What Does Strength Mean to You?​

I came across two definitions of strength recently. One said: “the quality or state of being physically strong.” Another offered: “the capacity of an object or substance to withstand great force or pressure.”

Yoga practice touches on both of these definitions, no question. But it got me thinking—which kind of strength truly lasts?

Of course, it's wonderful to be able to lift heavy things, walk up hills, ride a bike for miles, or push and pull when needed. Physical strength matters—especially as we age. I remember riding bikes with my kids when they were younger, easily outpacing them. Now, they fly ahead of me without breaking a sweat. These days, I don’t feel the urge to ride faster than my children—or fast at all, really. (Yes, that’s me getting older!)

What I do want is the strength to keep practicing yoga, protect my bones and joints, and have the stamina to go on long walks. But when it's time to haul the air conditioner up to the attic? That’s a job for my strong, young son. I have nothing to prove.

The second kind of strength—the ability to withstand great force—is the one I’m more interested in cultivating now. The dictionary may have meant a retaining wall, but I see it differently. To me, that kind of strength is resilience.

Resilience, according to good old Google, is:
“the ability to adapt well in the face of adversity, trauma, tragedy, threats, or even significant sources of stress, and to bounce back from difficult experiences. It's a process of adapting successfully and maintaining well-being despite challenges.”

That sounds a lot like strength, doesn’t it?

To be resilient, we need to be flexible—not just in the muscles (though that helps)—but in the heart and mind. We need the ability to pivot, surrender, reframe, accept, and remain steady in the face of what life brings.

Can you see the kind of strength that takes?

Those of you already practicing yoga know: we’re cultivating this resilient strength every time we step onto the mat. It’s in the asana, the meditation, the self-inquiry. A complete yoga practice builds strength not just in our muscles, but throughout our entire being.

One of the reasons I often encourage students to relax more during asana is because this kind of strength—resilient strength—only arises in a state of ease and surrender. When we push, strive, and "try-try-try," we’re moving in the opposite direction. Yes, we may build physical strength that way, but that kind of strength, on its own, isn’t enough for me. It is at best temporary, and it can also come with a certain attachment that goes against what yoga asks of us.

The strength to withstand life’s forces—the ups and downs, the curveballs, the joys, the heartbreaks—that’s the kind of strength I value most as an aging yogi. And I’m grateful I started building it early. But here’s the good news: it’s never too late to begin seeking resilient strength.

And as it turns out, when we pursue that kind of strength, the physical strength often follows naturally.

Lately, I’ve been noticing something—something that’s likely not new but still worth reflecting on. We all tend to define ourselves in rigid ways, often inaccurately. It’s frustrating when others put us in a box, assigning us traits or limitations we don’t agree with. But have you ever noticed how often you do this to yourself?
I see this in students and clients all the time. I’ll suggest a pose, and immediately, someone might say, “That’s not going to work for me” or “I can’t do that.” But then, with focus and attention, they do it—and not only that, sometimes they love it.
What we say to ourselves matters. Our words shape our experience, whether we speak them aloud or not. And often, those words don’t even originate from us. They might be echoes of a parent, a sibling, a teacher, or even an old bully. Yet, every time we repeat them, we reinforce them, manifesting them into reality.
A simple example: when I walk my dog, I’m far more anxious approaching another dog than my husband or son is. If I’m holding the leash and thinking, This isn’t going to go well, it doesn’t. But if I hand the leash over before that thought takes hold, everything unfolds more smoothly. Who do you want holding your leash? We know the saying “Animals can smell fear” and they literally can. Just as we can project scent, we project other kinds of energy as well. And that energy affects how we see ourselves as well as how others see us. The word or thought is creating an environment, and that environment will uphold the energy that has created it, whether negative, neutral or positive.
Why not give it a shot? It only takes the ability to remember and observe. That’s actually a big step—just noticing, observing, that you’re doing it. I would even say that’s the first step. We have to recognize it before we can change the narrative, and most of us are saying these things to ourselves without any conscious awareness.
It can feel like an awkward stage—realizing that we’re saying things to ourselves that we wouldn’t accept from someone else. And at first, all we can do is listen and hear it. But as the practice develops, we gain the ability to replace that narrative with something new.
This isn’t just a modern idea. The Yoga Sutras address it directly—check out Chapter 2, Sutra 33. Patanjali speaks to this exact practice: replacing negative thoughts with their positive counterparts. It’s a simple yet profound shift.
So why not try it? The next time you catch yourself saying, I can’t, pause. Observe. And maybe—just maybe—rewrite the script.


Let me know what you discover.