left me mute; physically unable to snap out of the psychological turmoil induced by the pain caused by the whole situation. Today I have no regrets, I bear no grudges and wish no ill-will toward the publication and their team. I’m grateful for what I learned, on the good days and the bad.

I took some time “out” after I quit the magazine. It was also around this time that I stopped my counselling sessions that by then I had been having on and off for 7 years. I stopped writing. In essence, I “disappeared”. In the year or so that followed, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, osteopenia, my eyesight deteriorated quite considerably, and I spent most of my time in bed. When the warmer months rolled around I eased myself back into yoga, and I went really big on Instagram yoga challenges and trying to get picked up as a brand ambassador. I wanted to train as a yoga teacher and set up an online yoga class. I wanted to find validation and to find my purpose through yoga…but also through Instagram. The numbers mattered to me. Breaking 1k followers seemed like such a success! In truth, it changed nothing. I was practicing a lot but was it real practice or was it showing off? Winter came around and I went back to my struggle with daily pain and fear.

But then in early 2018, I decided – on a whim – to start offering to help local guinea pig owners out with grooming their pets. One person got in touch asking if I would groom her piggies for her…and that was the catalyst I needed to consider actually turning that nugget of an idea into a business. I carried on with the yoga but the numbers no longer mattered and I didn’t run or participate in another challenge, or chase any brands hoping to seek acceptance from them. I started practicing yoga for me and had an amazing summer that year of free-flowing self-practice.

My business is what really helped change things though. It is now 2 years old with more than 80 individual clients just in the last year alone. It’s niche. It gets raised eyebrows; yes, when people ask I tell people I am a guinea pig groomer. I also offer holiday boarding and through that came to welcome my third guinea pig into the family. I’ve opened up memberships and free information sheets and there are a million ideas I have, a few major ones I am actively planning to put into action in 2020.

In the time I spent away from the guinea pig world, I was able to get the break I needed from over a decade of constant advising and answering the same questions over and over again…but more importantly, I was able to find my own way. In all my years of advising I have attached myself to someone else and adopted, to a degree, their style and some of their core beliefs. I stopped using certain products, started doing more of this, less of that, no longer recommending or talking to such and such a person… It was easy to be a follower. I needed to step out of the flow completely, stop, and start again from the bottom up. I established how I want to keep my own guineas and what works for us, and kept my mind open to those I had shut out in the past.

Life isn’t perfect, it isn’t pain-free and every day isn’t sunny or full of ideas and motivation. Every day without fail I end up sucked into my phone, opening Facebook, Instagram, BBC News, MailOnline repeatedly over and over, even though I just checked those sites 10 minutes ago. I am a master at procrastination and time-wasting and I am lazy as it comes when it comes to getting out of bed. Morning person I am not. And though these two are improving I confess I do take things for granted and I am still absolutely terrible at maintaining contact with friends and family.

I’m going to reveal a few things that I’ve not revealed before, in the spirit of honesty and openness. I still live with my usual list of ailments that many of you are very well aware of:

Agoraphobia
Emetophobia
Anxiety
Panic disorder
Depression
Arthritis
Fibromyalgia

There are additional medical things I am dealing with as well. Adenomyosis might also be endometriosis – I’m waiting on exploratory surgery to find that out. An episode of acute prepatellar bursitis (“housemaids knee”) has turned chronic, meaning a lot of knee pain. That self-injury scar on my left forearm from 3.5 years ago? It’s 95% healed, but I still pick at the surface of it and at any other skin imperfections: since childhood I have lived with the need to “smooth” out my skin or to sate a psychological need to pick at something. Dermatillomania, I think its name is. It’s a recognised thing but it’s not an attractive thing to confess to – that you are a compulsive skin picker. It’s impossible to explain it to someone who has never felt absolutely compelled to do something you know you shouldn’t but it is exactly that, a compulsion. Like an itch that drives you crazy until you scratch it. I used to think it was just a bad habit from childhood. Maybe it is? It is certainly something I learned as a child and acquired as a habit before I could begin to understand it.

It sounds ridiculous now to say that I’m in constant physical pain and on more pain meds than I’d like, but the human brain doesn’t always play logically. In terms of managing the chronic pain associated with the arthritis and fibromyalgia, keeping my body moving helps, as do hot baths, but I still need the medication as well: even though it’s “only” paracetamol and codeine, it is every day, and my goal is to be rid of them altogether. My logical brain forces me to acknowledge and be thankful, however, that I no longer rely on buprenorphine or morphine for my pain; such was the stage I got to a few years ago I basically accepted every drug option offered to me, no matter how potent. Luckily I never became addicted and I didn’t have withdrawal issues with either pain med.

I’m still on quite a few routine medications, around 5 prescription ones daily, along with 5 supplements I believe are helping. And yes, I am still on Diazepam as well. I will be entirely truthful here and admit I am reliant on Diazepam. This is not news as such, but it is an admission. Reliance is different to addiction, but is rooted in fundamentally the same way. Something works to ease the difficulties and make life easier in some way, and you come to rely on it physically, psychologically, or both. I consider addiction to be a much more physiological dependency, a very physical urge and need that takes over mind and body, whereas reliance is more of a psychological dependency – believing (or, as is often the case, knowing) that something can make this easier so why not just take it and make life easier? Diazepam is not something I need physically; I don’t crave it, I don’t need or want to take it every day, nor routinely. But I do collect a script for 14x 5mg Diazepam tablets and 28x 2mg Diazepam tablets every single month. And have done for some years. I don’t usually have any tablets left at the end of the month’s script. Am I addicted? No. But I am reliant on it when I need to go out and about. Not all the time, but I definitely go through spells where I cannot get out the front door unless I’ve taken anywhere between 2mg and 10mg Diazepam. My throat closes up tighter than you can believe possible and until it’s relaxed – with the help of the Diazepam – I can’t leave the house as I begin to panic.

This is something I feel compelled to address. The first step in addressing it is admitting I have a reliance on it, and I’ve spent many months thinking through every aspect of this to the point where I am OK with being reliant on it. In the past I have tried other methods to stop my anxiety, to send my brain down a different path before panic sets in – I’ve tried Rescue Remedy, meditation, earplugs, chewing gum, eating, drinking (sipping at water, not alcohol), Kalms tablets, and I’m on Propranolol which blessedly does relieve the severe symptoms elsewhere in my body. But for my throat and my mind, a few of those things help depending on the day and the situation…but deep down I still think that only one thing can pretty much guarantee an end to the grip anxiety has on my throat and allow me to lose the fear of leaving the house. And that is Diazepam.

Over the last week I’ve had no Diazepam. I’ve been forced to get used to going out without it. Normally I don’t leave the house without it, “just in case” – in those situations I don’t always need them but it is a psychological relief to know they are there if my anxiety spikes to a level I feel is too much to handle out in public. But between the demands of Christmas, a poorly husband (which meant me having to go out shopping on my own etc. for a few days) and a house full of boarding piggies, plus taking on extra work at weekends as well as during the week, I was exhausted – and physical exhaustion combined with mental exhaustion meant anxiety took my throat hostage, locking it into a vice-like tension the second I considered going out anywhere, and it took some larger doses (which my GP knows about) on a few occasions to manage to see through what was necessary. That knocked my confidence and I reverted to taking small precautionary doses before leaving the house – 2mg up to 6mg – just to make sure I was able to do everything that had to be done. Needless to say, I ran out of tablets before my next script was due.

