Recently, I wrote about the time I tried meditation, and how my CPTSD added a whole extra layer of “what fresh hell is this?” to the experience. Today I’m about to take you on a journey into the steaming pile of self-improvement and self-torture, also known as hot yoga.

Yes, you heard that right. Hot yoga. The one where they turn the room temperature up to “surface of the sun” and expect you to bend, stretch, and maybe even do some impossible poses while sweating like a human puddle. Let’s be real: if I had known what “hot yoga” actually meant, I might have reconsidered my decision.

So, I sign up for hot yoga, because hey, who doesn’t want to be flexible, strong, and just slightly damp in 90 minutes?

Here’s how it went. News flash: I didn’t die, but I might’ve considered it a few times.

Step 1: “It’s Just Yoga, Right?”

When I first heard about hot yoga, I thought, “Yoga’s cool, right? People do it on their living room floor while pretending to be a Zen master; this should be a walk in the park!” Well, the only thing that’s walking in the park is my self-esteem after that disaster.

Inside, the room looks like a regular yoga studio, but with a twist. It’s hot, like, humidifier-in-the-room-level hot. The temperature is so high, I half-expect the instructor to hand me a snorkel instead of a mat.

As soon as the instructor walks in and the class begins, I immediately feel like I’ve made a huge mistake. She’s glowing, totally at peace with herself, and exudes the aura of someone who definitely knows how to meditate. Meanwhile, I was already questioning my life choices as sweat made a slow descent down my spine into my butt crack.

Step 2: Adjusting to the Heat (Or: Am I Dying?)

Okay, so they heat the room to a balmy 100 degrees (Fahrenheit, not Celsius, thank God, or I’d be a human prune). I immediately want to start hyperventilating. My brain is sending me SOS signals, but I can’t exactly exit mid-class without making a scene. So, I do the only reasonable thing: I pretend to be fine. You know, like every time I try to act cool around people I’m intimidated by.

I try to remember my grounding exercises from therapy. “Breathe in, breathe out,” I tell myself. “Focus on the present.” But when your body is trying to melt into the floor like a wax figure in the sun, it’s hard to stay calm.

And then it hits me: “Oh yeah, this is probably a bit much for my CPTSD, huh?”

For someone with CPTSD, environments that mess with your body’s sense of safety, like intense heat, silence, and being hyper-aware of every limb, can kick your nervous system into overdrive. It’s not just discomfort; it’s that sudden, uninvited flash of old panic, the kind that doesn’t care you’re in yoga shorts and not a war zone. My body doesn’t always know the difference between “hard workout” and “incoming threat,” so while others were finding their inner peace, I was in fight-or-flight, hoping no one noticed me dissociating during pigeon pose.

Step 3: The Poses

They start us with some basic stretches, and I’m thinking, “Okay, I’ve got this.” I mean, I’m not doing Cirque du Soleil over here, but I’ve got a solid downward dog. Or so I thought.

As I try to get into these poses, I realize I have way more sweat on me than I thought possible. It’s like my body’s decided to shed every drop of liquid it owns.

The heat had turned me into a slip-and-slide. My mat, my arms, my soul, everything was moist in the worst way. Then came Warrior Pose. I tried. I really did. But I looked less like a poised, empowered warrior and more like someone who stubbed their toe on their way to battle.

Step 4: The Mental Workout

I start to notice my thoughts running wild, like a toddler on a sugar high. “Am I doing this right? I’m sweating like a pig. Everyone can probably see my sweat stain. Wait, is my sweat stain bigger than theirs? Oh no, I’m the sweaty person now. This is definitely not a good look.”

But then, I remind myself, “Hey, I’m here. I’m trying something new.” I showed up. Sure, my nervous system was giving me the middle finger, but I hadn’t left.

The truth is, hot yoga brought up a lot. For someone with CPTSD, the heat, the body awareness, and the silence can all stir things up. But oddly enough, it also gave me a chance to practice being present in my body without judgment. That’s not something that comes easily. But that day, I did it.

Step 5: The Victory (and the Cold Shower)

The class finally ends, and I roll up my mat in what can only be described as a sweaty, crumpled mess. I exit the class feeling like a limp noodle that’s been steamrolled… Or maybe just a person who needs to lie down in a cold shower and put on clean underwear because the pair I currently have on feels as if I have wet myself.

But even through the sweat and discomfort, I felt proud. Hot yoga might not be my thing, but I survived it. I didn’t bolt. I stretched, physically and emotionally, way outside my comfort zone.

And hey, in the world of self-improvement/self-torture, that’s about as close to a win as you can get.

So, if you’re thinking about trying something new that pushes you to your limits, take a deep breath, trust yourself, and keep in mind: you’ve got this. Even for the ten minutes before you‘ll probably be thinking if you‘ll ever be able to bend again.

And if not, well, there’s always next time. Or, you know, the couch, a cold drink, and a much less sweaty book.

Photo by Christopher Campbell on Unsplash