For a long time, I thought Yin Yoga was the "why bother?" practice.

I didn't really see the point. Holding a pose for three or four minutes seemed unnecessary. I was already fairly flexible and if I was going to dedicate time to movement, I wanted to feel like I was accomplishing something. Building strength, improving balance, increasing mobility, checking something off the list. Yin didn't seem to offer much of that, and I couldn't understand why anyone would choose to spend an hour that way.

Looking back, I can see that my resistance had very little to do with Yin itself.

Like many people, I had become very good at doing. There was always something that needed attention. Work, family, responsibilities, exercise, errands, plans. The list never seemed to end. Moving from one thing to the next felt normal. Being busy felt normal. In many ways, I measured a good day by what I had accomplished. What I didn't recognize at the time was how uncomfortable I had become with simply being still.

At first, I assumed Yin was simply a stretching class. As I spent more time with the practice, I began to understand that there was a whole world inside Yin that I hadn't appreciated before. What surprised me most, though, wasn't the physical practice. It was the stillness.

In a Yin pose there isn't much to distract you. There is no flowing sequence to remember and no balancing challenge demanding your full attention. Instead, you settle into a shape and stay there. You notice the sensations in the body, the rhythm of the breath, and perhaps most of all, the activity of the mind. Somewhere along the way, I had started to believe that every moment needed to be productive. Time needed to result in something measurable. Rest, stillness, and pause were things to fit in after everything else was done.

The trouble is that everything else is never done. Life has a way of filling the space available to it. There always seems to be another responsibility, another project, another opportunity, or simply another item on the list. And while effort is important, I've come to believe that effort alone isn't enough.

Over time, Yin became less the physical and more about balance. It became a counterweight to the constant pull toward doing, achieving, and producing. A reminder that wellness isn't built only through effort. It is also built through recovery, reflection, and creating space to reconnect with ourselves.

Ironically, the practice I once questioned has become a valued practice, although that doesn't mean I've mastered it. The pull toward productivity is still there. There are days when strength training, walking, teaching classes, answering emails, or tackling a project all seem easier to justify than spending an hour in stillness. I still catch myself believing that I should be doing something more useful.

Maybe that's why I keep coming back to Yin. Not because I've figured it out, but because I haven't.

Yin continues to hold an important place in my life, not because I practice it perfectly or as regularly as I would like, but because it reminds me of something I need to remember again and again: life can't be all about accomplishing something. The to-do list will always be there. The next responsibility, project, or opportunity will always be waiting.

Yin invites me to pause long enough to notice that beneath all of that doing there is still a quieter part of myself waiting to be heard. Some days I listen more easily than others, but I keep coming back.