Confessions of a recovering flowtard

Published on August 17, 2011 by      Print
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By Suzanne Morrison

So, I wrote this book. It’s called Yoga Bitch, and it’s about two months I spent in Indonesia studying yoga way back in 2002. I wrote Yoga Bitch because I came home from Indonesia with my head a little bit exploded. Some crazy stuff went down on that retreat, and over the nine years that followed, I realized that it was continuing to change my life, as if over the course of two months of stretching and meditating, I’d planted big handfuls of life-seeds that kept sprouting when I least expected them to.

I’ve spent much of the past decade thinking about this story, and wrestling with some of my more complicated feelings about my yoga practice and the yoga industry. But something interesting has happened since I finished writing Yoga Bitch. I think I may have grown all wise and shit. No, really. I think I’m just a little bit enlightened. Like, I seem to have evolved in my practice so that very little bothers me and I don’t really care if I look terrible in class, or if everybody around me can do crow pose while I lie face-down on my mat, weeping silently. I’m just sort of okay with that, now. It’s like, having written Yoga Bitch, I said what I needed to say and now I can just be a yogi who happens to cry a lot during the more challenging postures.

The best thing about suddenly not giving a rat’s tuches about how I look in yoga classes is that I am no longer injuring myself the way I used to. See, up until recently—up until I got sort of enlightened, I mean— I was going through a phase I like to call my flowtard phase.

I used to be the biggest flowtard at my yoga studio.

By flowtard, I mean two things. One: a yoga practitioner who commits flow, also known as vinyasa or linked poses or blatant Shiva Rea showoffery. And two: a yoga practitioner who is too slow to actually do a flow well.

To be good at flowing styles of yoga, one must be graceful, agile, and maybe a little bit ADD. I tend more toward the slow, ponderous, indolent end of the spectrum. In my heart, I’m a Restoratives kinda gal. Restoratives yoga is my soul mate. All I ever want to do is lie around on the floor under a bunch of blankets gently stretching my chakras.

(And now that I’m enlightened, it’s all I’ll ever do again! Wait till you see how freaking flexible my chakras are gonna get!)

Anyhoo, this story is pre-enlightenment. Many years ago, around, say, 2005, my yoga ego was at its height. Actually, it was at one of its many heights—my ego is more of a mountain range than one solitary peak. I was living in New York and started practicing at a pretty hardcore studio. Well, hardcore for me. I mean, I’m not talking about Ashtanga Yoga. No way. That’s truly hardcore. Even when my ego’s in charge, I am way too lazy for Ashtanga. I get terrified even thinking about attending an Ashtanga class. I don’t even know if Ashtanga is capitalized, but I spell it with a capital A just because I am so scared of it I think it will come and pinch me if I seem disrespectful.

In New York, I decided to get a little bit radical with my simple, straightforward Iyengar-based practice and get flowing. Within weeks of signing over my life savings for a month-long pass to my new studio, I became addicted to the flow. Flow. You know, the sun salutation on crack, the dance of vinyasa bliss, the marriage of mountain to dog to plank to jumpety jump jump! I watched my neighbors leaping and bounding, and I vowed to leap and bound with still greater flow. I told myself that I was a streak of golden flowing energy, I never stayed in a pose longer than three to five milliseconds because the flow is like life: you can’t hold onto these poses, man. You gotta just let ‘em go. Go with the flow. Flow, you flowtard, flow.

Now, I must be clear: Normal yogis who happen to enjoy the occasional or daily flow are not flowtards.

I was a flowtard, because the truth is this: I was not a flood of golden energy. I was not linking breath to posture in a transcendent dance of vinyasa bliss. I was one of the idiots (please God let me be not alone) who knew she couldn’t do a flow without incurring injury, having ankles and knees that twist if you look at them cross-eyed, but who does the flow anyway. That is what I mean when I say that I am flowtarded. Or was, anyway. You know, before the enlightenment.

A roster of my flow-related injuries, if you will:

  • Right knee.
  • Left eye. (No idea, but I think it was yoga related. It felt like bad karma, anyway.)
  • Right hip.
  • Left kidney.
  • I think once I pulled my diaphragm.
  • All of my ankles.
  • I’m convinced flows make me breakout on my chin, but I can’t prove it.
  • My psyche.