It’s been an interesting week of going without. I’m proud of myself for how much I have been able to do, how much progress I have made in letting go of this need to have this tablet to hand at all times. I’ve not been able to go far – I stay within Huntingdon. Eating out is absolutely not an option. In many ways I’ve gone a long way backwards. Except I haven’t: I’ve taken some big steps forward. I’ve had some “bad” times, but somehow my confidence although swayed has not been completely knocked. Even though it felt terrible, my high-level anxiety didn’t tip over into panic. I just about held on all on my own. It was hard, very hard indeed, to keep myself under control, and I turned to my quirks to try and alleviate and distract: pushing my fingers in my ears (a childhood comfort), looking down at the ground, moving slower and more carefully, delaying or hesitating in getting out of the car/walking down a supermarket aisle/driving past our home street to give myself the option of going home instead of going on to my next chore. It has forced me to turn back to meditation, to practice the gift of mindfulness and practicing actively focusing my brain onto something of my choosing, rather than letting it run on auto (my default setting for years and years has been fear).

I didn’t feel relieved when I picked up my scripts today.

I felt empowered.

I managed to get there and collect them, and even wait for them to be dispensed, without needing medicinal help. My goal now is to maintain this. To use this feeling to maintain this progress. As it stands, since I’ve been going to the local gym to lift weights (~2-3 months) I have not taken Diazepam to be able to get there. I know I can handle it and work through any anxiety spikes. So I know I can do it. I know I can manage at least local trips out, without taking medication to make it easier. Shopping is tough, but I can just about work my way through it. Driving is even more of a joy to me than usual as it forces my focus, and I love the feeling of directing my own brain to do something I say it needs to do, rather than it doing its own thing.

2020 holds challenges, but they are challenges I have invited myself. Some deliberately, others not, but however that challenge came to fruition I am grateful to be shown that I have the opportunity to change. So, between being a housewife and mum of piggies, getting my health back on track, continuing to yoga just for me, to lift weights, managing and expanding my business, working on my relationships with family and friends, getting in extra training and qualifications, letting go of bad habits, and chasing a few goals and dreams (F1 Silverstone Friday Practice we are coming for you!) it’s a positive, if a little exhausting, start to the new decade.

I’m going to treat myself now to a red wine spritzer as a reward for sitting down and writing properly for the first time in years, for opening up as much as I have (oh the freedom I feel!) and for having been out to collect my meds and been to the Post Office on my own after putting it off for the best part of 3 hours! I’ll never have a six-pack or a perfect mind no matter how hard I work, because the work-reward system is too good to give up, and my reward is almost always a glass of wine, or chocolate.

Nothing in the world that can’t be solved with chocolate…

Laura with Wilbur, Hugo and George, December 2019. Photo by i-d Image Development, St Neots.

Motivation Is Bloody Hard To Come By

Current daily routine:

Sleep
Wake up
Think “what’s the point…”
Go back to sleep
Have a series of vivid real-life/dreamworld warped dreams
Wake up and get up to get away from the dreams
Look at to-do list and think “but if I do that stuff, then what will there be to do when it’s done?”
Housework*
Exercise*
Piggy cuddles
Eat
And back to bed.

*not necessarily everyday, but usually most days

It’s not a routine. It is set out exactly in order. Sometimes I’ll change up the to-do list part and actually commit to running through a couple of things on it. And the thing is, the more I do, the better I feel. Well, until I cross the line into doing too much and end up in a foul mood, with my husband having to tell me to stop…

We all know I live with anxiety, depression, emetophobia, agoraphobia, panic disorder, inflammatory arthritis, IBS and fibromyalgia. It’s not an excuse. I take medication to manage some of the conditions, but I’ve changed what I take hugely in the past 4 months. I’ve eliminated the steroids, eliminated the morphine-level pain relief, added back in an anti-depressant, started taking supplements. There’s still a lot I’d like to change, but I have to give my body time to adjust to the major changes I’ve already implemented.

Note my change in wording though when I listed my conditions. I used to state that I *have* XYZ, that I *suffer from* XYZ. I realise now that I’ve moved on from that, that for me it was becoming a scapegoat, as it were. To some degree, it still is. Maybe always will be. One thing my experience with pain taught me: you have to learn to live with your experiences. However happy or shit they might be, you have no choice. Sure, wallow in self-pity and extract as much sympathy as you can from the rest of the world, but sooner or later, everyone will get tired of it. They will learn to live with you, whatever version of you that may be, but they have their own lives to live. If accommodating your conditions means leaving you behind sometimes, that’s what will happen. Sometimes you really can’t do anything to change that; part of living with your conditions means accepting this. In many cases though, a simple change in attitude can prevent a lot of heartache. Which is why I picked my act up and decided to learn to live life with the pain, rather than suffer from it. I think I’m doing pretty well as far as going on despite pain goes.

It’s exponentially harder to live life with the anxiety, agoraphobia, emetophobia. They require intensive attention in order to manage. Sometimes it just isn’t possible and I can’t live with it.  I can only survive with it. Those times are the worst. However, I do still believe there is hope and I remain optimistic that it is possible to live a healthier, happier life than the one I choose to live at the moment (see daily routine).

One thing I’ve come to realise through all of this as well is that I do have an eating disorder. I’m not jumping on the bandwagon because people I know live with disordered eating, and I’m not trivialising EDs either. Note that at the moment, I use the terminology of “having” an ED. That’s because I’ve not learned how to effectively and healthily live with it. You might wonder what ED I think I have. It isn’t anorexia, it isn’t bulimia (obviously!), it isn’t bingeing. I control my eating – by that, I mean I halt my food intake depending on what else I want to do. I impose restrictions not on the type of food, but on when I will let myself eat. It isn’t weight or body-image related. It is intrinsically connected to my emetophobia and agoraphobia. It is a logical thought process that led me to this behaviour, but just because it’s logical doesn’t mean it is healthy. I arrange my eating entirely around my day’s activities and have done, to varying degrees, for many years. If I’m planning on going out, I refuse to eat until I either feel hungry while I’m out and I feel ‘safe’ eating, or I’ll wait to eat when I get home. Even on weekdays when I don’t go out anywhere, I rarely eat until after C is home from work. Despite getting out more, my body has over the last 6 months adjusted to not eating during the day, so I have no appetite or hunger for food at all until after 3-5pm. I was in the habit at first of at least having a meal-replacement soy-milk shake, but my appetite for those went a couple of months ago, so at the moment I’m working on introducing those back in during the day if I really, really can’t face food. My evening meal is entirely normal and there are no issues around it…unless I’m eating out!

I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing all of this. I know I have missed writing. The catharsis of it…it was an essential therapy for so long, but I lost the spark to write several years ago, and I’ve not known how to get it back. Motivation is bloody hard to come by. I’ve felt it lurking recently and decided to take the plunge today and have ended up with this…hopefully it will lead onto more as there is so much in my head that I can put to rights by writing about it.

