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When my body image was at its worst, I used to be a travel author and influencer in Bali surrounded by beautiful people. Toned midriffs were exposed all over the place, bikini tops were worn like regular streetwear, and flowing dresses effortlessly hugged their owners’ curves in all the fitting places. In every single place I turned, it was like an Instagram feed in real life.

I viewed my physical shape and size as an ever-present problem that stopped me from feeling like I may very well be an element of the yoga community. For years, the unspoken but widely accepted yoga uniform—tight yoga leggings and sports bra—had been all over the place on YouTube, in yoga clothes shops, and throughout most yoga studios. It was also all over the place in Bali. The tight, skin-showing getup of recent yoga was removed from the loose, light, and breezy layers that the traditional yogis wore, but I didn’t know that then. I only knew what I saw.

And I saw that my body was rounder, larger, and looser than everyone else’s. I felt awkward and uncomfortable. I desired to shrink. I desired to see anyone locally who looked like me, but I didn’t. Aware of my differences, I imagined others giving me sideways glances and considering “How did she let herself get so big?” and “Who’s she to be wearing that?”

I didn’t let my self-consciousness keep me from practicing. But riddled with self-hate, I compensated by covering up more. At the same time as I attempted to get as near the yoga uniform as I could, I pretended that I could hide what I looked like beneath layers of clothing, using them as a security blanket to fend off judgment—some from others but mostly from myself. I wedged myself toward the back or fringe of the room where I assumed fewer people would see me. I hiked my high-waisted leggings up and pulled my long tank tops all the way down to hide my belly, which was my least favorite a part of my body.

I concealed myself as best I could in order that I could feel even an iota of comfort as I moved, rolled, and stretched myself into different shapes. But once I was on the mat, my fear of judgment—in any shape and form, internal or external—slowly disappeared as I submerged myself in my practice. I had been drawn to yoga due to how open, light, strong, and capable the practice made me feel. I didn’t feel any of those things once I was off the mat. But I did feel a desperate desire to slot in with everyone else who were practicing the one thing that helped me feel incredible.

Not long before I started my yoga teacher training, I attended a yoga festival. It was a typical day on the island and I used to be feeling like an imposter surrounded by the identical influencer-type yoga practitioners I at all times saw. In the warmth and humidity, the layers of my clothes clung to me. I could feel my hair plastered to the edges of my head, my neck, and my brow and the sweat dripping down my back. I used to be hot and miserable. And I used to be bored with forcing myself to cover up during raging temperatures well above what my Canadian body considered tolerable.

Then something in me snapped. I discovered myself asking, “Why do I even have to cover up? Who says I even have to?”

After which, standing in the course of a big grassy area, I peeled off my trusty top layer, a good sleeveless top that added  protection from my self-inflicted judgment. I stood in my sports bra and leggings, the sweaty top hanging from my fingers, and I let the sun beat down on me.

My breath shortened on the discomfort of being so exposed. But nobody turned to look in my direction. Nothing stopped and even slowed down. The thrill and energy of the event continued as if nothing had happened. The world around me was unaware of the tremendous courage I had mustered to take off my top. Everyone seemed blissfully completely satisfied in their very own worlds at the same time as mine just did a 180.

All this time, I had thought that folks were watching, talking, even caring. Nevertheless it was only ever me judging myself. My reflection of what I saw was distorted by the misconceptions I had so harmfully held onto in my mind.

Taking off my top was like shedding a layer of unwanted belief from my mind and a layer of hate from my skin. It was profound, and something only I could feel as I shifted my mental, emotional, and energetic layers, what I do know today because the koshas. I had finally released myself from my very own restrictions.

Just a few hours after my revelation, I used to be walking with a friend to the subsequent class when she said, “I actually like your outfit. It looks great on you.” In that moment, my entire world expanded beyond the box I had believed was mine. I made a silent vow to myself to proceed to indicate as much as yoga exactly as I pleased.

I didn’t put my shirt back on the remaining of that day. Years later, I show as much as practice and teach almost exclusively in my go-to sports bra and leggings. But on the times once I crave that touch of comfort or am not feeling my usual confident self, I don’t deny myself the prospect to wear my once protective top layer.

I’m aware of how unconventional our contemporary uniform could be, especially in comparison with what’s considered more traditional attire. Not to say the yoga clothes industry continues to grow faster than the practice of yoga itself. But for me, the act of wearing the very thing that I had let shame me for therefore long liberated me from the standards I had held for myself. That single liberating act initiated a shift in how I show as much as my entire life. It began my understanding of who I’m and what I stand for in life.

Yoga continues to take me on a journey of self-discovery as I explore the inner depths of my self-criticism, my love of control, and fear of not knowing enough. However the change began with my body image. Exploring the outermost layer of myself, my physical body, and coming to just accept it just as I’m has given me the space to go deeper, be more confident, and encourage others to live authentically in whatever shape they inhabit. I just occur to feel most like myself doing that in my go-to sports bra and leggings.

About Our Contributor

Taylor Lorenz is a travel and yoga author, yoga teacher, and self-acceptance advocate from Ottawa, Canada. Her writing and yoga classes teach that travel is a type of expansion as a substitute of escapism and  that self-acceptance is the cure to a lot of life’s woes. She goals to assist others feel comfortable and assured of their bodies and their dreams in order that they can live their lives freely. Follow her on Instagram and YouTube.