On the Same Level
What Pilates, a cup of Moroccan tea, and a late client taught me about humility
A few months ago, we threw a Moroccan-themed baby shower for my goddaughter. As part of the celebration, we served Moroccan tea.
I spoke to our guests about the tradition. The tea is served while everyone sits on pillows on the floor, and there’s a reason for that. Sitting on the floor places us in a position of humility. No one is above anyone else. We are all on the same level.
I’ve thought about that image a lot since then. Because humility is something I try to practice every day, on the mat and off it.
Back to the floor
Pilates always has a new level to learn, achieve, and explore. And sometimes, it has a level you have to learn again.
There was a time when I could do a teaser without hesitation. My legs floated off the floor while my spine articulated up onto my sacrum and sit bones, into that V-like shape. I could use my abdominals to lift my upper body while lifting my legs at the same time.
Then, somewhere along the way, I lost the connection to the long lever of my legs.
I felt defeated. I thought, Wait a minute. How did I lose the connection? Why did I lose it? Why am I on the struggle bus with this movement? I know I’m physically strong. So how did I lose the presence of mind to connect to my body in that way?
My ego wanted answers. Humility gave me a different response: go back to the basics.
So I got back on the mat. I started taking a weekly mat class to find that connection again, on the floor, alongside everyone else.
Standing over someone
In a mat class, we’re often all on the floor together, sometimes even the instructor. But there are also times when the instructor is standing up and walking around the room.
That’s a very different position. Think about the vulnerability of lying on a mat, a reformer, or a trapeze table while someone stands over you. There’s a power dynamic in that moment. The client has to trust the person standing over them with their body and with the experience they’ll have in that session.
As a teacher, humility means never forgetting that trust.
I make every effort to guide each body toward its best possible movement. I’m not there to judge anyone’s movement. I’m there to give solid instruction. That starts with listening, with my eyes and my ears. I notice when a tactile cue might make more sense than a verbal one. And I choose my words carefully. I use them to encourage clients to be kind to themselves and to explore their felt experience.
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As an instructor, my posture, my position, and my words matter.
The test
Those words were tested one day in a group class.
A woman walked in 15 minutes late. She walked straight past me without saying a word, hopped on a reformer, and started her own practice.
I was beyond angry. I wanted to argue. I wanted to let her know she was disrespectful, and that walking past me without acknowledging her tardiness was rude, disruptive, and unacceptable.
In that split second, I had a choice. Speaking to her in that moment would have ruined the class for everyone who had arrived on time and was already doing the work. So I set my ego aside. I said nothing, and I kept teaching.
I didn’t speak to her after class, either. But for several weeks afterward, I made a public service announcement at the start of each class. There is a five-minute grace period to enter a class late. After that, an instructor can refuse your participation. Walking in late is disruptive, and it’s disrespectful to everyone else in the room.
That day taught me that humility doesn’t mean being a pushover. In the moment, it meant holding my tongue for the sake of the other clients in the room. Afterward, it meant setting a clear boundary, for everyone and aimed at no one.
Off the mat
I’ve come to think of humility as a muscle. Like any muscle, it gets stronger when I exercise it. And it gets a workout outside the studio, too.
It shows up when I’m driving, and someone cuts me off. Sometimes cussing is just not worth the effort.
It shows up at my day job, when I have to bite my tongue to keep a difficult client.
Each time, my ego rises. And each time, I get to choose what matters more.
Kneeling
Kneeling is, by default, a position of humility. You are close to the ground. In yoga, kneeling poses symbolize humility, respect, and surrender to the present moment. Kneeling can also bring a sense of grounding and stillness.
For me, kneeling is a posture of surrender. It’s often a posture of prayer. It helps me acknowledge my connection to the source of all things.
It’s also part of my Pilates practice. There are many moments when I kneel on the reformer carriage or on the mat to decompress my spine, keep my lower body stable, and ground myself while my upper body moves.
In that position, my body and my spirit are doing the same thing. They ground me, find a place of surrender, and align. I’m close to the floor. I’m on the same level, just like those guests sitting on pillows, sharing a cup of tea.
Pilates is a humbling practice. And I’m grateful for every lesson it teaches me.