I’ll end on the note that recovery isn’t linear, doesn’t have a time limit, and is ongoing for life. As humans we are always recovering from something. A bereavement, a hard day at work, a sleepless night with a baby, a cold, an evening run. It’s a good idea when recovering from the bigger things, anything that affects you psychologically and emotionally, to remember the above. Accepting that recovery actually means living with consequences until such a time as something else requires your attention, or until you learn how to live with the difficulties. Recovery isn’t about survival and getting over something. It’s about learning to manage and cope, and figuring out how to live the life you want whilst you carry the pain (physical or mental) with you. Sometimes it might pass entirely, but even if it does, remember that it changes you in some way. What you do with it is up to you.

Monopoly of Life

It’s a sad truth that many of the individuals – often so-called professionals – among us have a subconscious or a known bias against the amateurs with interests in the field in which they work. I’m talking about those who feel they have the monopoly of the field and believe they are, by rights, superior to all hobbyists and amateurs of that field, simply because they have qualifications, or they’ve done more courses, or they’ve had 5 years more experience, or they have an in-depth understanding of a specialism that they feel puts them above everyone else.

It’s time those people were called out. In some instances I concur that qualifications and training are vital. A good example being I wouldn’t really want to be operated on by a surgeon who does surgery as a hobby. But the vast majority of careers out there which lend themselves to superiors, experts, and professionals, also have a category on the side for the hobbyists and amateurs. Those hobbyists and amateurs may not be interested in trying to make a living from their interest, but if they are, all too often we see them cut down before they are even given a chance to draw breath. All too often, those who’ve undertaken the training hit back at the hobbyists and amateurs with: “You CAN’T call yourself a <insert hobby or job title here>!”

Several problems with this. First up, way to make yourself, the business you’re in and your field of expertise look good! Put down anyone who wants to explore more possibilities or to learn more as amateurs. Sometimes an amateur will approach a professional and ask for guidance, advice, perhaps some assisted shoots just to understand the field better. Again, knocked back. “I’m a professional, I don’t have time to spend teaching someone MY trade!”; “I don’t want an assistant watching the way I work, thank you!”. And then there’s the general attitude of professionals towards amateurs. Is it the risk amateurs pose of taking business away from established professionals? Or is it because they truly believe they are so far above the amateurs it is not up to them to give a helping hand to those starting out?

To be honest, my biggest issue isn’t to do with qualifications, it is more the evidence that experience is completely overlooked. As soon as you state to someone in the same field as you that you’re a hobbyist or an amateur you see the change instantly. Because when they didn’t know you, you were a safe person. When they realised that you have an interest in the career they’ve worked hard for, they feel threatened, and the counteraction to a threat is to make sure that threat means nothing. So time and again, hobbyists and amateurs, regardless of how many years or even decades of experience they have, are told, “Oh no, you’re not <insert job here>, you can’t use that word in relation to your hobby”.

I strongly dispute that. Nobody, not even a professional with ten thousand hours of training or teaching under their belt, has the monopoly on any term they use to describe the important things in their life.

I am a photographer. I have not taken any photography courses. But I am still a photographer.

I am an author. I self-publish, but I am still an author.

I am a yogi with enough knowledge and experience to be able to guide others if needed. I’ve not taken yoga teacher training, and I’ve never been to Bali, but I am still a yogi with my own specialisms.

If, say, I were to go to a dinner party and get asked what I do, I would consider all of these to be reasonable descriptors. The professional photographers/authors/yogis who make a living of these will dispute this.

“Everyone is calling themselves a photographer these days, a 2 year old can do what you do.”

“Photography is a skilled art that requires years of training to understand. You are NOT a photographer, you are a picture-taker.”

“’Photographer’ is a career title. To use it is to con people into believing you know what you’re doing.”

Like I said, excellent way to get more people into the field you apparently love so much…put them down right off the mark.

Let me make something clear. In just about every single field, there are professionals (the ones who have taken courses and gained qualifications), and there are amateurs, and there are hobbyists or enthusiasts.

The point I am making with this article is this: The professionals do not have the exclusive right to use nor to ‘own’ the word used to describe what they do for a living.

Some examples:

“Definition of photographer:: a person who practices photography; especially as a job”

Read this carefully because the definition, while acknowledging ‘photographer’ as a job title, is most certainly not exclusive. A person who takes photographs as a job is more likely to be described as ‘a photographer’, but any person who practices photography is also a photographer.

Just in case it still isn’t clear, let’s look at the definition of “photography”.

“Definition of photography:: the art, process, or job of taking pictures with a camera”

If there were any doubt as to who is and isn’t allowed to say they are a photographer or that they practice photography, that should be cleared up. By definition, every ‘picture-taker’ is a photographer.

What too many of the professionals don’t understand is that, whilst by definition that is the case, the vast majority of people actually would not use the term photographer in any discussion about themselves unless it is a hobby they are passionate about and/or something they have explored, over an extended period of time, and continue to enjoy and develop as an amateur.

Similarly, being a writer, or an author. Those writers with agents, publishers, editors and who tour the world with their books might be the ‘professionals’ in the world of words, but that doesn’t mean that I am not an author because I self-published without an agent, without editors, without touring. I am still an author.

Not only that, but I know I am a good author. I know I write well.

And I know that I am taking some increasingly good photographs.

And I know that I am a skilled yogi.

That’s not to be big-headed, but when you see what amateurs and those flying the field beneath the pros have to deal with when they do try to approach the professional world, you realise that before you can do anything, you have got to believe in yourself. You have to believe that you are good enough. You are good enough in the here and now. You are already good enough. And that applies whether you are an amateur or hobbyist writer, photographer, yogi, artist, hairdresser, make-up-artist, knitter, designer, shop owner…the list is endless.

Yes, there are always going to be people out there better than you. People will pick fault with your work. People will try to tear you down and put you off pursuing what you had previously enjoyed greatly as a hobby or as an amateur. Which is why you need to take the time to build up your reserves of self-confidence, self-belief, and self-esteem.

Whatever field you go into, it is exceptionally unlikely that you will turn out to be the faultless star of the class. You will make mistakes, sometimes dumb ones. Other people will do some things better than you, while you might do a bit better than some others. Regardless of where you would stand in a class of people who share your hobby or your amateur practices, you must believe in yourself to prevent you losing sight of why you practice in that field at all. You need to have enough passion, enough confidence to really believe that what you do is good enough, but to be humble also. Know that you are good enough, but that you know there is still a world of knowledge left in this field to discover and use to help you develop your practice.

It is the combination of belief and humility that gets people interested, that allows people to be ‘nicer’ to you. Don’t be so humble that you let the professionals walk all over you, or that you let the opinions of other people put you off. Keep doing what you love, but do it with your heart and your head. You will always attract both sides of the coin, that’s just the way life works, but remember that if you want to describe yourself to someone at your next dinner party, you shouldn’t be afraid to say you are a bartender by day but by night you actually feel you are more of a photographer, an author, a yogi.