So you see, flowtardation has its consequences. But to demonstrate the depth of my flowtardation, I would like to tell you about the stupidest injury I suffered while under the spell of the flow. The baby toe on my right foot. I broke it. I broke it during a particularly speedy sun salutation at that hardcore New York yoga studio. This yoga studio prided itself on existing solely for the “serious” yoga practitioner. This was a studio with no beginner’s classes whatsoever; that’s how hardcore they were. They hated beginners, with their silly complaints and questions and deodorants. Stupid beginners.

This was a studio where no sun salutation was performed slowly. Everything was on fast forward. FLOW YOU FUCKERS, FLOW! That sort of place. I never do well in this kind of environment, I know this about myself, but for some reason I kept going to this studio and I kept injuring myself and I NEVER LEARN I JUST MAKE THE SAME GODDAMN MISTAKES WHICH IS HOW I BROKE MY GODDAMN TOE.

We were in downward dog, see, and then we were supposed to swing one foot forward in a lunge. The teacher was already shouting for us to start the next salutation. She spoke on fast-forward, like Alvin and the Chipmunks. That’s how fast this flow was, which is why I was sweating from my eyeballs. I was also roughly twelve thousand steps behind the rest of the class, and I didn’t have my glasses on or contacts in, and I couldn’t see because of the SWEATING FROM THE EYEBALLS, so I must have misjudged the distance between my foot and the floor, and as I brought my foot up to the front of my mat I sort of grazed my little pinkie toe against the blue sticky mat, bending it all the way back as if I were such a flexible yogini that even my baby toe could do something like that. Except that then I heard a popping sound not unlike the sound you hear when ripping a drumstick off a roast chicken, and then I knew exactly what happened because before my sweating eyes I watched my baby toe grow and swell until it began to resemble Ron Jeremy’s infamous appendage.

That was when I realized I needed to stop flowing.

So naturally I did it for half a decade longer, until I finished writing Yoga Bitch and got accidentally enlightened. These days, I respect the flow. I even love the flow, sometimes, from a distance, when I’m feeling generous in spirit and full of lovingkindness. (Cause, have you heard? After you get enlightened you feel that way all the time. And you can eat as much ice cream as you want without worrying about cellulite. Enlightenment’s the bomb!)

So, right, I can dig a flow. But these days I want to go to yoga and just sit and breathe for a long time and then very, very slowly start to move, gradually working my way into some sort of slowflow, the kind you would do with an elderly person who has recently had a few hips replaced.

I am probably jinxing myself, but I think this is how I stopped being so flowtarded:

I finally broke into the safe room in my brain where I store my ego. Through many hours of diligent sutra reading and contemplation of the Upanishads (Oh jeez that is SUCH a lie, I was actually drinking copiously with my friend Erin in the park) I realized that I needed to actually take the flow at my own pace. Like, find the flow in me. I don’t need to change the yoga world’s love of flow. Quoth Michael Jackson: I’m starting with the man in the mirror. Or like, the woman. Me. I’m starting with the flowtard in the mirror. And all ten of my toes are thanking me.

About Suzanne Morrison

Suzanne Morrison is a writer and solo performer who lives in Seattle with her husband and a delightfully inbred cat named Riley. Her first memoir, Yoga Bitch: One Woman’s Quest to Conquer Skepticism, Cynicism, and Cigarettes on the Path to Enlightenment is on sale now from Three Rivers Press.

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  1. Thais says:

    Awesome post! You had me cracking up from the first sentence to the last =)

  2. Julie says:

    One of my favorite posts :) I can’t wait to read the book :)

  3. EcoYogini says:

    Ok, I am now SO participating in the yoga twitter bookclub. Seriously- I was kinda wavering- until I read this post. I cannot WAIT to read more.
    (ps- I think I may have a touch of the flowtardedness…. just a touch though).

  4. Karen says:

    Fantastic article, thank you so much for making my day Yoga Bitch, I mean Suzanne! What a hoot! Gonna go find your book now……

  5. Jennifer Sturm says:

    Thank you thank you thank you for your post! 1. It was hysterical. 2. It shows me that I am not alone in ever feeling like a flowtard and having recently become enlightened myself, tells me that I don’t have put up with insane flow! It’s not what’s good for my body! Maybe it’s good for Madonna’s body…but not mine! I am all about restorative baby! Thank you for the honesty, the humor and the grace. I am in love.

    • Suzanne Morrison says:

      Jennifer, thank you so much! I hope you find all the restoratives yoga you need to maintain your enlightenment. I’m going to go wrap myself in a blanket and restore right now.

  6. Tracie Jansen says:

    It feels so good to give myself an official label now. I am a Flowtard. Never laughed so hard reading a RY post! Off to find your book, bitch.

