Who Am I to Think My Sh*t Doesn't Stink?

I recently returned from a trip out to Arizona, where I was visiting my mom. She is a yoga practitioner and teacher as well, and it's pretty fun to compare notes when we get together. On the drive to her home in Prescott from Sky Harbor Airport, we found ourselves discussing our yoga practices. I was pretty eager, as always, to hit up her studio and take a couple classes, and I told her, with a sigh,

"Portland would be perfect if it only had the yoga scene that Prescott does."

I had just finished telling her that yoga is everywhere in Portland, and she glanced at me, confused, and asked, "What's the scene like in Portland?"

"Eh, it's clicky," I shrugged, recalling the small handful of seemingly awkward occurrences I got off my butt and sought yoga outside the comfort of my own at-home studio.

My mom paused for a moment before she carefully replied, "Maybe Portland's yoga scene isn't clicky - maybe you're too cool for it."

I bristled at this, initially finding this assertion ridiculous - too cool? - I thought - I've never been too cool... If anything I'm the biggest dork I know. 


I defensively told her so, adding that it's not that I'm too cool, it's simply that I'm shy - or really, I prefer to use the word reserved. Always have been, and I've come to accept that as part of my personality - never pausing to wonder what lies at the root of my reservations.

My mom didn't skip a beat; her response was that she used to be like me - she'd hold herself back from situations and relationships, caught in the grips of anxiety and awkwardness, until one day she experienced a revelation in the midst of prayer. My mom is a pretty godly woman, and she prays. Everyday. I prefer to call it meditation myself, but each to their own.

Anyway, one day - my mom related to me - she decided to pray for confidence. She wanted to experience the lion's roar.  She needed it; she teaches uninterested hormonal high school students, and they have a tendency to give her grief. I could picture her sitting in silence before going into work, with an open heart, genuinely seeking guidance from the well of wisdom within. She told me that she took a good, honest look at herself, in an effort to seek the root of her insecurity - and when she did so, she got an answer. She paused to apologize for her language before she told me, "Caitlin, ultimately I ended up asking myself,

Who am I to think my shit doesn't stink?"


"Brilliant" - I told her - "Absolutely brilliant" - because in that moment I understood. In that moment I was flooded with visions - of me - in past occurrences, closing parts of myself off from people for fear they'd find out I'm not perfect. Visions of me avoiding eye contact with the person I'm conversing with, as I wrack my brain to come out with the perfect, witty, intelligent thing to say. Visions of me deciding that it's more comfortable to practice yoga on my own, in my home, because putting myself out there is a scary thing. In that moment I realized why it's so scary: I'm afraid of messing up, making a mistake, hurting someone, saying the wrong thing - showing someone that, in reality, I'm not as good as I want to be. Eek.

The second I realized my reservations come from my fear of baring my imperfections to the world, I got amped. I felt that lion roaring inside me - and I repeated to myself, "Who the heck do I think I am - to think my sh*t doesn't stink?! It totally does! Everyone's does! Geez!" What a struggle I had with myself, wanting the confidence so badly to put myself out there in this new town I'm in - never realizing that it is in fact humility that gives you confidence. When you let go of needing to be perfect, you find you want to put yourself out there. It's kind of like an "F - it" attitude - it's a here I am, I'm me, and this is what you get kind of attitude. It makes me want to shout from a mountaintop. What a liberating feeling - to realize that my sh*t stinks - and that it's okay; the only one that's hung up on it is me, and the fact that I'm hung up on hiding the stench is the very thing that's holding me back from fully living life.

I'm not the best yoga teacher. I'm quite a novice, and I'm usually pretty nervous and apologetic about that. My nerves come from trying to hide the fact that I'm such a guppy, and my apologies come from the the nerves that compel me to stumble over my words and avoid contact. Well, no longer. I know what I know in this moment of time, and all I can do is do my best to share my love for the practice. At this moment my love for the practice is what really matters - I can't be a master teacher over night, I simply can't - I might as well buck up and be honest and teach what I can.

It sure feels good to walk with humility. Posting this with a good dose of humble pie and lot's of love... Namaste xo