Below is my response to Jen Caron's "It Happened to Me: There Are No Black People in My Yoga Classes and I'm Suddenly Feeling Uncomfortable With It" post on xoJane yesterday. Here is an excerpt of what she wrote:
A few weeks ago, as I settled into an exceptionally crowded midday class, a young, fairly heavy black woman put her mat down directly behind mine. It appeared she had never set foot in a yoga studio -- she was glancing around anxiously, adjusting her clothes, looking wide-eyed and nervous. Within the first few minutes of gentle warm-up stretches, I saw the fear in her eyes snowball, turning into panic and then despair. Before we made it into our first downward dog, she had crouched down on her elbows and knees, head lowered close to the ground, trapped and vulnerable. She stayed there, staring, for the rest of the class.
Because I was directly in front of her, I had no choice but to look straight at her every time my head was upside down (roughly once a minute). I've seen people freeze or give up in yoga classes many times, and it's a sad thing, but as a student there's nothing you can do about it. At that moment, though, I found it impossible to stop thinking about this woman. Even when I wasn't positioned to stare directly at her, I knew she was still staring directly at me. Over the course of the next hour, I watched as her despair turned into resentment and then contempt. I felt it all directed toward me and my body.
Now, I'd like to share my story...
A few weeks ago I was taking a 7 a.m. class at a small and pricey fitness center in NYC. The classes at this fitness center only have 12 people in them, which mean we all get lots of personal attention. While the majority of the students in my class were women, I was the only black woman in the class. Actually, I was the only black person in the class... and for what its worth, I was the only plus-size person in the class too.
Before class began we all introduced ourselves. There was a Kristy, a Liz, a Lisa, some other names I can't remember and myself, CeCe.
For the duration of the class, our bubbly blonde instructor encouraged everyone by name, "Nice Kristy!" "Good job Liz!" and she would also encourage me, "Go, Girl!" she'd say... "Alright, Girl!"... "Nice, GIRL!" she'd yell standing over me with a beaming smile.
Everyone else in the class was called by name, but being the only fat black woman in the class was called "Girl" (or was it "Guurl"?).Read more here.
Via: huffingtonpost.com
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