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“If you cannot be vulnerable in your training, you cannot reach your potential.”

This week’s blog is inspired by an Instagram post by one of my favorite gyms-that-I’ve-never-been-to, 13th Flow in Chicago. I’m not sure how I had the luck to find and start following them a few years ago, but their consistent messages of positive empowerment are a bright spot of inspiration in my feed. Let me give you an example of their verbiage: their “About” page on their website says, ” Success isn’t built on shame and guilt, but on self-worth and pride in what you’re doing. You already possess everything you need to be who and what you want to be.” YES TO ALL OF THIS!

Yesterday’s post from 13th Flow included a sentence that really hit me hard:

To be vulnerable means that we put ourselves at risk; we leave ourselves exposed, defenseless. To be vulnerable in our training– whether that’s in the gym, a group exercise class, or a yoga studio– means that we can be ourselves in utter honesty and authenticity. We can confess our inability to complete a rep or do a pose without pain. We can say, “that hurts,” or, “I can’t do it like that,” or “I don’t think that’s right for me today.” This truth is what helps us to find the right expression of a pose, or the right amount of weight, or the lateralization (not “modification”) of an exercise that will allow us to get stronger on our own terms in a safe and healthy way. Not only is it the only healthy and sane way to train, it’s the only sustainable way to train.

But to be vulnerable in our training means that we are undefended and open. Even as a white, able-bodied, cis-gendered human, it is often difficult for me to find an atmosphere that is so accepting, open and accessible that it allows me to feel comfortable in my own vulnerability. And that’s pretty sad.

Our fitness/wellness/health community often gives lip service to the idea of inclusivity and accessibility without actually providing accessible options or a truly welcoming atmosphere. A few of those reasons are lack of diversity in trainers/staff (“there’s nobody here who looks like me,”); diet or weight loss talk that puts a greater perceived value on certain types of bodies; a lack of training in staff around unconscious bias or how to serve diverse populations. Access to services may be restricted financially or literally (not being accessible for wheelchairs, for example).

I believe that one of the reasons well-intentioned efforts fail (including my own) is that we have not fully addressed our own internalized bias. Since birth, our culture has taught us that some bodies are better than others. It has made thin and white and able-bodied the default, and any variation on that is “other.” The dolls I played with as a child; the history I was taught in school; the magazines I loved as a teenager; movies, media, all messages showed me that there is one best way to be. It takes a lot (and I mean a LOT A LOT) of conscious, targeted work to root out these untruths. These myths continue to be prevalent in our wellness spaces.

“If you cannot be vulnerable in your training, you cannot reach your full potential.”

As a practitioner, it’s up to me to make space for my clients to feel vulnerable. That includes not just the poses or exercises we do, but how I speak to my clients, the space we train or practice in, and the messages they see me sending publicly through social media, in verbal communication with them, and in our nonverbal communication. I’m committed to doing more work to change what what an equitable wellness, fitness and health culture would look like.

Real wellness– real freedom– is freedom to be vulnerable. It’s freedom to reach your full potential. How does this resonate with you? What is your experience of vulnerability in your yoga practice, or gym, or with your personal trainer? What, if anything, has prevented you from being authentically vulnerable?

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