Rehab: the Yoga of Surrender

When I walked in to teach my first class at rehab, I was apprehensive. A fellow yoga teacher had asked if I could cover her classes and this was one of them. I had no idea what to expect. All I had was a stereotypical image of addicts from my London days, as deathly pale skeletal figures with sunken eyes and greasy hair begging for spare change outside tube stations. I’d never imagined teaching them yoga.

My pep talk from the manager of the centre at the time made things even more ominous. He warned me with stern words: “These are addicts. They are highly manipulative people. They will say whatever it takes to get what they want. Never trust them.” It seemed he had his own issues. I went ahead and taught the class. It was demanding and exhausting holding the space in a sterile room full of unpredictable people. It challenged all my ideas about what a yoga class should be like. But seven years later I am still going back every week for more.

I have taught a long parade of characters covering the spectrum from stiff elderly ladies to large beer-bellied men, fit-looking bikram fanatics (by far the most popular form of yoga amongst addicts) to awkward teenagers whose bodies seemed foreign to them. Their list of nationalities reads like the United Nations: England, Estonia, Greece, South Africa, Ethiopia, Norway, Canada, India and more.

These were often people who, if I had met elsewhere, I would never have guessed they had a problem. Successful bankers, game lodge owners, professional sports people and oil traders had all succumbed to self- destructive behaviour bad enough to make them seek help. Occasionally there were yoga teachers too. I realised no walk of life is immune to addiction. Amongst the high fliers was also a generous helping of social misfits, trouble-makers and downright criminals, just to keep me on my toes.

Unlike my preconceived idea of a room full of skinny heroin junkies, I discovered a broad range of addictions were treated in the centre. Besides alcohol and drug dependencies, there were eating disorders, exercise and gambling compulsions and even sex and relationship addictions. I found it interesting that no distinction was made between a bulimic and a crack addict; they all had the same problem and were treated with the same therapy, largely based on surrender.

“Surrender” was a word I’d heard spoken emphatically in many yoga classes and used often myself. Surrender to gravity and to the earth. Surrender to the release of tension in the body. After a rehab class a student told me she noticed the word because it was so central to what they were taught there. They were encouraged to relinquish control over their situation and to surrender to a greater force. Only through surrender could they truly recover.

But the journey to surrender is often a rocky and perilous one. For me, teaching yoga in rehab was a big adjustment from my usual classes. Rehab yoga students have no rules. I was used to the docile and reverent attitude of my regular students who do their best to focus and obediently follow instructions. Only in rehab would students come to class in skinny jeans and fingerless gloves, indulge in pre- and post- yoga cigarettes and blurt out bizarre random comments about whatever popped into their minds.

I have been faced with all sorts of behaviour from the entire class bursting into hysterical laughter while practising the bumblebee breath, to more painful emotional releases. I have seen students cry or curl up catatonically into the foetal position. There have been plenty swear-words flung around. One tormented soul found yoga brought up so much anger and frustration that at times I feared he would attack me. I have learned to expect anything when I walk into that room and actually, I like that. Although it’s challenging and sometimes uncomfortable, there’s very little polite pretending. It feels honest. I am working with people, many of whom would never choose to do yoga. The unpredictability pushes me. It means I have to be very sure of who I am and why I am doing this. I must be centred, calm and prepared for anything. I constantly need to invent ways to keep my students focused and interested. There’s no better way to be tested as a yoga teacher.

Then there are the physical limitations that rehab yogis need to work with. Their bodies and nervous systems are often damaged by drugs or alcohol. Reckless living may have led to long lists of past injuries. Their skins might be covered by scratches and scars, the marks of self-harm. Practising simple asanas is complicated when limbs shake uncontrollably due to nerve damage. For anorexics suffering from low blood pressure and weakness, even gentle poses can feel intense. There’s also just the stiff, sore tightness of bodies that have suffered years of abuse and neglect.

It shocked me, when teaching alternate nostril breathing, a student told me she couldn’t practice the technique because she had a hole in her septum, the soft cartilage partition inside the nose that separates the two nostrils. It was caused by excessive cocaine snorting. Other students shared they found breathing the most difficult part of yoga because their lungs wheezed and crackled and felt “messed up from smoking drugs.” Breathing seems so simple, but it’s often the key ingredient that can determine a student’s progress.

