It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a “skinny white woman” in possession of a yoga mat and an Instagram account, must be in want of a good old-fashioned raking over the internet coals.

Indeed in one swoop of the net I saw my daily postings likened to porn and in another, mocked via a meme insinuating that posting about yoga is somehow unyogic-ly lame (e.g., “you can do your yoga without telling facebook about it” bitch). On the heels of these internet slights the debacle of online Selfiedom reawakened within the ashtanga world.

It’s enough to make a gal a little defensive. You see, I’m an arguably “skinny white woman” (albeit with more to love than most) posting accounts of my daily practice (while clothed, mind you) with, obscenely enough, photos and/or videos of the very same. (Of course, it may placate some to know that I am over thirty, a mother, and wildly imperfect.)

My selfie-life began when I moved away from DC mysore rooms and began practicing (out of necessity) mostly at home alone. No longer having a daily teacher’s eye, I began videoing parts of my practice I was working on and using the resulting video to teach myself. It ain’t perfect: I would rather be in a mysore room receiving instruction live from a teacher — instead of me discussing my practice with, well, me. Oh sure, I admit to sometimes harboring less lofty reasons for my posts…ego sometimes strolls in. But by and large, I share my real life practice– though all you see is my attempt at putting my leg behind my head or getting my legs into lotus from a forearm stand or maybe just an upward dog (a pose that continues to mystify me). I don’t video every practice, or all of every practice–Just a few moments, a day or two a week. And as a teaching tool, although not an ideal one, the videos do work–just this week I had a breakthrough because of one.

So there you have it: I’m this weirdo mom practicing alone, usually in my daughter’s room under the watchful eyes of a stuffed moose, a T-Rex in a tutu — and let’s not forget the unicorn. The practice I post is rarely perfect, rarely artistic– I’m sweaty, my hair is a mess, a mess of a room surrounds me. It’s not glamorous.

I share these selfies because practice begets the best of me. I don’t share pictures of the food I eat. I don’t share the fascinating moments where I pick up canine feces or wash my umpteenth dish. I don’t share my child. I share moments from this time of the day  when I am connected to this thing…really, to myself; when all the layers are peeled away and I am just life.

To quote writer/artist Austin Kleon and the title of his book, I “show my work.” (Check out his whether to share/post guide here)

You don’t like it? Don’t f–ing follow me. Put on your Sensory Deprivator 5000. Am I encouraging people to do dangerous sh*t at home? Look, I hate opening a jar of peanut butter and reading: “WARNING: CONTAINS NUTS.” I’m not a f–ing idiot, and neither are you. I refuse to put an analogous warning on my posts. And in case it’s unclear– my home practice is guided by time with teachers. I need a guide. We all do.

As for the yoga porn lamenter, I hardly believe I’m alienating people. First, I don’t have many followers. (Probably because I do not practice in a bikini or my underwear. The hottest thing you will see is the steam coming off my humidifer.) Truthfully, I get notes from other moms who want to develop a practice– moms of twins under the age of two, or three kids under five, one of whom has had a slew of medical needs, or who live afar from any mysore room. I get those notes and I think: I’m opening yoga to people who need it, not closing it. I may not have a shitload of followers or thousands of blog readers. What matters, what always matters, are the people I reach, no matter how few. Every person is an opportunity.

And just how is it that Instagram and Facebook posts alienate people? What appears in your feed is your choice. I don’t follow many yogis. I follow several ashanga teachers, some of whom are men (who don’t seem to get flack about their shirtless photos–go figure), some of whom are female and over 40….I follow the Dance Theater of Harlem and several well-known ballerinas. I follow some yoginis of shapes and colors you don’t typically see in glossy yoga ads. I follow yogis in their twenties and yogis in their fifties. I follow artists and writers. I follow world-class climbers. I follow people who inspire me. (I can always use more–and more diversity. You got some not so typical yogis worth following? Let me know!)

Guess what you won’t find in my feed: a bunch of bikini handstands. Why? Because I ain’t interested. (Sure, I once wrote a little judgmental piece on these folks— hopefully I’ve grown– thanks Zoe Ward). Instead of hissing or yawning, I just unfollow these picture takers. A few bikini pose pics while on retreat? No prob. But if you go all handstand, all bikini –all the time — I’ll just hide or unfollow. I’m not sorry for that.

So you want yoga to be about real people? Put photos of your “real” students around your studio– like these primary series cheat sheets Aliya Wiese and Ashtanga Yoga San Diego made. Encourage your students to connect online and in person with a few teachers who inspire them and jettison the rest. Show them the yogis out there who you think are worth following. Don’t invite the yogis in viral videos practicing in teeny undergarments to lead workshops at your studio. Or do, if that is what you are into.

So go on yogis: post what you are, what you love. Maybe I’ll follow you. Then again, maybe I won’t. Instead of fighting, let’s just encourage more of what we want. Oh, and if you like what I do, you can follow my (arguably) skinny white female self here on Instagram.