Sometimes, the only reason that I’m here is to get away from my kids for an hour and a half.

That look of panic on my face when you come to adjust me? It’s because I’m desperately trying to hold in a fart. I’m not out of alignment.

Every time you make us do frog pose, somewhere, a hawk swoops down and carries off a kitten; and it is all your fault.

I think your Sanskrit is sexy.

Yes, we know your name isn’t really Satya Priya Parvati Ganesha. It’s pretty obvious that you’re a white girl from Indiana who used to be both a cheerleader and a huge Bon Jovi fan in high school, and we’re ok with that, Brooke.

Interspiral? Intercostals? External Rotation? Yeah, I have no idea what any of that means. I’ll just wing it and hope for the best.

Be forewarned that if you tell me to flower my anus, that I may need a box of baby wipes, a roll of paper towels and some Clorox afterward.

By the way, is “sit bone” an actual medical term or is that something you all made up?

When I manage to get myself into Reclining Thunderbolt: one, I feel like I deserve a medal and perhaps a press conference with the local and national news stations after class for my accomplishment; and two, I think you might need to call 911 because there’s no way I’m getting out of this pose without a compound fracture. Or two.

If y’all are going to charge 36 bucks for a water bottle out in the lobby, that thing had better turn the water into wine when you pour it in. I’m just sayin’.

When you say my name and compliment my superior Happy Cow Face in a crowded class, I feel strong and confident for the rest of the afternoon. Seriously, it makes my day. You have no idea the power of your praise or how much it means to me.

Sometimes, I find you incredibly intimidating, but I look at you with awe and you give me something greater to aspire to—although I may never reach your level of mastery because I am a mere human being and I am convinced that you yoga teachers are actually pixies. Come on. Every one of you looks exactly like Tinkerbell. So the next time you tell us to “float and fly” how about coming off a little of that pixie dust? Help a sister out over here in this crippled Bird of Paradise.

I worry that you judge me in class and that you think I’m a wuss, but the truth is that I’m just as accomplished in my field as you are in yours. In my life outside of class, I’m a Type A perfectionist, trapped in my ego, and I come here to work on that. Yoga is the one place where I’ve given myself permission to screw up, mess around and be imperfect, so when I fall over in Revolving Half Moon or chill out in Child’s Pose while the rest of you move through the Dancer’s Bridge flow, please know that I’m still present and focused and I’m still doing my work on the mat even when it looks like I’m lazy.

Each time you say “Flip your dog” I feel like you’re asking us to do something totally x-rated.

I think my third eye needs a contact lens.

After class, when I hear you bitching about how fat and bloated you are or how you have cellulite on your thighs and how you need to do some cleanse where you drink nothing but jalapeno juice for a week, I feel really disappointed. It ruins all that stuff you tell us in class about self-love and self-acceptance and it makes me feel really badly about myself because— oh my God— you are a will ‘o’ the wisp flitting around on the bamboo, whereas I lumber into class like a Triceratops.

I’ve got at least 30 pounds on you and girl, if you want to see some cellulite, let me just turn around and give you a look at some real cottage cheese. If you think you are fat, then what must you think of me stuffed into these yoga shorts, proudly showing off my toe-ing Camel pose?

You don’t poop do you? I know you fart glitter.

Several times a week, you torture me: you make me push my boundaries and often I’m cursing your skinny ass under my breath, but you are helping to make me a better, healthier and stronger person.

I came to you weak and needing to be healed and you helped me, even though you don’t even know my name.

There are times when I come to class just because the things you say are the only positive words I hear all day. I desperately need to hear something hopeful and encouraging to get me through tomorrow and for that?

Thank you.

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Assistant Ed: Miciah Bennett/Ed: Bryonie Wise

Waylon with the funny Michelle…

An honest discussion…

…and a sweet one: