No Kids Allowed

children doing yoga in an ideal world

For some reason people love kids yoga. I think they have this image of perfectly behaved yogi children all actually following instructions and doing the same thing at the same time.

But my experience has been that children are mostly unable to follow simple instructions such as “stand still” or “bend your knee”, and what might be a tranquil and enriching experience quickly degenerates into utter chaos.

I once agreed to teach a group of kindergarteners. I was dreading it, and I really should have said “no thanks, I don’t teach kids yoga”. But I did it for the money (which I needed) and I hoped I would be pleasantly surprised by how much I loved teaching 5 year-olds to move and breathe (which I wasn’t). I was encouraged to sing songs, tell stories, and have the kids make up their own poses. Ick. I had a set of Baron Baptiste’s My Daddy is a Pretzel yoga cards that were sort of cute and fun to use. But when one of the kids puked directly on the cards, I swore off kids yoga forever.

actual children doing yoga

Maybe kids yoga is really about playing games and telling stories, and I’m all for games and stories. But for me yoga involves bringing minds and bodies into balance, or practicing acceptance of who we really are in the present moment, and kids already do this.

I often teach my students about santosha, or contentment, acceptance of what is. This includes being okay with who you are and what you are good at. I am pretty good at teaching yoga to adults, but teaching kids is just not for me.

From the moment I announced my pregnancy four years ago people began sweetly asking the question, “Will you do yoga with your baby?” And I would respond “Oh yes, of course,” while thinking to myself, “Sheesh, I hope someone else will watch this baby so I can go to yoga.” Then once the tender young thing was born, blue in the face and screaming, people would inquire with a sparkle in their eye “Does she do yoga with you?” And I would say with a knowing smile, “She’s a natural!” while cringing inwardly and thinking, “God forbid this succubus should claim my yoga mat, as she has every other area of my physical, mental, and emotional life.”

I love my daughter. With all my heart. But my yoga practice is mine. It may be the only corner of my being that is private, quiet, personal, and mine all mine. No kids allowed.