How Learning Headstand Changed What I Believed I Could Do

Is headstand part of your practice? Have you tried it? Or do you look at it and think, I will never be able to do that?

I understand that feeling.

For me, learning headstand wasn't simply about getting upside down. It changed something much deeper: what I believed I was capable of physically.

For much of my life, I had seen myself as someone who wasn't sporty. I was the bookish kid who was always reading and couldn't do sport. Later, I became the music lover and cinema goer who had little interest in sports or the great outdoors.

So learning to stand on my head in the middle of the room felt like much more than mastering a yoga pose. I didn't just want to get upside down. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something I had always believed was beyond me.

In his book Light on Yoga, B.K.S. Iyengar describes headstand, or sirsasana, as “the king of asana”. He writes that:

“Regular and precise practice of sirsasana develops the body, disciplines the mind, and widens the horizons of the spirit.”

Widens the horizons of the spirit!

Oh, I would so love that.

When I started learning headstand, I was obsessed with it. Going up against the wall was relatively easy to achieve, but moving away from the wall was a completely different story.

It wasn't just about physical strength or learning the technique. Fear played a huge part. Learning to stand on my head in the middle of the room felt like a much bigger challenge than simply mastering a yoga pose.

Eventually, I had to learn that it wasn't a big deal if I fell.

I learned what to do if I lost my balance. I learned how to fall safely. And yes, I did fall a few times while learning. I think learning how to fall changed my relationship with headstand. Once I knew that losing my balance wasn't a disaster, I became less afraid of trying.

Years later, when I taught headstand to a group of young elite swimmers aged 8–16, I was struck by how differently they approached it. They were strong, confident and wonderfully unafraid of falling. They simply listened, tried and loved it.

For me, it had taken much longer to develop that kind of confidence.

After I learned to do headstand in the middle of the room, it was still a long time before I could stand confidently for any length of time. When I asked my yoga buddy for advice, he simply said:

“Daily practice.”

And that's what I did. A few weeks of daily practice made a huge difference.

So, why should you do headstand?

Well, you don't have to!

Headstand is not necessary, and being able to stand on your head is certainly not a yardstick for measuring how “good” or accomplished you are as a yogi.

But for me, the biggest reward was confidence.

Here I was, someone who had spent much of her life believing that she wasn't sporty or physically capable, doing a pretty decent, solid and, I think, beautiful headstand. I could hold it for a few minutes. I could even do some rather showy variations — almost like tricks!

Ego boosting?

Perhaps you could say that.

But for me, it was life-changing.

I could finally let go of that old story about myself: the non-sporty girl who liked to spend her weekends in dark cinemas.

I discovered that I could be someone who was always in leggings, happily dancing and moving about.

I found my physical confidence. And with that came a sense of physical freedom.

Headstand can look impossible when you're standing on your feet and looking at someone else doing it. But like many things in yoga, it can be broken down into smaller, learnable steps.

Perhaps headstand isn't really about standing on your head at all.

Perhaps it's about meeting that part of yourself that says, I can't do that, and becoming curious enough to ask:

What if I could?

You may never want to do a headstand — and that's absolutely fine. But I hope you find something that challenges the story you have been telling yourself about what your body can and cannot do.

Because with the right guidance, a little courage and a bit of persistence, the things that once seemed impossible can become part of who you are.

And that, for me, is where the real freedom lies.