To explain my experience as a yoga teacher, I need to start by saying what drew me to this path. I was in middle school when I first joined Fede e Luce and began to develop friendships with people who were disabled. Those friendships mattered deeply to me. They gave me the chance to relate naturally to people who were different—to their families and to those I'd known all my life.
I should mention that when I started practicing yoga, I was in poor physical condition. My right shoulder sat fifteen centimeters lower than my left. I'd also struggled with neurological problems years earlier, and took Gardonal for ten years.
Yoga changed that—slowly, steadily. I felt better in both body and, if I can put it this way, in mind. What struck me most was how the two moved together. When I learned to relax my body and move gently, my stress fell away. And when I breathed with ease, my physical well-being improved noticeably. Body and mind conditioning each other—that's what I saw.
This is why I thought yoga might help people with disabilities.
I started teaching "normal" students, and one of them was Giulia. I'd met her years before at a Fede e Luce retreat—her brother has Down syndrome, and she'd founded an association for people with disabilities called Willy Down Onlus. I thought: why not find a space for lessons, and she could bring the students?
Thinking is easy. Doing is harder. Finding an affordable place to teach yoga in Milan is difficult. Finding one where people with Down syndrome can practice is nearly impossible. It was Filippo—I'd met him through work—who solved the problem. He introduced me to Silvia, who'd just opened Soffio di Stelle, a yoga center for adults and children.
In 2012, I began teaching three young people with Down syndrome. I'll be honest: it wasn't simple at first. I had many questions. The main one was whether my method actually worked, and how to earn the students' trust. Yoga's effects usually take two or three months to show. But these three weren't giving me any encouragement.
Then one day, mid-lesson, I was wondering if I should quit. Something happened that changed everything.
Let me explain. At the end of every class, I guide students through what I call relaxation. Everyone lies on their back, eyes closed—which isn't easy for many—and I invite them to release tension in different parts of the body. Healthy beginners usually stay still for three minutes, then fidget. These young people were so restless that I'd end relaxation after one minute.
About three months in, something shifted. One minute into relaxation, Sveva closed her eyes and let her body go. She probably fell asleep—it happens to everyone. When she woke, she stayed calm and relaxed. Instead of stopping, I continued for the full time. When I finished, Sveva sat up and said to her friends something like, "You know what? I really relaxed." She went on to say all her aches had gone away—except the old ones she'd had for years. What moved me wasn't the words but her face. Pure joy.
The next week, all three were calmer. They engaged with the lessons. During relaxation, they held hands, lying quietly with their eyes closed. The benefits became visible too.
For example, one of them started with muscles so tight he couldn't raise his arms above his head. Before each exercise, I had to explain it, repeat it, wait for him to begin, and push. If an exercise needed to be done on both sides, I had to repeat the whole thing twice. By June, after months of practice, he needed only one explanation—and when it was time for the other side, he did it correctly without any cue from me.
One challenge in teaching yoga is that students rarely say where they hurt or what they hope for. They reveal these things later, in confidence. With disabled people, it's more delicate. Most face both mental and physical challenges, but few will say which problems were present at birth and which came from physical and psychological tension. To help them improve, a teacher has to build—or earn—genuine trust.
That September, starting again was harder. Sveva was the only one who returned; the others were new. Based on the previous year, I wasn't worried. After two or three months, I saw real improvement in everyone. Each student responds differently, but all of them improved.
This year, I started a new class, and all last year's students came back, plus two new ones. In the first lesson, I had everyone do some exercises. I deliberately stood beside the newcomer, asking if he felt any pain and where. To my surprise, Sveva walked over and calmed him down. She explained that I make them do strange exercises, ask where they hurt, but then I always fix it—and the part that usually hurts actually feels good. After class, the new student looked at Sveva and said the pain was gone.
This is what yoga is for. Not to become an acrobat or a saint, though that's not ruled out. The real purpose is for each person to become themselves, to know themselves. This isn't reserved for the chosen few—it's within everyone's reach. It's a way, perhaps, to free people who are different from feeling broken or less than everyone else.
Andrea Cesarini, 2013
The Benefits of Yoga
One visible effect of yoga, even for people with disabilities, is muscle relaxation. The positions practiced—called asanas in Sanskrit, an ancient Indian language—should be comfortable and effortless. To perform them, you contract only the muscles you need and relax the rest. This releases fixed contractions held in the body for years, easing pain and creating a sense of overall well-being.
Regular, sustained yoga practice benefits the body's structures and functions as a whole. It strengthens and improves muscle tissue, bone structure, joints, ligaments, and tendons; internal organs and the cardiovascular system; the respiratory tract and gastrointestinal, endocrine, and excretory functions; hand-eye coordination, reaction time, and sleep quality; immune function; energy levels, focus, and learning capacity; anxiety and stress management; self-acceptance and self-esteem; and the frequency and depth of human connection.
