I am always struck by the stark contrast of the bright beautiful blue sky against the harsh razor wire fencing. For whatever reason, nearly every trip I have made to Florida’s Death Row over the past 15 years occurs on a bright sunny day. I’m a lawyer, and over the years I’ve represented more than 35 men on death row. I’m also a yoga teacher. The two are more connected than you may imagine.
It’s worth explaining how I came to both yoga and this work, because they happened at the same time. I am a lifelong athlete – softball, basketball, track and cross-country, flag football – you name it, I played it. While in law school, I started training for marathons, and did several while I was in school and for a few years after. I loved the physical and mental push of high intensity endurance sports, especially running.
In 2006, I had an opportunity to change jobs and with that change came a move to Tampa. Upon arriving to my new city, I signed up for their next marathon and continued my usual training. My new job, however, was a lot more sedentary, and I sat at my desk for hours and hours. My training regimen hadn’t changed though; I was still running long distances without much preparation or post workout stretches, and as can be expected, a dreaded back injury presented itself shortly thereafter.
A colleague of mine had suggested yoga and recommended a local studio. I was shocked by my initial lack of flexibility and weakness. So, at first, doing yoga made me feel foolish, and if I’m being honest, a little angry. But I stuck with it, and within a few weeks, I was feeling better, and I noticed improvements in my flexibility. More importantly, I found myself drawn to the mental feelings of peace and clarity after my practice.
It was no accident that my yoga and my work became intertwined. My workdays were filled with reading about broken people, most of whom had suffered unimaginable horrors and most of whom had also committed horrific crimes. I was exposed to a lot of violence. However, I believe deep in my soul that people are not defined by the worst thing they have ever done. My clients deserved a voice and an advocate. And as I would meet with them every other month, I got to know them – their life stories, fears and hopes. They wanted to know about me, they remembered birthdays and anniversaries. We shared ups and downs and tears and laughter. I knew it was exactly the job I was meant to do, and it seemed that my yoga was evolving alongside my compassion for others. The two fed each other perfectly.
In the Summer of 2013, I knew I wanted to share my love for yoga with others, and so I signed up for yoga teacher training. It turned out that 2013 would be my most challenging year work-wise. One of our clients was executed in April. It was devastating and life changing. His was a story of redemption, and it was heartbreaking that we were unable to save him. In May of that year, we had a two-week hearing in Sanford, Florida on a client who we knew was innocent, and we had the DNA to prove it. It was a grueling hearing, and all summer long we waited for a decision on the case.
The day before I started my yoga teacher training, the decision was handed down – inexplicably, despite DNA evidence exonerating our client and the confession of the actual killer, the judge denied our client a new trial. I went into my yoga teacher training an absolute mess. I couldn’t stop crying. I had to miss a morning session to do a phone call with the client to tell him the bad news. I’m still not sure how I made it through those first few days, but I do know that it was the yoga that saved me. (Fortunately, this story has a happy ending, as our client was ultimately exonerated in 2018. He is free today, and lives near me in Tampa).
A few years later, I came across an organization called The Prison Yoga Project, and they were conducting a trauma-based training in Tampa. It was like the training had been designed for me. The training itself was amazing, and importantly it was there I got to meet Kathryn Thomas, the founder of Yoga 4 Change. I loved the work she was doing teaching yoga in jails and prisons in Florida, and with other vulnerable populations. I wanted to join the team right away. Unfortunately, there was no programming in Tampa at that time, but I tried to stay connected to the organization.
I also had more copies of the Prison Yoga Project book sent to Florida’s death row than I care to admit, and the book quickly spread around 300 plus people on the row. Not just to my clients, who had already been listening to me talk incessantly about the magic of yoga for years, but to people I didn’t even know. I got a few letters addressed to “the yoga lawyer” asking me to send copies of the book. I noticed a difference in the mental health of my clients who had been practicing. We sometimes did simple breathing exercises together at our visits.
Nearly 2 years ago, when Yoga 4 Change expanded their programming to Tampa, I jumped at the chance to join the team. I am currently teaching a restorative yoga class to people who are living with substance use disorder, and I hope to teach in a jail or prison setting again soon.
I can’t imagine my life without yoga. I can’t imagine doing the work that I do without yoga. In my studio classes, I tend to teach a very powerful practice, but regardless of whether it is a power or restorative class, I always offer my students this reminder: we can stay steady in the face of discomfort and we can do hard things. For me, practicing discomfort in my physical body helps me off the mat when I’m experiencing mental and emotional discomfort. Being able to sit with yourself and others when we are in pain, and just showing up and breathing without trying to fix or change anything is a skill that yoga has given me. It has transformed the way that I practice law, and the way I relate to my clients, and their families. I often joke that yoga keeps me from needing my own representation, but there is a fair amount of truth behind that joke.
Each time I pull into the prison parking lot and get ready to make that long walk down to Death Row, I pause, I take 10 deep breaths, and I remember, know and believe that my practice on the mat has sufficiently prepared me for this journey.