I do understand the concerns that professionals have of amateurs getting involved with false advertising: deliberately trying to make themselves appear professional to get bookings and money, without having the training to be fully prepared and covered for every eventuality. I agree it would be wrong for an amateur to advertise themselves as a photographer available for hire…unless they steer well clear of false advertising.

If you are a hobbyist keen to extend your skillset and experience, and you advertise yourself as a “photographer available for hire”, the implication is that you are a trained professional, and I agree that it is wrong for an amateur to do this because society dictates that anyone advertising that is a professional. If you instead make it clear from the outset – on your website, in your ads, to people you talk to – that you are an amateur, an enthusiast, that you have a specialist interest in capturing <x> subjects, you have <x> experience and so forth, and you ask much lower fees than professionals on the mutual understanding that you are an amateur – well, then there is nothing wrong with advertising your services. Go for it. Everyone has to learn and experience is the best teacher. Learning through experience is a vital part of anyone’s development, personal and professional.

Just remember the key combination of honesty, self-belief and humility, and remember that the professionals don’t own the monopoly in life.

Understanding Handstands

HANDSTAND TIPS

Handstands. To use @beliznamliyoga’s descriptor, it is one of the most funstrating yoga asana out there!

How do you get your handstand if you are not naturally inclined to invert or if you have no history in gymnastics or the movement culture? It isn’t impossible. Some science helps, but 90% of it – no matter under what name you are trying to handstand – comes down to the essence of yoga: quieting, listening to your body. Feeling. Communicating. Feedback. Responding in kind ie through the body. I’m not claiming to be an expert or tutor. I’ve just learned a vast amount over the last 5 years through various teachings but most importantly through my experience. Here’s the best advice I can give:

1. TIME. Give it time. You are not going to get your handstand in a week. In all honesty, it will take years – because once you’ve got a basic hold, there are more avenues to explore and you’ll be a beginner all over again.

2. PATIENCE & PERSISTENCE. You will fail a thousand times and even when you get it you’ll still fall. Learn to be ok with that. Accept that for every 1 solid hold, 9 will be [email protected]!

3. FUN. Don’t get hung up on it. Persist with training it, yes. Dedicate yourself to training it, yes. But don’t train handstands exclusively. I got my best handstand progress when I stopped training them for 9 hours out of every 10 training hours. Keep a very rounded practice and don’t obsess. Let go of the need to get this one skill. I do better handstands if I train them for 1 hour out of every 10.

4. LEARN TO FAIL SAFELY. I cartwheel (twist) out of handstand if I tip it too far over as most do. Practice cartwheels. Practice coming out of a handstand against a wall. Don’t practice if you feel you might be too weak to hold your weight on your hands.

5. KEEP BREATHING. Sounds obvious but I’m guilty of stopping breathing when I kick up. So are a lot of other people! I counter it by exhaling as I kick up into it. That way breathing comes easier.

 

THE SCIENCE
Understanding ‘how’ handstands work can help. It can give you things to focus and feedback on.

🔹Arms: Push the floor away. Hard. This graphic shows the difference between sinking into the floor and pushing the floor away.

🔹Shoulders: open shoulders rotated outwards, imagine wrapping the triceps around the back to bring the shoulders level with the ears.


🔹Stacking: differs is you’re making shapes but when learning, your key stacks are hips above shoulders above wrists, all straight in line.


🔹Hands: keep them active. Your weight on your feet shifts constantly, balance would be very hard without toes. Use your fingers the same – learn to spider your hands, put pressure through fingertips and palms when you are balancing your weight.


🔹Reach: keeping the legs engaged is hard to remember with so much else to think about. So just imagine stretching as long as you can. Feet into the sky. Point your toes. Your legs will be engaged and help build strength and balance in your handstand.


There are a million methods out there, every discipline claims theirs is The Best. I don’t buy it – every body is unique. I have shared what helps me the most at the request of others. I draw on advice given out by yoga teachers, yoga books, GMB Fitness, Gymnastic Bodies, CrossFit Gymnastics, personal trainers, trained handbalancers, circus performers and teachers, and I combine the tips I learned from them that were most effective for me – and added what exactly the keys were for me to get my safe freestanding handstand.

It might do nothing for some but it might fill in a missing link for another. Common sense is as important, if not MORE important, than the science part.

Want your handstand enough to drive you – but not so you are blinkered to everything else. It’s an interesting skill, but it’s not everything.

Life After SI

May 2016. A month I have a permanent reminder of as I live with the significant events of it day in day out. Marriage was of course the main event. I wear a ring and try not to throttle my husband day to day and do his laundry and all the nice housewifey stuff.

I do it all sometimes with a smile and a singsong, and always with an enormous scar/recurring wound on my arm. Usually bandaged, but occasionally not.

Self-harm. My one and only self-inflicted injury that has warranted an A&E visit. I won’t divulge how I caused the damage, as I am not writing this to encourage anyone to get to the same position I’m now in, 2 years down the bloody line. God, no. All anyone needs to know is that it was not worth it – and THAT is why I am writing this. It’s something I have largely kept to myself because it causes me deep humiliation. I know I was dumb. I know I was stupid. I know I could have caused so much more damage or even risked my life.

I know, I know, I KNOW!

I don’t need to be told it, or for people to glance at my arm then look at me reproachfully. I have to live with it and look at it 24/7 and the humiliation is quite enough for me without adding the shame others feel over it to the mix. I know you are ashamed, because I am overflowing with it myself.

In the moment I caused the injury, I loathed myself. I was not trying to kill myself: I will be very clear on that. I was dealing with a complex, difficult array of emotions over a situation I was not in that point equipped to handle, and that in that moment I could only see release in hurting myself. I wanted to keep it hidden. Unfortunately the damage was unprecedented, and as I said it ended in A&E. But coming back to “the  moment”, and the emotions I was dealing with. I was mortified and humiliated to be me – this was even before I did the deed! – and I was frustrated with my useless fucking body not being able to do the things I could do a few weeks prior. Lupus (and, as I now know, fibromyalgia) is a shitty hand to be dealt. One day you can do it all. Another day you can do fuck all. That alone is a beastly thing to get your noggin around. I was only just learning how to try to walk that path.

Not only that, I was angry. I was angry with my husband. Irrationally so. Christ, he’s lucky not to have to worry about his body failing him, I should be thrilled! But in that moment I was angry that I had been dealt this hand and that he had no idea what it was like to live with a body you cannot fully control or predict. And it was around that time that the tables turned. He came into his own and I totally lost my own. In fact, as I sat in the car hurting myself, he stormed into the final of his first official Ninja Warrior competition. He did his final run and won it after having bandaged me up temporarily, and I had dragged my humiliated face back in to the venue to support him and film his final winning run. Well, it was the least I could do given we would then be heading straight for Leicester A&E. The shame. The selfish, lame, piteousness of it.

The thing is, and it is very complicated for me to comprehend let alone to explain…I wasn’t angry with him or at him. I was angry at myself because I didn’t know how to let go of my own utter failure and embarrassment and hurt in order to support him fully. To this day I struggle because I have the same battles against failure, except they’re even bigger…and his successes are so much bigger too.

