From January to March, I taught the “wall stand” in every class, every week. As my students stood, I navigated the room, giving group instructions and individualized corrections. I was constantly moving, constantly speaking.
In contrast, when doing my daily wall stand, I was alone at home—often in pre-dawn darkness, always in silence. I was struck by the difference between my students’ experience and my own.
In my role as yoga teacher, why am I always speaking? Granted, the Iyengar yoga teaching method is highly verbal. Teachers don’t stand in front and perform the entire sequence, follow-the-leader style. They walk around giving students hands-on attention. In this vein, I scan each student, using my voice and vocabulary to teach.
But must I speak nonstop? No, I decided, especially regarding my repeated theme pose. With repetition, even beginners get the gist. So I “warned” my students that I’d be absolutely silent the following week.
Giving My Students the Silent Treatment
Guess what—I had to force myself to be silent. For one class, I even stood outside the door. I mulled over this struggle. By nature, I’m a self-reliant, quiet person. I don’t need constant company and chitchat. I enjoy early-morning exercise in solitude, while the world is still sleeping.
I do live with others (human and canine), so I’m frequently conversing in my day-to-day life. And when visiting far-flung family and friends, I’m chatty—so much catching up to do! But I’d have no problem being mute for a day. Or two. Or longer. My dream retreat would be a silent one. Strict no-talking policy 24/7. Anyone know of a worthy silent retreat?
As a teacher, however, I feel compelled to fill silence with words—to describe, to explain, to correct, to encourage, to reinforce. Except during Savasana, silent moments are few.
Why this incongruity?
First, I want to give my students their money’s worth. They’re paying me to teach them. If I’m silent, what am I imparting? If I’m not actively teaching, I feel as if I’m being lazy, somehow negligent.
Second, I teach three online classes, three in person. Online, it’s audio, not video, that continuously links my students and me. They can’t see me (or any classmates), so they lack the visual cues available in in-person classes. Therefore long silences are tricky online; students might assume their Internet went down.
Third, despite my innate introversion, I have a habit of filling silent gaps. If there’s an awkward pause in conversion, I try to ease it—ask a question, tell a story, say something, anything! This habit perhaps carries into my teaching, where I assume that silence is negative, even when it’s not.
Teaching—and Learning—to be Self-Reliant
As winter session progressed, I became increasingly appreciative of silence in teaching. Verbalizing will always be essential, but too much talk can be counterproductive. It might not promote learning.
Silence gives students space to process something—a pose, an idea, a sensation—in their own way. It’s important to develop autonomy. Students might otherwise become dependent on a teacher’s attention, on their voice and words, on their presence in the same room. If they don’t do home practice, they might rarely spend time in their own headspace.
“Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth learning can be taught.” –Oscar Wilde
Home practice can mean different things to different people. It might mean following a YouTube yoga class (what’s the deal with “Yoga with Adriene”?) or doing stretches with your partner. But to me it means practicing alone in silence.
Nowadays I try to give students more silent moments in class. (Note: I still must remind myself that I’m not being negligent when not talking—and force myself to zip it.) It’s a balancing act—how much attention to give, how much freedom. After all, I want to impart what I know, but also facilitate self-reliance in yoga.
Parents probably face a similar dilemma. They should be involved with their kids—and talk, comfort, advise, play with them. But nowadays parents can be overattentive, rarely letting their kids hang out with peers informally, unsupervised—the “helicopter parent” phenomenon. Maybe continuous teaching is over-teaching, akin to the over-attentiveness of helicopter parents. Giving space is essential for growth.
Silence in Class: Modeling Behavior
Class time is limited. Even a 90-minute class (typical for Iyengar yoga) passes in a flash. Some might argue that class time should focus on nuts and bolts—how to do this or that—and that students can repeat poses in silence at home.
True. But it’s important to give students the target experience in class. I’m reminded of a conversation with a student, Roger, about Savasana. He commented that many teachers give short shrift to Savasana.
“I know,” I said, recalling a class taught by a big-name teacher in San Francisco. The last pose we did was Bharadvajasana. Turn right, turn left. Suddenly class was over. No Savasana. That was my first and only class with this teacher, so I don’t know if skipping Savasana was typical.
“Teachers probably run out of time,” I said. “They assume that students can do Savasana later at home.”
“Sure,” Roger said, “but who does? It should be done in class. Set an example.”
Good point. “True,” I said, “like modeling behavior.”
Students often subconsciously mimic what’s done in class. If I relegate Savasana to the “if there’s time” category—or if I never stop talking—students might get the wrong impression, the wrong experience, of yoga.
What are your thoughts on silence during yoga class?
Images: Stanley Park Seawall, Vancouver, Luci Yamamoto.
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