Healing Beyond the Mat: How Injury and Life’s Challenges Taught Me to Realign

As a yoga teacher with over 20 years of experience, I’ve had my share of injuries, most of which have come and gone. But the past few years have taught me an entirely different lesson. I injured my lower sacrum, the triangular, fused bone below the lumbar spine that connects the spine and the hips. The injury happened when I pushed too hard in yoga, trying to mimic another teacher, tearing a ligament in the process. Why I pushed so hard, hard enough to tear connective tissue in my body is another story; I hurt myself deeply. At first, I thought this would heal on its own. Secondly, I'm a yoga teacher with the tools to realign my body. I leaned into alignment-based yoga, the practice I had taught for eighteen years, and began the path of self-treatment. After two years of persistent pain, I finally faced the brutal truth that I was hurt, this was not healing, and I had developed a chronic injury. 

The realization of this injury was more humbling than I was willing to admit. As someone who prided myself on having a masterful yoga practice and leading hundreds of students, I was ashamed. It's a shame that I was hurt. It's a shame that I could not heal. It was a shame that I had not progressed my practice but hid the physical pain I was experiencing daily. I hid this injury and felt shame around just being injured. My struggle with shame is deeply rooted. Growing up, my father would say, "Don't let them see you cry," and this shaped how I dealt with vulnerability for much of my life. I internalized pain, whether physical, mental, spiritual, financial, or emotional. I kept it hidden from the world, never admitting I was struggling because that meant I failed. Wanting my father's approval, I didn't cry, and I created strength as a core value to mask what I was experiencing inside. 

Frustrated by the lack of progress, I opened up about my injury to a friend who practiced Active Release Techniques (ART). She treated me several times, and while it brought temporary relief, the pain inevitably returned. Mornings became a negotiation with discomfort - deciding whether it was an Advil or Arnica kind of day. I changed my practice and let go of specific poses, scaling back my daily practice. Even heat and ice therapy became part of my afternoon routine. On rare mornings of no pain, I cherished those moments of temporary relief and felt a surge of joy and gratitude. 

During this same time, my business (a yoga studio) struggled under the weight of the Covid years. Financial debt loomed significantly, and the path ahead was a steep and inevitable cliff. Closing the studio to stop the financial bleeding was one of the most complex decisions I've ever made, and emotionally, it cut more profound than the pain in my lower back. I began to wonder, was there a connection between the challenges of my lower back and the weight of the business? Had I taken on more than I could handle? Was my body responding to the overwhelming stress of my life? Could this chronic injury be more than a physical ailment and perhaps a reflection of the imbalance I was experiencing on every level? This realization forced me to confront a truth I had been avoiding: healing required more than just fixing my body. It required me to address the patterns in my life that were pushing me past my limits. Physical or emotional pain often signals where something is out of alignment. 

In hindsight, these struggles taught me to listen more closely—not just to my body but to the deeper needs of my life. Healing begins when we stop ignoring the signs and create space for change. Sometimes, what feels like the most challenging choice becomes the most liberating. Once I decided to close my yoga studio, it felt as though the Universe began to align. Within six months, the doors were locked. Although I was left with a mountain of debt and a deep injury, something remarkable began to happen: my lower back pain finally started to heal.

I permitted myself to pause, taking a month-long vacation dedicated to healing on every level. This time, it wasn’t just about yoga or power; it was about softening. I embraced various practices, including sound healing, yin yoga, deep meditation, reflexology, a super-clean vegan diet, abstaining from alcohol for 30 days, and simply slowing down. Slowly but surely, my injuries began to fade—especially the one in my lower back.

While the financial burden remains heavy, I’ve found a new sense of peace. Accepting the past and the world's challenges has become easier. Writing this blog has been another form of healing, helping to relieve stress and offering a way to connect with others across the globe—people I might never have met otherwise.

To anyone struggling with physical pain, I ask: what else is happening in your world? How has stress manifested in your body? Your breath is the voice of your body, and your body is the vehicle for life. Take care of it every day. Nurture yourself deeply.

I want to encourage you to stop hiding your injuries. This isn’t about standing in front of the mirror and picking apart your flaws. It’s about gently asking yourself, What happened? Where did I misalign—not just physically, but spiritually? Most importantly, Where can I begin to make corrections now?

If you’re experiencing pain or injury, let go of the shame. Acknowledging your challenges and seeking support can strengthen you. Healing is about patience, self-compassion, and the courage to start again.

If you or a friend are ready to begin your healing journey, yoga is right here. Desirae is a private yoga teacher living in Austin, Texas.

Why I Turn to Bikram Yoga When Seeking Life’s Answers

Nearly a year has passed since I closed my 18-year-old yoga business. The challenges of the pandemic and the rise of franchise fitness made it clear that it was time to close this chapter and start anew. As I have many times before, I turned to yoga to ground myself—mind and body—during this period of uncertainty. When life has brought me to the brink of a breakdown, yoga has consistently been the practice that leads me to a breakthrough.

In 1997, I faced one of the most tremendous losses of my life when my father passed away suddenly at just 51 years old. Overwhelmed by grief, I spent the following year masking my pain with alcohol and prescription drugs. My body became frail and unwell, and some days I couldn’t even get out of bed. Desperate for clarity and healing, I decided to try Bikram yoga. At the time, its promises of transformation — a physical reboot and deep detox — felt precisely what I needed.

A new studio had just opened near my home, so I signed up and attended my first class. The experience was intense. The heat, the effort, the sweat felt like the toxins were being wrung from my very pores. There were moments I thought I might pass out. But I didn’t. I stuck with it. With each class, I grew stronger — physically and mentally. My body began to heal, and so did my habits. I stopped wanting anything toxic in my life. My relationship with prescription drugs ended, and even my approach to alcohol shifted. Today, while I still enjoy a glass of wine now and then, I value waking up clear-headed and ready for yoga far more.

Now, at 56, I find myself at another crossroads, trying to figure out my next steps in life. Closing my business has felt like another death — a profound loss of not only my livelihood but also the community and friendships I nurtured over the years. But as I have done before, I turned back to Bikram yoga. Today, I attended my first class in years, signing up for a whole month of practice.

Stepping into the studio felt like coming home — to myself. The heat, the sweat, the familiar sequence of 26 postures and two breathing exercises — it was grounding and nostalgic all at once. Some poses felt strong, while others revealed new weaknesses. And yet, the discipline and focus that Bikram demands helped me manage my swirling thoughts and emotions.

I’ve committed to practicing for five days and beyond to see where this journey leads. I don’t know if this practice will reignite the same fire it did all those years ago when I was at rock bottom. But I know this: Bikram yoga reminds me that answers come through action. The strength I seek is already within me — waiting to be uncovered, one sweaty pose at a time.

Here’s to the next chapter. Namaste.