How does that cut at the end of May 2016 relate to May 2018? I still have the cut. In A&E they glued and butterfly (sticky) stitched it up and put a plaster on it. We felt back then it needed stitches but the nurse in A&E disagreed…it was late, we weren’t going to argue against him, it was dealt with as it was. Soon became evident I was highly allergic to all kinds of plasters, dressings and tape on my skin. Once the dressing came off it was a fairly neat(ish) line, but it itched – mostly from the allergic reactions from the dressing but also the healing process – and as we have established I have little self-control, and I still hated myself and figured if I opened it up and made the scar worse I truly deserved nothing less. I think with the addition of the 2-3x day baths I was taking the skin softened and dried out in equal measure, increasing the thinness and itchiness, and I essentially kept reopening the wound. It would heal over in time, but I noticed that the scar was changing. It wasn’t a flat line any more. It was a big, lumpy, swollen mess of pinky-purpleness.

In September 2017 I had had enough, I knew it was a health issue that was more important than a continual I-hate-myself-and-I-deserve-this battle, I called up the doctors surgery, booked in with a nurse, and henceforth began twice weekly appointments until the end of December. A tissue viability specialist prescribed a steroid cream in December which, along with the dressings the nurses used (special combinations to minimise the allergy problem), finally closed the wound up. They also confirmed in September and December that unfortunately I had developed keloid scarring; rather than having a nice flat line of a scar around 5 inches long down my arm, I had a miniature mountain range 5 inches along the length of my arm. It happens when the skin basically overgenerates the materials needed for healing. Instead of sending in minimal tools to tie the skin together, it literally piled them on, over and over and over again.

The thing is, the skin on top of keloid scarring is wafer thin. So thin you can see through it. So thin a simple scratch can peel off the entire top layer of skin on my entire scar with no effort. I also have nerve pain in the scar – no doubt a combination of the damage from the initial injury and then the healing complications.

Without protection of a bandage, the scar itched and hurt…and so re-opened…it’s been open again for about a month or so, so I went back to the surgery this afternoon to start again, but this time with a date already booked at the Plastics department in the hospital to hopefully have the keloid scarring removed, and the skin stitched up. And then we hope for no further keloid development.

Was the self-harm worth it? That moment of irrational anger worth a lifetime of a reminder, of humiliation? No, it wasn’t. But, it was all I had in the moment. Self-injury is sometimes a cry for attention. Not the – “hey, look at me!” kind of attention, but the loving kindness, non-judgemental, I’m-really-struggling-here kind of attention. So yes – it was that too for me back then. Self-injury is also a common coping technique when faced with complex or unwanted situations or emotions: sometimes the physical pain is needed to distract the brain, or to release pent up emotion that you don’t otherwise know how to release. It doesn’t “work” per se, of course I would never recommend it…but at the same time, there is a reason self-harmers find that the habit is ingrained deep in their brain and that it often crops up, even decades later, as an urge when the going gets tough.

Case in point: having returned home from my appointment to dress my arm, which in itself was delayed by far too long, I am doubly humiliated, ashamed, and devastated by my self-injurious behaviour. It not only impacts on me but on my loved ones and once again, I treated my beloved husband to a self-destructive wife. Not only did he have to share in the shame of me having to expose my arm and have me explain its history (in as few words as possible – I was almost beyond the ability to speak at this point) but in the half-hour wait in the waiting room, he had to put up with a wife who was pacing, shaking, taking very audible slow and deep sighing breaths, swigging Rescue Remedy more or less from the bottle, crunching an extra Diazepam tablet without water, biting and hitting at myself, and making my ears bleed. Not to mention lurking in the doorway of the surgery looking down at my feet, finger shoved in one ear to dull the sounds of the surgery which were overwhelming me, brain and body, as I couldn’t sit down any longer because I felt so strongly that I needed to leave, NOW.

For me self-harm has always been a culmination and a combination of difficulties.

That injury on my arm right now is a culmination and combination of those and more. The injury told the story of my shame, my embarrassment, my feelings of failure and humiliation and anger. The scar does not remind me of that. It forces me to acutely relive it every day. To hide it even from my husband, because to me, it is an abhorrent sign of my messed up psyche and it is, quite frankly, ugly to look at.

As a general rule, I don’t talk about my self-injury, let alone pick out one incident in particular. But, in order for people to understand something as searingly obvious as what I live with on my arm, sometimes it’s worth speaking up.

#YogaSavedMyLife – Fierce Calm Feature

#YogaSavedMyLife

Feature for Fierce Calm

For 22 of my (almost) 29 years I have had mental illness. Age 7 I developed anxiety and emetophobia (phobia of feeling/being sick and being around vomit/anyone who is ill). An unfortunate encounter with a sausage a few months later, which made me very sick, bedded the seed of the phobia.

In the years that followed, I was taken to doctors, psychologists and paediatricians. They all came to the same conclusion: I was attention seeking. There was nothing wrong with me. So I was left to suffer. But I was a little girl who wasn’t well. Looking back, my heart breaks for her.

Age 13 I had a full mental breakdown in school. That was when I first self-harmed to try to cause physical pain as a distraction from my mind and from the physical feelings of what was finally labelled anxiety. In addition I became agoraphobic (fear of being in a situation that is physically or socially awkward to escape) and suicidal depression and had two further breakdowns at 19 and 25.

I’ve tried all sorts of treatments: CBT, exposure, counselling, hypnotherapy, specialised programmes, medication. I found counselling and medication most helpful. I processed and talked out a lot of my experiences, feelings and thoughts on my blog, which is now a published book. Photography is a hobby I can take everywhere and proves a good distraction from my instinctive agoraphobic tendencies.

I came to yoga six years ago, age 22/23. I wanted to try to improve my body and mind through exercise. But most forms of exercise weren’t accessible or sustainable: I needed something easy on the joints – I was diagnosed with arthritis, lupus and fibromyalgia – and that I could do at home. I had a try at yoga on the Wii Fit. I enjoyed it and bought a couple of yoga DVDs, then started feeling confident enough to begin building my own practice. I joined Instagram in 2015 and my practice has continued to blossom since.

Yoga is beneficial in mental disorders it trains the mind as much as it does the body. It brings you into the present, you have to train your focus on what your body is feeding back to you or you’ll lose the pose! Recognising that connection was key. If I could quiet my mind for yoga, it stood to reason that I could manage my mind at other times, too.

In Loving Memory of Archie

Archie Ellison Humphreys – De Stefano
a.k.a. Chunky Butt / Creme Egg
23 January 2011 – 10 April 2018

Below are the last few photos with my baby Archie while the vet was out the room getting the euth injection 💔 Thank you to my husband for taking a few pictures for me. I didn’t think I wanted any more of him looking so poorly but something told me I needed to be able to see the love I had for him. And the trust and love he had for me. A pro could not have captured the moment any better. I couldn’t have done that day without you. And I couldn’t have had the strength to let go if it weren’t for being taught so much so well by my mum and the people I learned all the medical stuff from so I could be skilled enough to know and address the exact situation from beginning to end.