  7. Yogini5 says:

    For the longest time, I blamed the other students in my class for the bully teacher of a slightly slower flow class, deciding to make me “flavor of the month” …

    Wherever you are now, Master Teacher, I forgive you … it wasn’t your other students (I apologize to them) … it wasn’t me and my relative lack of grace or strength compared to them (I apologize to myself, even though I never wittingly tried to show off and I nearly always practiced with my eyes closed) …

    It wasn’t the style you invented, founded or taught (I found out since deciding never to return to your class … and very little of your personality is resident in my home practices)

    No, YOU deserve full credit for making me think I was a flowtard …

    I wish you the greatest success in the future, and I am glad that you are no longer in much demand as a teacher …

  8. Sara says:

    Fantastic! You’ve made me smile for several minutes in a row – now that is real yoga :) Thank you.

  9. Jojo says:

    Just beautiful – thank you! I’m also a restorative and slowflow yoga junkie! :)

  10. Kris Nelson says:

    This is solid.

  11. Ann Fogal says:

    “All I ever want to do is lie around on the floor under a bunch of blankets gently stretching my chakras.”

    I was reading this so fast, because you know, I was in the flow with what you were writing – and I thought this said “scratching” my chakras – which is what the blanket was for.

  12. Lauren says:


    I cannot WAIT to read your book!

    and will promptly post this excerpt to fb.

    We have something in common…Suzanne, I, too, have broken a toe doing YOGA.

    I was the TEACHER and we were doing silly (uber challenging of course) yoga poses at the end of a very sweaty flow class. I was upside down with my ankles on my student/friend’s shoulders. (have you ever done the “backpack” pose at a yoga retreat? usually you do it in sand at the beach.) anyway, we were sweaty, I slip and my entire body weight comes crashing down onto my poor big toe (left foot).

    I recover quickly, assure everyone it’s fine, and finish up the class with a few more inversions and some malarky about peace all while my foot is throbbing and swelling so much that my body is in shock. I had goose bumps in the 90 degree room.

    My big toe seriously hurt. 3 months and a stiff shoe “cast” later I stopped limping….and started practicing again :)

    does that make me a flowtard???

    • Suzanne Morrison says:

      Yes indeed, Lauren, it does. Congratulations, you are a certified flowtard!
      Also: OUCH! That sounds much worse than my broken toe. I didn’t have to wear a boot or anything. I cured mine with complaining, I think. :)

  13. roseanne says:

    great post! fun! my copy of the book just arrived in the mail today and now i really can’t wait to dig into it!

  14. Candice says:

    1. You’re brilliant. 2. I’m ordering your book. If it’s half as good as this, I will be in heaven. 3. I think I love you. 4. Did I mention you’re brilliant?

  15. Emmanuelle says:

    Holy cow, I am crying, my eyeballs are laughing too much! And I am a vinyasa flow teacher :D
    Now, how long does it take to have that book shipped to Europe, mmmh…

  16. Chrissy says:

    Great article….flowtard may be the funniest thing that I have heard all day…I am a total flowtard…hahahahahaha!

  17. Cathy L says:

    Just love this article, and this site, for helping me keep it together. Laughed throughout, often wonder if we are drawn to styles that suit us, and if we should practice what doesn’t to balance. Love slow flow, technique, restorative and yin, others, not so much, but will do a regular flow class every so often just to check in…

    • Suzanne Morrison says:

      Cathy, I think that’s exactly right. I still do those flow classes because I know they’re good for me even if I’d rather just roll around on the floor. But . . . BUT! I have had to learn the hard way to do those nutso flows at my own pace as opposed to trying to keep up with the uberyogis in my classes. Which isn’t always easy for my poor little ego . . !

  18. Retired yogi says:

    You funny lady!!!!! And I too used to be a flow teacher. But I see your broken-down-toe-from-yoga stories and raise you. Picture this: a group of intrepid yogis climb one of the Himalayan mountains in India to practice 108 sun salutations at the top, next to a temple (devoted to Ganesh of course). The sun is rising over the mountains in the distance. It’s blissful. I try to become one with the flow (of the salute, of the sun, of India) and do the next one with my eyes closed, to you know, really CONNECT. And I connected my little toe on my landing and broke the thing and had to be carried down the bloody mountain! So can I get the Flowtard gold medal please? And I am capitalising it cos I am afraid now of my inner Flowtard and what it can do to me. I now understand that God gave me eyes to do vinyasa safely, and subsequently feel very connected to him for that gift. PLEASE keep posting more funny, laugh-out-loud posts like this!

    • Suzanne Morrison says:

      Oh my, yes, gold medal for you. PLATINUM medal for you! That story is a million times worse than mine! And it’s AMAZING! Thank you so much for reading. Good luck with future Himalayan quests!

  19. namas-what? says:

    How wonderful!! I love it! I CANNOT wait to read the entire book cover to cover…yoga is a path and not one is the same…mine has been filled with twists and turns and yours has been filled with well, I can’t wait to find out, but one thing is for sure, you’ve reached a place on your path where you can enlighten others, and that my friend is true enlightenment, when you can give your light to others! love to you! m

  20. robin says:

    love your writing… cracked me up ;) looking forward to going to yoga soon (and thinking of some of your words…

  21. Holly M. says:

    slow flow is the only way to go. word. thanks for the hardcore laugh!

  22. emer says:

    you know that’s so wierd, my husband and I just took a yoga class at Cindy’s yoga place in CA for the first time, the sun salutation was going so fast and so many of them, was kind of shocked by it all- now i see what was happening.
    also the thing that stunned me was that so many people walk out at the end before they do the meditation, that’s the only part I really enjoy, i do all the suffering just to get to the end and lie there in a puddle,
    will order the book, sounds great,

  23. Jenifer says:

    i have a funny related story. it’s a thing that makes me dizzy thinking about it.

    back in the day, i taught at a yoga studio (vinyasa) that had every teacher do the exact same sequence. every class had to be *exactly* 1.5 hrs long (start and finish on time!!!). :D

    what was so funny is that i was fired because i was “making people hold the postures too long. it’s a *flow* class.”

    ok, but here is what is really funny. my class started on time. it ended on time. i had to teach the exact same sequence as everyone else. which means the same number of postures in the same amount of time. and, there were resting postures that we had to do for a certain amount of time, and there was a clock in the room that we could use to time how long the rest was supposed to last — and i used it.

    the only thing that i did differently, was there was a longer savasana. i ended at the same time as everyone else, and many classes, teachers only had 3 minute savasanas or 5 minute ones. I often had 7 minute ones! one time, i had a 10 minute one.

    This means, logically speaking, that I was actually NOT having people hold postures longer than everyone else, but that there was a perception that I was when people were practicing.

    What is also funny is that the flip side feedback (not from fellow teachers, but from the students in the classes) is that they liked my classes because “they don’t feel as hurried, rushed, or extreme” as the other classes. People felt like they could take their time, rest, and do their postures in an easy going and comfortable way (in a flow class with heat).

    I thought it was just the *funniest* thing ever. Because the teachers and owners were complaining that my classes were “slow, stale, and not flowing” whereas the students felt that the classes were “restful, unhurried, and relaxing.” And my classes were exactly the same — sequence and time — as every other teacher’s.

    I think the trick, for me, was in how I teach. I don’t count breaths, i describe alignment from transitions through expression, cue “relax into your breath,” and then describe what the person may be feeling or STFU. :D Then, when it’s time to move to the next posture, i cue for that. :)

    So, no one has anything to hold onto but the present moment — their breath, what they may be feeling, and silencio! — and that makes the posture feel, well, timeless.

    And for some people, that means “stale and not flowing!” and for other people, that means “restful.”

    I just do my thang. :) But I have been to racing classes. I find that if i back off a bit — emotionally — and just breathe, I can “keep up” without feeling like I have to “keep up.” KWIM?

    maybe I don’t make any sense at all.

    • Yogini5 says:

      I HATED those 3 minute savasanas where the teacher doesn’t shut up, and practically sounds like a vintage-1977 Jacobsen Relaxation Method tape the whole time … “Relax your feet … relax your calves … relax your thighs ”

      Was NEVER relaxed and centered after those classes, some of which lasted 1:45 ….

    • Suzanne Morrison says:

      Jennifer, you make perfect sense, and your class sounds right up my alley!