The biggest and most common struggle for rehab students is that of remaining present. They look out the window, become fascinated with their toes, feel the urge to talk continuously, moan about numerous aches and pains…anything but stillness. I sympathise, because as much as it is difficult for all of us to slow down and observe our thoughts, it must be infinitely more difficult to face yourself when you might never have done so. And then, to start to become aware of how damaged you are.

When people have pushed, forced and abused themselves for years, it is essential that the yoga they are taught is based on kindness to the body. These students need to learn to slow down and listen to the messages their bodies give them. To become aware of their boundaries by honestly asking themselves: ‘how far is too much?’ and ‘what feels good?’. There might be a need to deprogramme a deeply ingrained ‘no pain no gain’ mentality. Instead of being driven to achieve, students learn to allow the body to let go, release and open up in its own time. When there is no striving for a perfect pose, because we realise there is no perfection, we can relax.   

Yoga is the perfect healing tool. If we are practising it because we genuinely want our bodies and minds to benefit, not because we want to lose weight or be fashionable, we begin to realise it’s all about becoming self-aware. As our attention is directed inward we reveal memories, fears and insecurities. If we can witness them with detachment, accept and then release them, our awareness will penetrate beyond these details, to the core of our being: our true, unchanging selves. We come to accept our shapes, our curvaceousness or boniness, we come to embrace our crazy thoughts or become indifferent to them.

 

We live in a world where most of us are, to some extent, dependent on things outside ourselves to boost our moods. Each of us has our pick-me-ups, from new clothes and gadgets, to television series and chocolate. I have immense admiration for those who admit they have addictions, recognise they have used these to avoid experiencing their emotions and then embark on the tortuous journey of quitting in order to find themselves, possibly something they have not done all their lives.

I have seen how helpful yoga can be with this. When students surrender to the process; when they are able to let go and keep guiding their minds back to the breath and body sensations, once, twice, twenty times, they begin to have brief moments of relief. Firstly these come during svasana, when the insomniacs finally fall asleep, and eventually through much of the class.

The class makeup constantly changes as people come and go. Some stay for months, others only briefly, some relapse and return after a year or two. Each group has a different dynamic. Some are full of laughter and mischief, others are so lethargic and drained they never want to get up from lying down. There are groups as disruptive as a bunch of rebellious teens, while others just dive into the yoga completely. There are those who roar with wild abandon in lion breath and others that love being upside down. I was surprised that partner exercises, especially gentle, supportive work, was welcomed. People told me it was a comfort just to have physical contact, something they feel starved of in rehab.

Yoga is a fitting treatment for addiction, because in order to progress, we can’t be stuck in any habits. If we practice exactly the same sequence of poses daily, the repetition eventually renders our actions mindless and our growth is stifled. We need to venture into the backbend, the shoulderstand, or the breathing techniques we would rather avoid. When we break our habits, nudge our boundaries and confront our fears, we become receptive to change and the ripple effect is felt in our lives. Many addicts are terrified of change. Their habits are often like impenetrable forts that they have defended for years.

The director of the centre told me when she was in recovery she couldn’t face yoga. The physical part was easy, but she couldn’t be still. It seemed pointless and impossible. In hindsight she says it was what she needed most. Just a taste of that stillness, only a few moments of deep inner calm, or a few complete, full breaths can be a lifeline. If a person has sought artificial and temporary satisfaction for so long, it is a surprise to experience moments of bliss through something as quiet and gentle as yoga.

A precious reward of teaching here is watching people transform. The mask of anxiety or bitterness slowly dissolves, revealing a softer expression that melts more easily into smiles. Introverted characters break out of their self-absorbed cocoons and begin to communicate. Gradually, the true personalities hidden behind addictions begin to emerge. When this happens many people begin enjoying yoga. Some are surprised to find out they really like it.

It might be because people have reached turning points in their lives and are determined to make changes or it might be the space of raw honesty and sharing that is created through the therapy there, but I find I often get to know these students well in a short space of time. Something about being a part of someone’s recovery, being one of the wheels in the train that is carrying them in a new direction, makes me feel a bond with them. Maybe after leaving here they will never again practice yoga, but there are a few who do. What fulfils me is the knowledge that I have given my students a set of keys that they can use to open up a whole new way of experiencing their minds and bodies. Whether they will use them, is ultimately their choice.