Proudly Practicing Bad Yoga: Why I Unroll the Mat Anyway

I am proud to practice bad yoga.

Not ironically. Not self-deprecatingly. Proudly.

Because somewhere in my twenties, I dipped a toe into yoga…like so many of us did. A few classes here and there. A mat that stayed in the corner. Some vague admiration for the women who could handstand like gymnasts and breathe like monks. I never got deep into the practice, and eventually, I drifted away entirely.

But now, years later, I’ve come back to yoga…not to master it, not to Instagram it, and definitely not to impress anyone. I’ve returned to it with the full knowledge that I am stiff, wobbly, and often completely out of sync with the Asana Rebel instructor chirping “flow” at me.

And I’m proud of that. Because I finally understand why I’m doing it.

Watching my parents age was a jolt of reality and an uncomfortable glimpse at my possible future. My mother struggled to go up and down stairs without pausing to catch her breath. My father suffered from cervical and spinal stenosis that stole his comfort and mobility daily. His Parkinson’s and Lewy Body Dementia only made things worse.

I realized, through their pain, that I needed to take my future seriously.

I no longer say, “I want to live a long life,” as if that’s enough. Instead, I’ve decided to get specific:

• I want to be able to lift my own bags when I travel.

• I want to sit on long train or plane rides without my body betraying me.

• I want to get up and down from those terrible metal bleachers to cheer on (hopefully) grandkids playing football or baseball.

• I want to get down on the floor to play with children…or pick something up…and then get up again without sounding like a construction site.

None of that will happen by accident. And so, yoga.

Even bad yoga.

Because what I’ve learned is this: you don’t have to be good at yoga for it to be good for you.

Yoga improves flexibility, yes…but it also supports balance, posture, and circulation. It increases core strength, reduces the risk of falls (a major danger as we age), and helps keep the spine and joints from stiffening into disuse. Even practicing once a week has been shown to improve sleep, decrease inflammation, and reduce stress hormones that wear our bodies down over time.

It also reconnects me with breath, intention, and presence…something I desperately need in a world that’s always shouting louder and faster.

But maybe most importantly, it reminds me that showing up matters more than showing off.

So I unroll the mat. I breathe deeply. I tip over sometimes. I forget the next pose. I modify a lot. I often pass gas (I’m middle-aged and this seems to be my new norm…deal with it). And I always, always feel better after.

I may not look like a yogi. But I’m building a future version of myself who will still be climbing stairs, sitting on benches, and standing with strength…because I chose to practice badly today.

And that, my friends, is the most radical kind of yoga there is.