  24. Jenifer says:

    btw, i do love the title. :D

  25. yoginibunny says:

    Love it!
    Thanks for the laughs!
    I guess I am a beginner because I wear deodorant. Stupid beginners.
    And I have a confession, a very immature one – flow flow flow… even after doing vinyasa for 5 years, ‘flow’ still sounds like of that time of the month…

  26. adan says:

    well, after 3 other articles, either reviewing your book or interviewing you directly, i feel like i got a bead on the real person suzanne!

    your writing/expressing style seen here, if the same as your book, recommends your book best -

    great down to earth humor, a sense of reality – at least to an older early-21st century american ;-) and an underlying sense of goodness i hope i’m not just imagining ;-)

    your voice rings authentic to me, even if i do have a high frequency hearing loss!

    best wishes to you; i think i more than ever look fwd to a movie version, and, a new(er) book by you bringing us up to date on things “now” w/you and the u.s. yoga scene

  27. melita says:

    ah this was really refreshing, funny and just plain awesome! i’m looking forward to reading the book! there truly is a yoga out there for everyone and i’m glad you found yours. :) hugs & namaste!!

  28. Crystal @YogiCrystal says:

    Awesome post! So glad you reached a point of ‘enlightenment’ and stopped injuring yourself! I once tried to force myself to do styles of yoga that just weren’t me and I really had to starting hating going to those places before I realized what the hell I was doing. Had to finally tell my ego to back off and that if I want to do a restorative class, then I am going to do it! Ahhh feels better. :) Can’t wait to read the book!

  29. In Case You Missed It Edition! Volume 34 {back to school, expectations and enough} « Teacher Goes Back to School says:

    [...] Confessions of a Recovering Flowtard - yet another book I want to read {BOOK CLUB?} – Yoga Bitch: One Woman’s Quest to Conquer Skepticism, Cynicism, and Cigarettes On the Path To Enlightenment. [...]

  30. Confessions of a recovering flowtard. | elephant journal says:

    [...] piece originally appeared on Recovering Yogi on August 17, 2011. Don’t miss Nancy Alder’s Elephant interview with Suzanne Morrison [...]

  31. Lorrin says:

    I thought the article was great but was offended by the word “flowtard”. I work with people with intellectual disabilities and we’re trying to stop people from using the words retard, tard, retarded…

    • Lori"t says:

      I have to agree. I am offended by your use of the “tard” word. I hope you will reconsider and reinvent a word that is not offensive to people with disabilities. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get past your language to appreciate the article.

  32. Finding my inner yogi « Operation Quit Being A Fatty (QBAF) says:

    [...] and deep stretch class into my schedule. They seem a little more my speed. Until then, check out Yoga Bitch, a book Cara recommended. Just the author’s description alone had me hooked. It very [...]

  33. Caroline says:

    Seriously, this is one of the biggest laughingflows I’ve recently had! Still uninjured but…I might just read the article again…

    I love doing yoga at home. Pausing the dvd, going to the loo, having some tea, skipping to the end…love it! And when the Savasana is really good, I can roll right back into bed.

    In addition, I have my own mirror and can do some Michael Jackson moves inbetween. Moonwalking is great for the toechakras btw. Should make that a flow. I’ll email Shiva Rea about it.

  34. Sunday Media Montage 8-21-2011 – Balancing on Two Feet says:

    [...] do you flow? Have you had yoga related injuries from less then optimal flow and conciseness in your [...]

  35. Leisa Hammett says:

    OMG. You’re saying it here, too. Therefore (and thanks to the two sensitive yogis above me who rose above the laughter to speak out against injustice here) I’ll post it again here:
    Suzanne, congratulations on your journey (I get it,) for the publication of your book (done that, as well). I have practiced yoga for nearly a quarter of a century now and watched it evolve from something gentle to injury producing aerobicized versions. And, you’ve created a very clever marketing angle/niche you’ve created to sell a book– I do not mean that sarcastically.

    Where my yoga practitioner-author-life-path departs from yours, however, is that my book is about families living with autism ( And you know by now, I think, where this will lead. Yeah. Like a number in the disAbility community, my precious daughter (an internationally recognized artist – has Intellectual Disabilities.

    The reason the name for this cognitive challenge has been changed from something that starts with “R” and ends with “tard,” which you so lightly toss about in an otherwise meaningful piece, is because each time it became an epithet. The name has been changed (and as, mentioned by 2nd commenter Andrea, & Marce in a reply,) and there’s a movement to ban the “r” word. This is no different than women, African Americans and other minorities asking not to be called words that take on a derogatory meaning. I trust you wouldn’t use racially loaded word, but you have lightly used “tard” here to–of all things–describe yoga and ha-ha-ha-ha so many here have laughed. (It’s already circulating out there in the ethers that you’ve posted on Facebook that you did not mean to offend the “mentally handicapped.” DisAbility dear. We no longer use “handicapped” either….Because what does that mean? Something negative. And a person with a–term du jour, not perfect–disAbility (caps, mine) is not negative or broken or to be pitied…but, rather to be respected as a human being, a person of worth, just like yourself.