I’m devastated. My heart feels like it’s breaking into pieces. But I know without doubt it was the right thing for my boy. He was so very, very sick and even if we tried treating, he was so frail, his body was already starting the process of shutting down…what he had was always going to be too much for his tiny body. Dental overgrowth, tooth root abscess, tumour, arthritis, cataracts…all cascading through his body at once.

The hardest thing I have ever had to do was to hold him as he fought the injection. It couldn’t have hurt more if the injection had been given to me. But he passed with the sound of my voice and the constant touch of my hands. I can’t thank the vet enough for that. I had to be with him and him with me – it was non negotiable and I’m blessed we have a vet who understands the importance of this pet-owner relationship.

Archie is at peace. No more pain. No more struggling. I had to make the decision to let him go in order to prevent additional pain and suffering and stress. He had 7 years and 3 months of a bloody brilliant life, dearly loved by so many people, but none more so than me and mum. Not having him around will take some adjusting to. He was with me for such a long time through the biggest changes.

I was privileged to be his mum. 💝

 

 

When we got home from the vets, I knew I had to get out. Away from home. I couldn’t be there…without Archie…I was not ready to just move on like nothing happened.

So when we got home, I let Wilbur say goodbye to Archie’s body – a ritual I do for every pig that has died who was living as one of a pair or larger grouping. Wilb had maybe 15 minutes with him before I took Archie out the cage, wrapped him up in a towel and popped him in the freezer.

This freaks out so many people. It used to freak me out. Still does if I think too much about it. Once I had about 7 pigs in my parents freezer as we were living rented and couldn’t bury or afford to cremate them. We did eventually get them home here, and they are buried in our garden now that we aren’t renting any more. So although a horrible thought, freezing is a necessary step if immediate burial or cremation isn’t possible. As our garden is half beautiful but very shallow lawn, and the deep area where burials take place is half bog/swamp, we can’t bury Archie yet. So he had to be placed in the freezer to preserve him until such a time we can then unwrap and commit him to the earth.

Once we had sorted Archie out I needed to get out. If nothing else it seemed daft to not make the most of a) the medication I’d taken earlier to get me to the vets without having a panic attack, and b) the sunshine that had appeared. We went to the local park and did some light training. I’m trying to build up my strength endurance so trying to hold a few long crows/Kakasana each day. I managed what is certainly my longest by far in about 3 years – 30 seconds – so I’m pretty content. It proved a good distraction for a short while, at least.

I’ll be honest. I do feel tired. But I also feel strong. In spite of the multiple deaths of the last 2 months, human and animal, I’ve held it together. I’ve done all that must be done. I feel more “grown up” this week than at any point in my life before now.

It doesn’t mean I don’t hurt, though. Because I do.

Underneath the yoga, the ambitions, the pushing on through life – I’m heartbroken.

Our thanks and gratitude for their advice, guidance and support go to:
Chris De Stefano
Tracey Humphreys
Church House Veterinary Clinic
The Cambridge Cavy Trust

And to Denise Tuffee for bringing Archie into this world and for allowing him to join my family. He was monumentally special and no words can express the love I had for him, and how thankful I am to you for letting him come to me.

Living With Invisible Illness

 Every day there’s a new story showing up on our news feeds about how someone with chronic bowel disease was refused access to toilets while in town or how someone was left a note telling them off for parking in a disabled parking bay when they don’t have a wheelchair.

There is a huge amount of ignorance in society about what illnesses actually “disable” people enough to warrant them disabled access or emergency bathroom.

First of all, there are more illnesses that disable individuals that are hidden, or invisible, than there are visible disabilities. For everyone in a wheelchair, the odds are you could find 5 more people in the same car park who have an illness that disables them physically or mentally on a long-term basis.

Secondly, there is a poor understanding of the ways in which many illnesses affect the individual afflicted by them and how they are classified as a disability. Not only that, but illnesses fluctuate. What might be possible one day might be impossible the next. It is entirely possible that someone may be walking around town unaided on Monday yet needing to be pushed in a wheelchair on Wednesday.

Thirdly, it seems that society doesn’t fully see that what a disabled person shares online might be things they can do maybe only sixty, fifty or even as low as five or ten percent of the time. A day out at the zoo. Training and exercising. Life is as up-and-down for disabled persons as it is for healthy, able-bodied people.

Finally, there is a lack of awareness of the wide variety of reasons disability access is allowed and needed by some people and the situations in which such concessions need to be made.

I can’t address every problem, every illness, every possible situation. What I can do is try to explain life with an invisible illness and why society as a whole should never judge based on what they witness at any single point in time.

I will use myself as an example. I am on the lupus spectrum, meaning I have many of the symptoms of lupus but not all. Put simply, based on history, tests, scans and symptoms it’s more likely to be lupus than other rheumatic diseases. Inflammatory arthritis is involved. I also have fibromyalgia. My symptoms include extreme sensitivity to heat and cold, a sensitive digestive system, irritable bowels, chronic fatigue, exhaustion and lethargy, a fluctuating appetite, swollen joints, joint pain, muscle pain, nerve pain, constant headaches, fevers, brain fog (includes problems with focus, memory loss, concentration difficulties, forgetfulness, frustration, irritability) and severe physical pain – I’ve needed an ambulance on two occasions in the past year, needed to be lifted out of bed and dressed by my husband, and I’ve tried a dozen different medications which all come with a long list of potential additional problems in the form of side-effects.

On a really bad day, I can be seen visually as being disabled. I might need crutches or a wheelchair. I might need to stay with my husband or mother at all times. But for the most part my disease is under much better control now, so I’m able to drive myself, to walk around town, to do two hours of yoga, take days out…I can physically do much of what I want to do. But here’s the thing: if I don’t pace myself i.e. limit and take great care over the way I expend my energy, I’ll be so fatigued I’ll just sleep for the next 3 days, and I could be in enough pain to need morphine.

A huge number of illnesses act in very much the same way. They fluctuate. Sometimes the invisibly-ill will be on a really great run, doing very well, but what you on the street don’t see is that it’s as a result of many appointments with NHS specialists, a dozen medications, a therapist, weekly check-ins with our GP. All of this comes at a huge cost to the NHS. The more we aggravate our condition the more we need those services, the more time we will have to take up from our overworked and in-demand NHS staff and the more drugs we will need, using up time, resources and NHS funds.

Sometimes what aggravates an invisible illness is walking longer distances. Having to stand at crossings to get where we need to. Having to carry heavy shopping bags further back to our car. Sometimes even if we look and act okay it’s already been at a huge expense and the use of a disabled parking bay prevents us needing to use up still more of the NHS’ valuable time and money. Perhaps if we don’t use it, we will gradually or maybe suddenly get a lot worse and be completely unable to work, or to be the mother/father, wife/husband, friend and member of society we want to be.

Not all disabilities are physical, either. Mental illness is a disability. This is a difficult concept for anyone who hasn’t struggled with a runaway mind or a chemical-imbalance of the brain to understand. My experience has proven mental illness can not only be debilitating and life-limiting, but life-threatening. An illness of the mind isn’t something that can be shaken off; it can’t be taken away by popping a pill or saying to yourself “get a grip!”; there are no fast or instant fixes, and many symptoms manifest within the body in addition to the psychological aspect. I’m now 28 but have suffered severe anxiety, agoraphobia and emetophobia since the age of 7. In the twenty-one years I’ve suffered I’ve had three nervous breakdowns (now known as being “in crisis”), and I’ve also developed panic disorder, depression, mood disorder, suicidal ideation and turned to self-injury as a coping mechanism. I’ve had more private therapy than I have had therapy on the NHS, but I take medication, again prescribed by the NHS.

Mental illness fluctuates just like a physical disease. Mental illness can cause a vast array of physical symptoms: overwhelming fatigue, lethargy, apathy, brain fog, nausea, diarrhoea, trembling, weakness, sweating, hot flushes to name but a few. It might mean that we need to park our car closer to the shops to limit the amount of time we spend in town. It might mean we need to carry a disabled-access card so that we can use more toilets than the rest of the public because our anxiety has turned our bowels to liquid. It might mean we avoid certain things for certain reasons.

Most people think the only purpose of disabled parking and disabled toilets is to allow room for a wheelchair.

The reality is that there is a great deal more to disability than physical body impairment and missing limbs.

It is possible to be in too much pain to walk, but the next day be on the yoga mat in Downward-Facing Dog.

It is possible to be carrying a toilet-access card but to go on a walking holiday.

It is possible to take a flight, a train and a coach, but to not be able to drive yourself.

It is possible to walk up and down a mountain one day, but be unable to step outside our very own front door twenty-four hours later.

It’s possible to be able to eat a three course meal at home, but to be unable to eat anything out, even if it means going the entire day without food, making us very weak.

We might look fine. Some days we might feel pretty good. But our “pretty good” is your “pretty rough” day. We don’t have the “feeling perfect” days many of you do. The best we can hope for is to manage our conditions. Sometimes all we want is to be free from pain, to have some energy, or to just act normal for one damn day. If that means that using a disabled bay, having access to disabled toilets, or if other concessions need to be made – then so be it. We shouldn’t have to feel guilty about that. We shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for a disease we didn’t ask for. We shouldn’t be made to feel that we can’t share our achievements just because we need to make some things in life a little easier on us. We have every bit as much right to shop without being in pain, to walk around town without being afraid we can’t reach a toilet, to hit the zoo with our family without being too petrified to go because the only parking space might be a five minute walk away!

I have multiple disabilities. But I do yoga. I do advanced yoga as I’ve practiced it for 5 years now and it helps my mind and body. I do whatever my body is capable of doing in the moment without causing it any extra pain. It usually relieves pain, if anything. And yet the sad thing is that my old employer, who I thought understood my different conditions, blamed my yoga for my lupus and my wheelchair for my arthritis. She suggested that doing the splits is what causes my joints to seize and why I’m in so much pain and she got fed up of the reasons I would come back to her with for why I didn’t work at a certain time (even though I always more than made up for anything, and we never – not once – missed a deadline). Needless to say, I no longer work for her, and it is this kind of ignorance that makes it so difficult for so many others with hidden illnesses to cope with day to day life. My old employer had intimate accounts about all my illnesses yet I was still treated with deep ignorance and disrespect.

Put yourself in someone else’s shoes:

Imagine how hard it is for you, as someone suffering in silence, dealing with chronic pain or mental illness or any other invisible disease, to go out in public, to go to work, to run a family and a home.

Imagine if you could do all of that but you are given a few tiny miracles; things were made just a little easier for you as you are granted special access to toilets or able to park in a disabled bay so you don’t have to walk as far to your doctor or to the shops.

Then imagine being handed a note when you come out of the toilet saying you’re a disgusting human being for blocking a disabled toilet when you should just wait in line like everyone else, or you arrive back at your car to a note on your windscreen saying you’re a piece of scum, that you are blocking a space that is needed by someone who actually has a disability. Or you’re approached in the park while you’re doing yoga to be told, “Oh I saw you! You’re not disabled, look at you! Get your car out of the disabled bay because you clearly don’t need it.”

Life is hard enough with invisible illness. It actually helps us to still feel needed, to still feel that we have a place in our community and a job to do and a family who needs us. Sometimes we need help to do those things though. Whether it’s easier access between our car and our destination, ready access to toilets, special requests on where to be sat in a meeting…whatever makes us able to function and serve just like everyone else. We don’t like to bring our illnesses to attention. We’d rather hide them away and pretend we don’t have them because we know we’ll be treated differently, usually in a negative way…but because of such attitudes, people like me (who have years of advocacy, media work and blogging about illness to raise awareness) have to lay ourselves out and sacrifice our own energy to try to get the world to understand. The thing is, the world so often doesn’t want to understand. It’s easier for people to judge and not question their judgement.

When society makes things harder for us by passing judgement on something or someone they know absolutely nothing about, they make it so much more likely that those people who secretly fight so hard to serve and work and simply survive, will just want to give up.

By accusing the invisibly ill of faking it and of being a waste of space or pathetic and lazy excuse of a human being, you might just lose one of the key members of your community. All over an assumption that because someone has all their limbs and can move them, they are in perfect health.

If you really have to say something and you can’t hold your tongue, my advice is this: offer to help. Don’t ask. Don’t judge. Don’t assume. A little compassion goes a long way. The odds are you’ll learn something about the true nature of disability that you wouldn’t have known before.

Protect Your Yoga Property!

Having seen an increase in sharing accounts without accredited sources for their content, it would do social media users well to read the following. If you post images on social media, particularly Instagram, you need to be especially aware of this.

Even though it isn’t possible to directly lift photos from Instagram, it is possible to get hold of the image without crediting the source, via a repost/regrann app. What usually happens is if you want to repost someone else’s image – say a flyer for a yoga challenge – you’ll download your reposting app, hit the three dots next to the image, and go ahead and “Re-gram” the image. What these apps do is they automatically save the photo to your device AND copy the text that goes with the image with a note either on the image or in the text stating the original source (e.g. “Regrann from @lauradestefyoga”).

What too many sharing accounts are doing is uploading the photo and not pasting the text or tagging the owner. They post the image with their own hashtags and promote themselves. No mention, no credit, NOTHING to suggest that the photo they have just posted does not belong to them. Under Instagram rules this constitutes “impersonating another user”. Under wider law? Theft of intellectual property.

If you are a sharing account you’ll gain credibility through crediting your sources. Us yogis love our work and words being shared. What we don’t love is someone taking our photos and using them behind our backs without acknowledging that they don’t own them. You’re gaining followers for something you haven’t spent 10 years of your life working towards being able to do. That’s not cool.

Most of the accounts who don’t share nicely ignore all comments requesting accreditation. Even when it’s the owner of the image themselves asking them. They simply don’t read the comments. Or if they do, they ignore them. Which makes them even less deserving of the tens of thousands of followers they have. Integrity is everything.

If you’re a sharing account and you credit your sources: thank you! We’re cool with that. We’re glad you like our work enough to share it AND to say to people “hey, we think @abcdexyzyogaetc is SO awesome here’s what he/she/they can do”.

