We’ve all got it: that persistent chatter of the mind that inconveniently grows louder as soon as we set foot on our yoga mat. If 90% of the practice is showing up, as they say, then the other 10% is dealing with the mental racket that shows up with us!
In the ancient Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, this is known as chitta vritti, a Sanskrit term that translates to “fluctuations (vritti) of the mind-stuff (chitta).”
It appears most famously in Yoga Sutra 1.2, which states:
“Yoga chitta vritti nirodhaḥ”
Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind.
But five sun salutations in, you might notice there’s anything but cessation. Making your ujjayi breath louder or tuning into the background music doesn’t offer much relief. That voice is still spinning in the background, despite your best efforts to shoo it away.
But don’t be so quick to dismiss that inner dialogue.
If you listen more closely, you might notice it takes on the role of a commentator, remarking not just on what’s happening, but on how you feel about it. It’s a voice that judges, critiques, and compares.
I don’t know about you, but these are actual thoughts I’ve had during my own practice:
- “I should be better at this by now.”
- “Everyone else looks so much stronger than me.”
- “My balance is terrible today.”
- “This class is going to be a waste if I don’t push harder.”
- “I’m not doing it right unless I’m sweating.”
This inner narrative points to the emotional and mental activity happening beneath the surface of your asana. It may be repetitive, even annoying, but if you stay with it, there’s insight to be found. Maybe most yoga instructors would agree, this is where the real yoga happens.
And that’s just where we’re going today. Into that rich inner world we so often try to brush aside. Because how you speak to yourself shapes your practice. And your practice, over time, shapes you.
With this kind of self-reflection, you’re engaging in svadhyaya, the fourth of the Niyamas. It means self-study. It’s the practice of pratyahara, flipping your lens inward; not just noticing your breath and muscles, but your mindset, your patterns, and the tone you use with yourself.
Tuning Into the Self-Talk
Several months ago, I found myself mid-class in Side Plank, a pose I used to move through with ease. I was flooded with frustration. I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t pushing too hard. But the thoughts were loud:
I’m slower now. Weaker. I used to feel strong here. What happened?
It caught me off guard. I hadn’t realized how much my inner voice had changed over time. I remembered it being light, optimistic… maybe even a little naive. The younger version of me believed she could sail through any sequence and was convinced of her own invincibility.
But there it was: unfiltered, unkind. And it landed heavily in my body, making Vasisthasana feel harder than it needed to be.
So I started taking notes in other asanas too, listening more carefully. In Warrior II, I noticed feelings of overwhelm, and beneath that, the thought:
You’re not trying hard enough.
Which felt ironic, considering I was holding the pose and shaking from head to toe.
Your Practice Echoes Your Self-Talk
You see, self-talk isn’t just background noise. It’s the energy you move with. It can fuel you, or it can drain you. It shows up in the way you approach the mat—physically, emotionally, even spiritually.
It might cause you to:
- Hold your breath without realizing it
- Force your way through a pose to prove something to yourself
- Bail on a pose—not because you can’t do it, but because the voice in your head insists it won’t be good enough
- Step away from your practice altogether, worn down by the weight of your own judgment
Your inner dialogue reveals your relationship with your practice. And if that relationship is toxic, it becomes obvious. For me, it revealed unrealistic, unkind expectations I had quietly accumulated. That was my cue to pause and realign with my values and intentions.
Where Does That Voice Even Come From?
Sometimes, it’s easy to trace: past experiences, cultural ideals, body image, and perfectionism. Other times, it’s subtler. The quiet pressure we place on ourselves as longtime practitioners. The belief that we should be evolving constantly, that there’s some elusive “next level” we should be reaching.
Maybe you started yoga to feel better. But somewhere along the way, you began evaluating yourself by how “good” you were at it. How strong. How flexible. How “advanced.” As if there’s a finish line.
When I tuned into that voice more closely, I could see what was underneath it: fear. Grief. Resistance to change. I was mourning the way my body had shifted over time. Holding tightly to a version of myself I didn’t want to let go of.
But of course, your practice is deeply personal. Your insights will be your own.
What Would It Sound Like to Be Kind?
Here’s what I’m learning, and maybe it’s something you need to hear too:
Kindness doesn’t need to be earned. You don’t need to be more flexible, more focused, or more disciplined to speak to yourself with gentleness.
Yoga Sutra 2.33 says:
“Vitarka badhane pratipaksha bhavanam”
When disturbed by negative thoughts, cultivate the opposite.
So if you notice yourself thinking:
“I should be better at this by now.”
→ Try: “I’m exactly where I need to be today.”
“Everyone else looks so much stronger than me.”
→ “Everyone’s practice is different, and that’s okay.”
“My balance is terrible today.”
→ “Even falling is part of the practice.”
“This class is going to be a waste if I don’t push harder.”
→ “Rest and effort both belong here.”
“I’m not doing it right unless I’m sweating.”
→ “Yoga isn’t about how hard I push; it’s about how deeply I listen.”
Speaking more kindly to yourself creates even more space to listen; to your body, your energy, your emotions. It deepens your practice and draws you back to the mat with a sense of care rather than criticism. And soon, that gentleness begins to follow you off the mat, too.
What Do You Do With All the Chitta Vritti?
The goal of yoga is to quiet the monkey mind—the internal turbulence that clouds our perception and keeps us from seeing ourselves clearly.
It’s easy to notice physical misalignment in a pose. But observing the activity of the mind? That’s trickier. Thought spirals can pull us in without warning, generating emotional reactions we didn’t even see coming.
So what helps?
- Pranayama (to regulate your breath and nervous system)
- Mantra (to steady and re-pattern the mind)
- Sensory awareness (to stay present with sensations in the body)
- Drishti (a steady gaze to reduce distraction)
More than anything, it’s adopting a curious mindset, one that neither rejects nor clings, that helps loosen the grip of chitta vritti.
As Zen master Shunryu Suzuki said:
“Leave your front door and your back door open. Let thoughts come and go. Just don’t serve them tea.”
These days, when intrusive thoughts surface in practice, my response is simply:
“Huh. That’s interesting.”
That one phrase softens the grip of the thought and gives me space to reflect. And in that space, santosha—contentment—has a chance to bloom.
So the next time you’re on your mat, listen in. Don’t try to silence the chatter right away. Let it speak. Let it show you something. And then ask yourself:
How do I want to speak back?
See you soon, and namaste.
About Kyneret:
Kyneret has been practicing and teaching yoga for over a decade, with a specialization in Yin and Restorative Yoga. She has always been intrigued by the remarkable healing powers of yoga and all the emerging scientific research that supports it. Her journey as an instructor at Modo Yoga Maple began in 2012. In November 2017, she decided to set off on a nomadic travel adventure while working remotely and has since been active within the Modo community as a blog writer. When not writing, Kyneret is fully immersed in the daily adventures of travel life and actively seeks out as many yoga experiences as possible to further her knowledge and skills.