Note: I'm using the term "treatment" here in the medical sense, to describe something that is done to someone for the purposes of alleviating suffering.

I presented at an autism conference this weekend, offering Yoga for Autistic Folks: Affirming Practices for Neurodivergent Needs. I really wanted to send the message that no person needs to be fixed because we are all whole and complete, and yoga is a practice of remembering that. I knew there would be people coming who wanted to know how yoga might help autistic people, and I struggled with how to communicate that yoga isn’t a treatment for autism that will make outwardly challenging behaviors stop. It also felt important to me that everyone who showed up felt a sense of belonging, whatever their motivation for coming. As I prepared my presentation, I became attached to making sure that my message would be received without alienating anyone in the room. I scripted and re-scripted what I should say, until I lost myself in stress and uncertainty. The “right” words wouldn’t come. I wondered why I felt so strongly that yoga isn’t a treatment, and if I was willing to stand my ground against a challenge to that belief. Eventually, I paused work to practice yoga when I noticed my stress was increasing; I just needed a break.

Following my practice time, I knew I needed to set aside the worry over the messaging and focus on preparing myself to hold the space. Even though I would show up in an anxious and tired human body with a name, pronouns, and identity labels, it wasn’t Yoga for Neurodiversity that I was offering, it was Yoga. My words would only be the right words when they flowed from my heart rather than my head. Each person would receive the message they needed and were ready for as long as I got out of the way.

Because my brain is a stubborn machine, I also took a moment to relabel a slide that said “Benefits of yoga for autistic people” to “What we learn through practice.” It seemed a rational action to shift the focus away from any suggestion of fixing, and reaffirmed my belief that yoga is not a treatment.

Of course, I know that people who practice yoga do experience benefits, including autistic people, but when I look at yoga as something that acts upon me to improve myself in any measurable way, that primes me to be on the lookout for proof that it’s working. That mindset takes away from the whole point of the practice, and then I think it’s valid to ask whether it’s even yoga anymore; yoga becomes a means to an end— something to do, or something that is happening to me rather than within me. And when I fall into this mindset in times when the fruits of my efforts are not evident, I become discouraged and lose faith in the practice. I forget that showing up with the purpose to embody the principles of yoga is the practice, and the technique I use to facilitate connection with true Self isn’t the important part.