I vividly remember attending a workshop in Melbourne with a famous, influential teacher who had flown in from overseas for the weekend. She was confident. She was charismatic. She was authoritative. I had watched her on the internet, read about her in Yoga Journal. I’d once taken a greyhound bus from Albuquerque to Phoenix to take her workshop. I even had her DVD.

When the class started I was nervous but excited to be in the presence of a fun, engaging thought-leader.

Her sequence was well thought out. The instruction was clear and crisp, while also heartfelt and genuine. She quickly created an atmosphere where it felt okay to experiment with new things and practice going beyond what I might normally try.

After a couple of hours it became apparent she was working us towards Pincha Mayurasana (forearm stand). She told us she would show us how to double leg lift into the Asana at the wall. She explained she had a ‘secret weapon’ to get us into the pose, even if we had never had managed it before. That with her special instructions our toes would float effortlessly off the floor and our legs would lightly lift into the full inversion.

She was famous, a ‘yogalebrity, so she must know what she was doing. I was nervous — slightly sceptical but excited.

Ultimately, I believed her.

At that time in that lineage it was common practice for students — rather than teachers — to do the demos. The theory was that by enabling a student to achieve something they didn’t think they could, they’d feel empowered and uplifted. Also commonplace at that time was group applause when the demonstrator achieved the Asana. Often, the teacher and the demonstrating student would then embrace. Everyone clapped. It was a ‘thing’. (A problematic ‘thing’, in hindsight.)

Perhaps she remembered me from the workshop in Phoenix. Perhaps I just looked like I needed empowering.

Whatever the reason, she chose me to demonstrate.

I’m an introvert. An empath. My ‘signature move’, according to my teacher, is to leave a workshop early without anyone noticing. I’ve got a long torso, tight hips and I’ve never been flexible. I’m the least likely candidate to double leg lift into Pincha.

But she picked me.

And in that moment my mind went in three different directions simultaneously.

Direction 1: Deer in Headlights

Back then, when I walked into a Yoga studio I always felt like the least fit, least bendy, sweatiest, definitely the most red-cheeked. I always had the most unfashionable yoga attire. Never the right type of drink bottle, the right brand of yoga mat, the right snacks.

In those days I’d muster just enough courage to enrol in a workshop then spend much of the time terrified of standing out or being called out.

I was absolutely shitting myself.

Direction 2: Anatomy Geek

I’d been practising Yoga since I was eight, I’d been blessed with exceptional teachers, and I’d been a committed teacher for some time. I knew my body, it’s abilities and limitations. With my proportions, flexibility and strength I knew double leg lifting was simply not possible for my proportions.

But she was senior to me. She must know more than I did.

She must know more — about my body — than I did.

Direction 3: People Pleaser

Even though I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do it, a part of me was terrified to let her down. I was so embarrassed that I was going to somehow make her look foolish. That her secret weapon wouldn’t work.

Worse, if I said ‘no’ to her request, the entire gathering would think I was some kind of wowser. That I was scared. That I’d missed some incredible opportunity to not only receive a generous gift from a global expert, I’d walked away from the possibility of transcending a significant self-limiting belief.

With these three voices whirling around in my head, things got worse. Because to demonstrate Pincha Mayurasana double leg lift at the wall, here’s what happens:

1. The entire, large group gather closely to watch.

2. I face the wall, on forearms and knees.

3. The teacher speaks to everyone else, and points to my body.

4. She cues me to lift my knees off the floor and walk my feet in.

5. I’ve got my head down and my ass in the air.

I’m literally pointing my vulva at about 50 people, while they talk about me. And I can’t see what’s going on.

Really.

Then she cues the double leg lift ‘secret weapon’ instruction.

I do exactly what she says.

But nothing happens.

No toes floating.

No legs miraculously lifting into the air.

She repeated the instruction with a warm and reassuring voice. Several times. Still nothing.

No double leg lift to the wall Pincha Mayarasana…

… just Amy’s undercarriage, crickets and a room full of people.

It wouldn’t have been more than four minutes I spent like that, but it felt like a lifetime.

I just wanted to disappear.

Finally — defeated — she let me put my knees down. I think she found someone else and they went and did the demonstration. I’m not sure. Things were hazy. All I clearly remember as the herd moved away was feeling ashamed, stupid and kind of violated.

There was no follow up with her. She didn’t debrief it with me later. In fact, she didn’t speak to me again the entire workshop. I certainly wasn’t chosen for any future demonstrations. No one mentioned a thing.

Demonstrations can be really important. But we need to be so careful about who does them, how we do them and why we do them.

***

I’m currently teaching a ‘Yoga for Men’ class in my small town. A few weeks ago I introduced simple, brief, seated meditation. I demonstrated Sukhasana and Siddhasana as options, both with prop supports. Then I mentioned Padmasana and that I wouldn’t teach it because I was unable to do it myself.

But one of my students has ‘got the hips for it’, as he told me while he was doing it. Apparently he used to sit in full lotus while watching TV when he was a kid. That night in class it was fun to share this story. My other students all had a chuckle, identifying more with my hips than his. And they got to see what Padmasana looks like.

But here’s the difference. My student volunteered. In fact, he just came into the pose without me even asking.

If we are going to use our students as our demonstrators, not only should the students self-identify, they should be fully aware of the requirements of the demonstration. For example, perhaps a student is comfortable demonstrating Pincha Mayurasana in the middle of the room but not OK with having their Mula Bandha Kula-facing for five minutes.

***

I remember taking a class once in Bali. The teacher was dynamic and charismatic. He would demonstrate really complicated arm balances and of the 40 or so people in the class, only me and one other student could actually then do the pose he’d demonstrated.

It became apparent that while the teacher was technically ‘demonstrating’, no one was actually meant to be able to do the pose after he showed us how. His ‘demos’ were more about showing the room how proficient and impressive he was. It was more of a display than a demonstration.

Back to my class of blokes. I do demonstrate some poses for them. And when I do I still catch myself defaulting into how I would do the pose in my own practice, rather than how it is more likely to appear in theirs.

In my practice my Adho Mukha Svanasana has my knees more or less straight, heels down, arms straight. But demonstrating it this way would be alienating for my students, most of whom are new to Yoga, all of whom have super tight lower backs and legs. So the appropriate demonstration is for me to show the pose with my knees bent and my heels off the floor. In time — and with practise — this may need to change. My job as the teacher is to monitor and adjust as required.

It’s not my job to be a show pony, flashing all my ‘fancy moves’.

***

Demonstrations are important. They can be a powerful part of what it means to be a yoga teacher.

For students who are new to yoga, being able to see what the teacher is verbally cuing is an important learning tool, especially for people who are more visual learners than aural.

But demonstrations must be done in a way that is for the students’ benefit, never the teacher’s. With the demonstrator’s full consent. And always in a way that is accessible, encouraging and informative to our students.