Kristin Houdyshell
Forum Replies Created
-
Posts
-
Thank you, Allison, for sharing your reflection. It is nice to hear you felt a deep sense of calmness when sitting with Susan, and I hear how much you respect her and her teachings. Your ability to be comfortable in silence and actively be present for others is beautiful, and I’m looking forward to hearing where this practice leads you.
Thank you, Jodi, for sharing your reflection. It is warming to read how much you respect and trust Susan, and how you already have a vision of what it may look like to offer instruction in the near future. I share in your sentiment that you are excited to find out where the training will take you. I am excited to find out where it will take you, too.
I’m not sure I feel ready to offer 1:1 instruction. In some ways, my answer to this question is yes. I feel moderately prepared to hold space for another person to practice as I practice alongside them. In other ways, my answer to this question is no, or at least I’m not sure. I’m not sure I’m fully prepared to answer all of the questions I hope students will have. I’m not sure I’m prepared for any situation that may arise, especially given they haven’t happened yet. I’m also not sure I’m prepared to offer instruction in person, with people sharing physical space with one another.
To pressure test my answer to this question, I imagine some of the more challenging environments that I’d be offering instruction in (that are within reach, that I know of). The settings I envision might be “hard,” for example, are: offering instruction to some of my mentors or work-related colleagues, offering instruction to kids, offering instruction in person, or offering instruction to someone I love. It seems hard to offer instruction to work-related colleagues because in doing so I would be sharing a different facet of my world, which feels intimate. I envision challenges (and joys) may arise when giving instruction to kids for more reasons than one. Kids express themselves differently than adults, and differently then I’m used to. Kids may also have a harder time sitting, which is completely fine but I’m not sure how I’d help hold space for a kid through the restlessness. I’m also not sure what it is like to offer instruction in person. In my experience, I often feel the energy of someone more in person than online, so holding space for the full range of how they are showing up to class in parallel to my own energy may be hard. I also envision it may be challenging offering instruction to those that I love (if they come to my public classes, for example) because we know each other deep enough to also feel the weight of each others presence. Meaning, we have shared histories. So, it may be challenging to offer instruction to someone for whom I share a nuanced history with if my own practice is not firm.
In short, I’m not sure I’m prepared. I feel like what is missing in helping me feel prepared is actually living out the experience of offering instruction in a class outside of our practice sessions. So, to get to that point I need to offer instruction. And, I’m sure, there will always be surprises or ways I can grow in how I show up as an instructor.
Thank you, Cheryl, for sharing your reflection! It is warming to hear how steadfast you are in sticking to your heart-centered direction—even if it means saying, “I don’t know, yet.” Such a good reminder to stay present so we can fully meet opportunities as they arise!
Thank you, Ana, for sharing! I agree that it is nice to offer a diverse set of pricing systems for students so those that are able to pay the full price, can, and those that are able to taker free classes, can. Hopefully it is a smooth transition as a service provider once you take the role!
I do have judgements on the price point I have seen for yoga classes, but they highly depend on context. For example, I have come across yoga classes that are 33–40$ per 1-hour class in small towns and in bigger cities in the US and in Europe (both financially wealthier, on average, regions). This price seems incredibly high to me, as a consumer. That said, I am not privy to the overhead costs of running those studios, nor do I always get a window into how much each teacher makes per class. However, I do feel uncomfortable when I see classes are priced this high—making them more accessible to the higher end of the monetary class in the area—without an option for a lower price for those on the other end of the wealth spectrum. Meaning, I haven’t often seen classes offered regularly on a sliding scale, which may open accessibility to folks that fall in a broader range of financial means.
Thinking ahead to my own offerings for meditation classes, I have not landed on a pricing system yet. I do agree with some of Susan’s sentiments about feeling uncomfortable when classes are purely donation based. I have come across ones that are donation based that suggest an amount of the donation. I have also come across donations based classes for which the facilitator/studio owner was nudging students to offer more, as they were reaching into their wallets. So, both ends of the pricing spectrum for classes can lead to discomfort across the board.
I do like the model of offering a sliding scale and/or discounts on classes for education-based students/veterans/Queer and or BIPOC folks/disabled folks/etc. I also like the model of working into the studio opportunities for some students to take on “Karmi” roles; meaning, the students offer a service for the studio, like helping care for the space, in exchange for free classes. I have served as a Karmi student a handful of times and it has allowed me to (1) attend class within my financial means, (2) enjoy the class more because I’m not walking away strapped for cash, and (3) feel a greater sense of community as I take part in caring for the space for others, which I find to be of benefit.
Wow, Stina, these are suck starkly different experiences! The honors course sounds absolutely magical (honors courses can be so fun!) and I’m curious how the college procured a castle. Sorry to hear about the stressful accounting course. It seems like the environments devoid of whimsy, levity, and joy can make for less and less ideal learning environments.
Thank you, Susan, for sharing. Yes, trust in the teacher can be really useful in maintaining an ideal learning environment—along with good lighting and a sense of spaciousness in the classroom through humor and an awareness of the clock. I second all of these qualities in an ideal learning environment. And that is so interesting to hear about your experience in Nepal!
