I will always describe myself as a Black girl, born and raised in West Philadelphia though I had experiences unlike most of the Black girls I grew up with. I was raised in a home where I felt I had to always be productive, whether it was doing chores, doing homework or being active outside. I hated sports, barely learned how to ride a bike and did not feel I fit in with the popular kids on the block. I was afraid of boys, because I knew my daddy would kill me if I came home pregnant, and I had three annoying brothers and was not too fond of boys for that reason alone. I threw myself into the one thing that I excelled at, and that was school.

At the age of thirteen, I received a full scholarship to an all girls boarding school in a small, wealthy town in the South, and it changed my outlook on life outside of the urban setting forever. I was not only witness to the stark differences and available opportunities of private school education, I was also exposed to racism, elitism and white supremacy that I had not experienced in West Philly. It was there that the activist and community organizer innate in me emerged, which attracted the humanity and compassion in some of the non Black administrators, teachers and students that created a life perspective that allows me to coexist in both worlds authentically.

I say all that to say that my first experience being a member of the global majority in an all white space made me both more open minded and more aware of the need to be vigilant in speaking out and up about injustice and abolition for Black and brown folks. Through my college years and beyond I have forged deep and long lasting community with Black women that have been sustainable and life saving. When I moved to the suburbs for work and started a family, I formed friendships with both Black and non Black women that have been deeply supportive of my activism and aware of my stressors and struggles as a solo parent raising two totally different, neurodiverse young people. This is how I came to learn of Kripalu , Center for Yoga and Health.

During the pandemic, a friend and yoga teacher gifted me the opportunity to attend her outdoor Yoda Nidra classes in support of my community organizing and prison reform work. It was not the first time I experienced yoga nidra, but it was the first time that I felt completely seen and cared for as a full bodied Black woman in a predominantly white yoga class; it was exactly what my nervous system needed at the time. So I kept showing up.

She eventually introduced me to her teacher, Tracee Stanley, so when I saw that Tracee was facilitating a workshop at Kripaul the weekend of my birthday, I knew that it was not a coincidence and that I was feeling drawn to be there. Kripalu felt like a magical place and I felt a huge chunk of fear leave my spirit when I left. I was again finding my way in a predominantly white, predominantly wealth space which seemed so far from the life I was living that I had no expectation of returning. Two years later, I found myself applying for an activists fellowship and was awarded an entire week to rest and restore at Kripalu. When I opened up the email, I was both extremely honored and excited and read it several times before it sank in. The scholarship would afford me the opportunity to spend six days and five nights at Kripalu and all I had to do was get there.

Trust that the way knows the way

This year was different. I was feeling a heaviness that I haven’t felt since my mother died more than twenty years ago. I was exhausted, sad and struggling with getting sound sleep and feeling anxious more than usual. Much of it could be attributed to menopause and being a Black woman raising Black children in this world, but I recognized that it all led me to this place of depression. For the first time in five years, I knew I needed help and found a therapist, but I also knew that I needed to make space for myself to step away from my every day responsibilities and have a deep reset.I struggled with carving out significant time for myself, with the responsibilities of a householder with children, but I was completely exhausted and knew that I had to figure out a way to accept this opportunity.

When we arrived, I instantly felt the peaceful energy but couldn’t help but notice the absence of Black and brown folks in the hallways and other spaces – other than the kitchen and the cleaning crew. As I walked past the registration desk, through the hallways, and to my private room, I felt a sense of guilt and wondered if any of those workers were given the same opportunity to rest. After lunch, I walked out the back door to take in the more than one hundred acres of breathtaking sacred land, I immediately felt overwhelmed by the presence of the ancestors. Each time I walked outside or down to the river to take in the beauty of the land I felt accompanied by supportive, ancestral energy. When I sat looking at the mountainous landscape I could almost see a long line of warriors, standing tall with their eyes watching and waiting to move forward when the coast was clear. The Stockbridge-Munsee Band of Mohican Indians were still present, protecting and tending to their descendants and land stolen to create this meditative experience for the mostly wealthy, white visitors.

Not all of the white faces I encountered looked happy to see me sharing their space, but I took up the space anyway. I no longer felt that I didn’t belong, but that I was welcomed here; I was called here for a reason, and that this was a time for me to listen in deeply to their wisdom and know that I belonged here more than anyone else, regardless of what the other visitors conveyed through actions or attitudes. This knowing transcended the stares I would get because of my brown skin, the lack of eye contact that I felt often in my suburban neighborhood back home, the Ayurvedic massage practitioner who seemed annoyed that I was unable to remove my waist beads and the difficulty finding full sized t shirts and clothing in the gift shop.

To say the weekend was transformative is an understatement. I left feeling that I had shed years of grief and obligation, formed a deeper connection to my ancestors, and clarity around my own needs as a mother and Black woman walking in this world that often does not honor her presence. I am so grateful for the experience.

There are many mini sanctuaries in the city and surrounding suburbs that are much more easily accessible, affordable, and cater to the needs of Black and brown people, but they don’t all provide the acres of land for venturing, fresh, locally sourced food and the feeling of deep presence that I felt at Kripalu. If you get the opportunity to travel there, go. Go with the awareness that not everyone will welcome you there, but those who will, are there waiting for you. Aho.

“What belongs to you shall come to you ” ~ Yogi teabag

~ Toni