Holding Space Is Not Neutral: Teaching Yoga in a Fractured, Violent Moment

Let’s stop pretending this is just “a stressful time.”

People are being executed. Rights are being stripped. Entire communities are living in fear. Families are divided by ideology, media narratives, and fundamentally different ideas of whose lives matter. The country is not simply polarized; it is destabilized. And many of us are expected to walk into studios, gyms, and classrooms and act as if this is business as usual

Smile. Breathe. Keep it light.

That expectation is not only unrealistic, it’s dishonest.

As teachers, especially in yoga and wellness spaces, we’re often told our role is to “hold space” for difficult emotions. There’s a Yoga Journal article that outlines thoughtful ways to do this: don’t preach, don’t politicize, don’t fix, don’t therapize. Create a container. Let the practice speak. Offer breath and presence instead of answers.

That guidance is useful, but it’s incomplete for this moment.

Because holding space is not neutral. And silence is not always safe.

The Myth of the Neutral Room

There’s a comforting idea in wellness culture that the studio can be an apolitical sanctuary. A place where we “leave the outside world at the door.” But the outside world does not stay outside. It lives in bodies. It shows up in nervous systems. It walks into class with people who are scared, grieving, angry, numb, or bracing for what comes next.

When someone is worried about their safety, their healthcare, their child’s future, or whether they still belong in this country, asking them to simply “drop in” without acknowledgment can feel like erasure.

Neutrality, in moments of violence and injustice, often protects the status quo. And the status quo is harming people.

What Holding Space Actually Requires Right Now

Holding space does not mean turning your class into a political rally. It does not mean offering commentary you’re unqualified to give. It does not mean processing trauma in a room full of strangers.

But it also does not mean pretending nothing is happening.

Real holding space right now looks like this:

It looks like acknowledging that people are carrying heavy things.

It looks like naming fear, grief, and anger as normal responses to abnormal conditions.

It looks like understanding that regulation comes before transcendence.

It looks like recognizing that for some students, simply existing in public spaces already requires courage.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is not a solution, but the truth:

“This is a lot. You’re not imagining it. And you don’t have to pretend you’re unaffected here.”

We Are Not Therapists, But We Are Human

There’s a fine line teachers are constantly warned not to cross. Don’t counsel. Don’t diagnose. Don’t overstep. All of that is valid.

But there’s another line we don’t talk about enough: the line where emotional avoidance becomes harm.

When systems are violent, asking people to self-soothe without context can feel like gaslighting. When fear is rational, telling people to “just breathe through it” can feel like dismissal.

Presence matters. Honesty matters. Naming reality matters.

You don’t have to explain why someone is hurting to acknowledge that they are hurting.

So How Involved Are We Supposed to Be?

This is the question every teacher I know is wrestling with.

The answer is uncomfortable: there is no universal rule. But there is an ethical compass.

You are not required to be silent to be professional.

You are not required to be neutral to be safe.

You are not required to carry everyone’s pain to be compassionate.

You are responsible for the environment you create.

A space that allows people to exhale.

A space that doesn’t demand emotional bypassing.

A space where bodies can discharge stress instead of suppressing it.

A space where care is practiced, not performative.

Movement as Refuge, Not Escape

Yoga, fitness, and somatic practices have always been political in the deepest sense: they deal with bodies. Bodies that are regulated, controlled, policed, protected, or discarded depending on who they belong to.

Offering movement, breath, and grounding right now isn’t escapism. It’s survival support.

But only if we’re honest about why people need it.

This Is the Line I’m Holding

I don’t believe our job is to tell students what to think.

I don’t believe our job is to pretend everything is fine.

I don’t believe our job is to be comfortable.

I believe our job is to be present, awake, and humane.

To offer steadiness without denial.

To offer care without control.

To offer refuge without erasure.

Holding space is not about being passive.

It’s about being brave enough to acknowledge reality and still show up with compassion.

And right now, that matters more than ever.

Read the Article Here:

10 Ways to Hold Space for Difficult Emotions in Your Yoga Classes

• Curated by Karin Rogers

• Shared with intention by Om What A Wonderful World