I went to a yoga workshop this weekend. It said it was going to be a workshop on “Radical Self-Love”, so I was really excited. It was as if the workshop had been created for me, right? Right. I wore long stretchy pants and a t-shirt. I expected that lots of talking was going to happen, and maybe some backbends and gentle, restorative poses, and lots of savasana-ing. I didn’t expect to be sweating a whole lot.

My expectations were incorrect.

The class was active (really active). I was not just sweating, but dripping sweat, mere minutes into it. My thighs were shaking during my warrior poses, my hips were decidedly not squared when they were supposed to be, and I was wobbling all over the place.

Gone are the days when I was the most flexible/most experienced/most whatever student in the class. Now I’m just another girl who hasn’t been to a yoga class in eight months because she’d intimidated by the perfect-looking NYC yoga people.

And I’m fine with this. No, really, I am. Really.

Because I remember what it was like when I was one of the rockstar students in yoga class. When I’d go every day, and push my body into pose perfection. When I’d look in the mirror, while in a pose, and feel nothing but hate for the way I looked. I had no consideration for the fact that I was tired at the end of class, and that it didn’t feel particularly great on one particular day to sink that deeply into camel pose. There was no question. I had to do it the way it was meant to be done, whether it felt good or not. I had to be the best at it, because I had to be the best in everything I did. Which was an excuse to beat myself into submission, physically and mentally, every moment of every day.

These days, I’ve let go of the need to be the best at everything.

Now, I’m good at some things. I’m good at my particular stripe of coaching. I’m good at photographing people in a certain way. I’m good at listening (most of the time). I’m good at being the best partner I can be.

I’m mediocre at many things, too. I’m not the best yoga-doer, and I don’t plan on becoming the best any time soon. I barely ever cook intricate recipes anymore, because I have other things to do that I feel more passionate about at the moment. I’m bad at making small talk, and I have no stamina when playing long-running board games (though, really, Monopoly is just way too long).

Ultimately, I’m pretty sure I got just what I was supposed to out of the workshop. I found out that I completely misjudged what the workshop was going to be. And I loved myself anyway. I fell out of poses. And I loved myself anyway. I didn’t have my own yoga mat. And I loved myself anyway. I rocked back and forth in child’s pose because it felt good. And I loved myself anyway. During final savasana, my mind wandered to what my friend and I might eat after the class. And I loved myself anyway.

That’s the essence of truly radical self-love. Being imperfect and human and even deeply flawed, and loving yourself. Just the way you are. Now.

Even if that means loving yourself while you’re red-faced, shaking, and dripping sweat on your yoga mat.