There are a handful of situations in which I had an ideal learning environment, the earliest one I can recall was in second grade. The environment was in a public school and the classroom was still a “typical” design, but what made it stand out was the compassion of the teacher and the packed schedule we’d have on the day-to-day. I recall most days we spent 2 or 3 sessions outside to play, eat, or for exercise, we had art, music, and theater classes, and we had activities like pajama-day, halloween night, book fair, etc. So, we had a diverse roster of learning opportunities. At the time, I was also struggling in my home environment and my sleep was bearing the brunt of it. It seemed my teacher knew this without me telling her, and so she would let me occasionally sleep through some classes when everyone was out for an out-of-class session. This compassion built psychological safety in the classroom that helped me want to learn more, excel in my work, and be engaged in the learning process. My teacher, Mrs. McFarland, is still one of my favorite academic teachers and instilled in me that an ideal learning environment requires safety across the board.
Less than ideal learning environments have been ones in which there was not this psychological safety, coupled with extremely jarring stimuli (like loud noises, lots of people talking, clutter on the tables, someones potent food, etc.). I have experienced these environments in laboratories/co-working spaces. Unfortunately, I also experienced a lack of psychological safety in some of my classrooms in grade school. Specifically, in third grade I recall my teacher was labeled as the “tough” teacher, Ms. Alamo, and she would mock and yell at some of the students. At the time, bullying was also more common, so this recipe led to an un-ideal learning environment—especially for younger kids that did not, yet, have the autonomy to remove themselves from the environment.
Thank you, Andrew, for sharing! This is such an interesting response from the prospective mentor. In them setting that friendship boundary, it sounds like they valued the relationship and the integrity of the mentor role. I’m curious how your felt about their response!
Thank your, Vy, for sharing your experience as both a yoga student and teacher. It is nice to hear that you hope students connect with their yoga experience rather than focus on them liking you as an instructor. It sounds like embodying self-compassion is a useful way for students to feel more connected to their own experiences on the yoga mat.
Thank you, Susan for your reflection. It is helpful to be reminded that the paramita practice is a practice on how to be of benefit to others and ourselves, rather than a list of goals to achieve. What a salient message from your mom, and a loving reminder that patience is a quality worth embodying.
Thank you, Sandie, for the vulnerability in your response. It sounds like you are observing quite a lot, and have been incredibly patient with yourself in the process of these ebbs and flows. It is interesting that patience is both what you resist and practice the most—potentially, through the resistance you practice patience with yourself and others but in a less obvious way. Hopefully the swings from practicing practice to resisting it and vice versa will become less turbulent. Thank you for sharing.
Yes, as a student I have experienced academic mentors who become too concerned with my inner experience, apart from concerning themselves with the quality of my work. It felt uncomfortable and like it was crossing an energetic barrier, so I removed myself from that mentorship. Thoughts of course arose like “Am I making this up?” “What is wrong with me?” “Would other people see me as a problem student if I left?” Those questions occasionally haunt me, but to a much much smaller extent.
I have also experienced academic advisors being what I perceived as quite open and vulnerable with their lives with me. However, in these instances it felt like the energetic boundaries were still firmly in place and that they were sharing from their heart after making a conscious, calculated decision to do so. It felt nice to be trusted with their vulnerability. And, with the desire to preserve the integrity of the student/teacher relationship, I was also cautious about not asking too many follow-up questions (if at all), not providing advice that was not asked of me, or belaboring the conversation—like letting a pin drop on the floor and carefully hearing the resonance of it’s impact on the ground.
With my most trusted academic (and spiritual) mentors I have definitely experienced vulnerability hangovers. Sometimes, depending on the season, I find my tears cannot be held back and I have be stuck bursting into a waterfall of emotional expression. With the best mentors, they have sat with me through the intensity but never tried to fix the situation. They provided a safe space for me to cry, offered a compassionate response, and patiently waited for me to compose myself. I am incredibly grateful for this teaching. When I find myself more in the teacher role, I hope to take the lessons of pain (from the uncomfortable encounters) and compassion (from the appropriate heart-centered mentorships) with me as I serve the role of a teacher to other students.
I feel most connected to the paramita of discipline. Largely this connection stems from my own habit of relentlessness in coming back to a state of mindfulness and feeling pleasure in developing patience. It is because of the desire for wakefulness that I fall back—as a form of discipline—on trusting the practice and living out a life of virtue. In concert, this discipline is reinforced from the act of straying away from a sense of wakefulness. As I drift my attention out of the present moment, I have to use discipline to come back to a sense of presence. I feel most connected to this paramita because “the” discipline and “my action of” being disciplined feel like the safety net or guardrails I can find comfort in. By staying within them, I can take refuge in the present moment and know that I will love myself through whatever feelings or circumstance arises.
I feel most disconnected to the paramita of strength/power. This disconnection comes from falling into the trap of comparing to others. Meaning, the cycle that diminishes my connection to strength goes something like this: not overtly sharing knowledge/wisdom, seeing other people “share the thing,” see the positive social reward/acceptance they get, then feeling insecure because I didn’t “share the thing first” (not like they did either 😉 ). The cycle reinforces feelings of scarcity. What’s strange is that I also feel deeply that in order for myself to be free of suffering we all have to be free from suffering, no exceptions. Yet, when I see someone working towards their own liberation and sharing the wisdom they have gained along the way, panic is sparked in me. Questions arise, like “Well if they shared this wisdom then would it be inauthentic or perceived as copying if I did, too?” “What is my true path that is unique to me?” “How am I supposed to be of benefit to the world?” “What’s the point of me trying to share wisdom if someone else has done it already?” (Or worse) “I believe someone else for sharing their wisdom, but would anyone take me seriously?” Almost all of these questions stem from insecurity. None of them really matter. What matters is that I live a life of virtue and aspire to be of benefit to all sentient beings, regardless. Hopefully the paramita of strength will follow.
