It’s been a while, but I’m back with some raw reflections. This week, I nearly embarked on an outdoor yoga class, and let me tell you, every single word in that sentence started flashing red. Outdoor, direct sunlight, a heat advisory, and over 90 degrees – a perfect storm of environmental triggers for my Bipolar II and GAD. Then, there’s the “yoga” part. I’ve always had a complicated relationship with yoga, to say the least.

As I walked towards the park, a familiar, unsettling feeling crept over me – that intense internal turmoil, almost like when Spider-Man battles the black symbiote. I knew this wasn’t just heat-induced discomfort; it was a deeper, visceral reaction. I stopped. I talked through it on Instagram Stories because honestly, I didn’t know what else to do in that moment. The answer became clear: I needed my medication, not a yoga mat. I chose to step away, right into a different class across the street, because giving up on movement was never an option.

But why such intense anxiety and aversion to this particular workout? Why does yoga, so often lauded as a universal panacea for stress, trigger me so profoundly?

Part of it, yes, was the sun and heat, potent external triggers for my hypomanic states. But it was deeper. Yoga, with its emphasis on stillness and internal focus, forced me to slow down and confront emotions, thoughts, and sensations I often manage through more active means. For someone with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), this intense internal spotlight can paradoxically amplify anxiety, turning a quiet moment into an overwhelming surge of internal noise. It removes the familiar distractions I’ve built.

Then there’s the trauma from past experiences – the body shaming, the frustration of not “landing positions right.” For someone navigating Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), where self-perception and emotional regulation can be intensely challenging, these moments of perceived failure or external judgment can be deeply damaging. The aesthetic of “yoga for the ‘Gram” that often surrounds outdoor practices felt like another layer of pressure, highlighting my perceived inability to fit a perfect, serene image.

Today, however, an insight from my NASM “Impact of Movement on Mental Health” course illuminated it all. The idea that yoga is universally beneficial for mental health, despite all its valid attributes, is a stereotype. It’s okay to not like yoga. For some individuals with specific mental health diagnoses, certain physical activities can actually be counterproductive, even harmful, acting as significant triggers.

As an instructor, this insight is essential. A client might be pushing themselves to understand a class, trying to “nail the moves,” but battling an internal struggle you can’t see. We now know that certain class formats stimulate individuals with different diagnoses differently. For me, the stillness, the internal focus, and the potential for emotional unearthing in yoga can trigger my Bipolar Disorder (Type 2), GAD, and BPD.

So, let this be a powerful reminder: don’t fall for the propaganda. The idea that yoga is the sole or best path for mental health is a harmful stereotype. It’s okay if yoga isn’t for you. The most important thing is to find the movement that truly supports your well-being, respects your unique brain chemistry, and empowers you to thrive. Listen to your body, honor your triggers, and choose the path that genuinely brings you peace and strength.

Damaris Galdames-Hough