    Please, please get it that when you laugh at that word, when you say it, write it, toss it about carelessly, it is at the expense of one of our society’s least defended, most vulnerable populations that often cannot speak up for themselves. When someone carelessly cracks a “tard” joke, they may or may not realize they are laughing at the expense of people who are not gifted in a way that our culture values so dearly–or at least in a way that can be tested and fits in a numerical value deemed acceptable, normal, standard….I argue they are gifted often in much more valuable ways! If we rib poke and name call ourselves one another this term–ha-ha–what are we saying about the people who actually do have Intellectual DisAbilities?!

    I urge you to STOP using this term! I hope you have already viewed the video mentioned in Andrea’s comment (no. 2) and will take a look at the perspective of another author on his blog:…. The latter explains how this affects us as parents of special needs children. Here’s a post of mine:… and another quoting a young family member of a person with intellectual disAbilities, testifying before Congress–”What You call People is How You Will Treat Them”:….

    You’re an author now. And that means placing a finger on the pulse of the public. Take this in. Okay? Take time to read these links, above. And, btw, I was notified of this post from a friend of mine who owns a yoga studio, teaches yoga, is starting a new concentration for (stressed) families of special needs children and has a child with Intellectual Disabilities….She was horrified. I hope in the end, you’ll understand her and my horror and the many who have and will SPEAK UP and the many who never will. (If you read just one of the links I’ve listed, skip mine and read the perspective of Author-Dad Rob Rummel-Hudson. If you can’t feel our pain over this perjorative term after reading his post, I’m not sure you ever will.)

    I proudly submit this as A Mother From Hell. Our motto, as a national organization is: “Advocating for Disability Rights. We will not be Silenced!”

  36. Dance and Musicality .^.^.^^ My Poetry from Yoga — ~~ — Making My First Music Video « Yoga Adan says:

    [...] “confessions of a recovering flowtard” [...]

  37. lizzie says:

    What pleasure to read. I have struggled with integrating my real tough talking totally un-pc life and my wholesome yoga life. Thank you so much for giving a voice to those seemingly incongruent aspects. I’m so buying your book. All the best to you, enlightened sassy pants! -Lizzie

  38. Chimene says:

    New to yoga AND blogging (and stupid enough to attempt in tandem!?), your blog is inspiring and proves how you can be informative, funny AND thought-provoking. Your book is going on my Amazon wish list right now!

  39. says:

    I loved this; thank you for sharing. I have not been injured from ‘flowing,’ but I’m a control bitch – meaning, once I realized the flow would only work for .03 percent of the people in the room, I started practicing at home.

    I am continually discovering how I ‘almost’ injured every part of my body in some flow classes.

    I like your descriptions, thanks for writing,

  40. araucaria says:

    I feel so much better about fearing the bald instructor who claps at us and just wanting to make a savasana burrito with my mat and take a nap for an hour.
    I feel a little more confident about going to an official yoga “studio” now that I accept that have always been a flowtard…

  41. Sunday Media Montage 8-21-2011 | Balancing on Two Feet says:

    [...] do you flow? Have you had yoga related injuries from less then optimal flow and conciseness in your [...]

  42. Barbara says:

    Hi Suzanne!

    We have a lot in common (the injuries, mostly). I’m so glad I found this website and I can’t wait to read your book. I practice for ten years and taught for six and I stopped, because I felt that yoga was turning me into a bitch!

    Thanks for sharing. Take care

    Barbara Ritthaler
    Miami Beach, Fl

  43. Top ten misconceptions about Recovering Yogi | RecoveringYogi says:

    [...] funny and presents an interesting and original point of view (one favorite that comes to mind is Suzanne Morrison’s Yoga Bitch, which came out last year) please do send us a [...]

  44. Jillian says:

    I just broke my baby toe an hour ago while practicing handstand. I am in my “intermediate once you finally recover from one injury you create another one to take its place phase (I just got over a hip injury fully less than 2months ago).” Feeling sorry for myself and looking for poses I could still do I happened upon your article. All I can say is thank you for the tears of laughter and the gaping, drooling shit grin on my face. It did my heart and soul good.

  45. Lindsay says:

    I practice mysore ashtanga, seriously, after every flow, my body says….I’m tired ….I’m tired….I’m tired…. Stop now, yes please, Louise, with cheese, stop…NOW!!

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