OMmygod

The other day, I learned that the folks behind the Wanderlust Festival were giving away a pair of four-day tickets on their Facebook page. How to win? Post a picture of yourself in a yoga pose, post it on their wall, and collect as many “likes” as possible.

I was desperate to go to the festival. My husband and I had already discussed the merits of splurging on Wanderlust, and we had come to a compromise in which we would get one-day passes only.

But I wanted more. I wanted to learn from those I’d only previously learned from on DVD. I wanted to immerse myself in the yoga community. I’d never attended a festival like this before, and I wanted to have some fun.

I ended up submitting the photo above.

In the process of choosing that photo, however, I came face to face with my ego.

My instructor had actually taken a photo of me in headstand the month before, but I worried it wasn’t awesome enough. (Ego, anyone?) So I asked my dad to take a new photo of me in headstand. This was the result:

When I saw it, I was horrified. I hated the way my belly pooched out. I hated the way I could see my face turning red from effort. I even hated the way my socks looked.

Later that evening, I went to a callanetics class with my mother. I should have been focused on working hard. Instead, I was thinking about how much I hated my body.

When I returned home later that evening, I asked my husband if there was any pose I didn’t look fat in. I felt upset, frustrated, and helpless. Finally, I begged my husband to take some more (and perhaps more flattering) photos.

I still judged myself. Even though that upward dog felt so good. Even though I could hang out in pigeon forever. Even though I could do a center-of-the-room headstand, no problem.

In the end, I chose the photo where I’m in a seated forward bend because my cat is adorable as hell, and because I love how flexible I’ve become in just six months. (I couldn’t touch my toes before.)

But I also chose that photo because it showed the least skin. I didn’t want people looking at me and thinking: She has no business wearing that outfit. And by the way, look at those rolls of fat when she’s in headstand prep. That’s not how yoga is supposed to look.

Because that’s what I was thinking.

I obviously have a lot of body hate I’m grappling with, and a lot of ground to cover when it comes to ego and ahimsa. Some days, I low how yoga has changed my body (not to mention my spirit). Other days, I berate myself for not doing enough.

And then I get angry at myself for caring so much.

Tell me: How has yoga helped you come to grips with your own body hate?