If you are a yogi who has had their work stolen by a sharing account, then you need to report it. Instagram are known for being shoddy with their customer services but keep pushing them. If another account is posting your images without your consent and without tagging you, it is theft of intellectual property and under Instagram law they are impersonating you. By Instagram’s own rules this is not allowed. So pursue the accounts who lift your photos and report them to Instagram every time they do it.

It may help somewhat for yogis to begin either watermarking or putting a noticeable text line on every photo posted so that, if it is lifted and reposted, at least you know the image is still linked back to you and everyone who sees that image will see your Instagram handle and know the photo does not belong to the sharing account. There’s a chance that, if the sharing account is being deliberately unlawful, they might try to manipulate the photo and erase your mark. So try to position it on the image so that the photo itself will be compromised if they try to colour over your text. A tiny line in a corner is no good. Better than nothing but so so easy for sharing accounts to remove. I know it detracts from the image but until Instagram gets its act together and stamps down on accounts posting images that don’t belong to them, or until the people behind these accounts develop a conscience, we’ll have to do something to protect ourselves.

It is a compliment to have your photo shared. But the biggest compliment is to be credited for it.

Yoga & Instagram

When you start out on your yoga journey, what inspires you? Why do you come to yoga? Why do you choose this particular path? And is it something you’re going to share with others? Keep to yourself?

Whatever the reason for beginning yoga, if you choose to share your yoga journey it is important to remember a number of things. I speak as a yogi who for 3 years didn’t share my yoga journey, but at the time was sharing my mental health journey. Then two years ago I switched my focus to sharing my yoga. I joined Instagram. I posted a LOT of photos on Facebook. (Although I was kicked out of a Facebook yoga group for posting a photo of me in shorts on a hotel bed stretching my legs in Happy Baby pose so I’ve never been one for yoga “groups”.)

Anyway. Some pointers for you. If you do want to post your yoga journey to Instagram (or other social platforms) you need to ensure you never stray from the reason you started yoga. To be fair if you started yoga just to post cool photos, it’s not the best reason to begin yoga – but everyone starts somewhere. I started my own yoga journey as I needed to find a fitness routine that suited my tricky circumstances: I needed something gentle on the joints, that I could learn and practice entirely at home and on my own. Arthritis + agoraphobia + social phobia is the perfect recipe for yoga. I began with the Wii Fit, then I learned to create flows by following a DVD, and then I took the leap and started working entirely on my own, putting my own flows together. I gained so much more than physical strength, balance, flexibility and fitness though. It helped my mental health immensely. My spiritual journey began as soon as I realised that my dedication to the physical asana was inextricably connected to my mental and spiritual wellbeing. Yoga spoke to my soul and healed some very painful memories and events.

Then I began filming and taking photos of my practice and sharing my love for yoga on social media. Learning to navigate Instagram was a journey in itself. It’s hard to maintain a balanced ego. Sometimes when you’ve worked for 5 years to achieve a pose, you post it full of so much happiness and joy and, if you don’t use the right tags or you don’t have the followers, you might get 5 or 10 likes.
Reality: it’s disheartening. You feel like, “what’s the point” and you compare your pose to others that have done exactly the same and got 11,369 likes.
Reality: likes are not everything. If YOU are proud of your achievement then posting it online should be about creating an online journal of your progress and achievements. Think of your Instagram as a personal diary. A timeline of your yoga journey. It encourages you to think more realistically about social media and brings you back to why you started yoga. It’s all about balance. If you feel your ego getting too big (“I deserve more likes than that!”) step back, stop filming your flows for a week. Spend some time on Instagram supporting other yogis. Then come back to posting with a fresh mindset. Gratitude is important.

Something you will also notice is that some of the big names in yoga have a huge following and you might not be able to understand why. For example, I’ve practiced yoga for 5 times as long as some of the Instagram yogis who are trained yoga teachers but have only been practicing for one year yet have tens or hundreds of thousands of followers.
Reality: it’s disheartening.
Reality: yoga isn’t just about amazing poses and pictures or videos. It’s about being authentic. Yogis especially are very astute at spotting who is authentic and who is more egotistical. Why not try being open about your emotional and spiritual journey? Make your captions count. Talk to the world. Be honest. If you faceplanted out of that crow after 0.025 seconds? Tell your followers! They will love you for it. Share your downs as well as your ups. Part of your journey as well is realising that social media is the least important part of your journey. There’s no point pretending it isn’t part of the journey because in the modern day, it just is. It’s very natural and normal and of course lovely to feel appreciated and recognised. It’s better to be respected by fewer people who have a lot more of a genuine feeling for you, than to have a massive number of followers who really aren’t all that interested and couldn’t name you if anyone asked them!

As weird as it might sound, something you will also quickly come across is yogi sponsorship. Some of the clothing brands who specialise in yoga kit sponsor certain yogis in return for promotion through the yogi’s posts. There are so many incredible, big-name brands out there and it can be very hard to understand how or why these yogis were selected to be sponsored and gifted these stunning clothes (or props, in some cases). It usually comes down to number of followers and consistent style of the yogi’s photos: they’ll select people who can show off their items in ads every day to a massive audience. Of course these clothes are too often unaffordable to the average Instagrammer, and many “make do” with sweats or joggers and sports bras off the high street which are incapable of holding your boobs in place whenever you get inverted.
Reality: you feel disheartened and left out if you can’t afford what is basically advertised, inadvertently, as “the best yoga clothing”. Because this stuff looks incredible and you see so many yogis wearing the clothing. The subliminal message is simply that the best yogis wear the best brands.
Reality: clothing doesn’t matter. What you wear means nothing. It does not make you a better yogi and wearing top brands will not make you a better student, practitioner, teacher. The only reason we notice what a yogi is wearing is if they point it out, or if it’s unusual or unique. Plenty of people go so far as to practice in their underwear, bikinis or even in the nude, and yogis – men and women – of all body types embrace this and still do incredible yoga. Having lovely, top brand yoga clothing is a nice feeling but most of your followers will not care what you’re wearing.

When you put yourself out there into the virtual world, it’s a peculiar version of reality. It is real but it isn’t. It’s modern life. We usually see the result but not the journey. We can’t change the way social media works. We can’t all be sponsored, we can’t all have 100k followers, we can’t all write the perfect caption or post the perfect crystal-clear photos. But we can be authentic. We can be honest, we can be ourselves. We can make our personal Insta-Gallery real and a reflection of our physical and emotional journey. We can make it whatever we want. That is where our power lies. We can be ourselves, and that is enough. We are enough. Just as we are, in that moment. The right people will find you. The right number of people will find you. It might take time, but people on your wavelength, people who emit and absorb the same vibrations, will be drawn to you.

Instagram brings you full circle and can teach you important lessons that better you as a yogi. You start yoga to better yourself. You share your yoga and through the journey of building “your” community and finding your place in the larger Insta-Yoga community, you have to learn to maintain your focus on your journey and your authenticity and discover the place of the ego, what it is to be human and how to manage the more complicated challenges your mind brings up.

I come back to the message I love to put out there as much as I can: yogis are, at the end of the day, human. Even the best, happiest, most perfect yogi in the world is human and started where you are. To be a yogi simply means to be on a journey, a lifelong self-development adventure which has no ending.