Comedian Mike Birbiglia likes to joke that yoga is basically stretching while trying not to fart.

The joke works because it’s so recognizable: the effort of holding something in that feels unlovable, awkward, or inappropriate—yet is completely human.

This post, you guessed it, uses flatulence as a gateway to something deeper: what’s possible when we stop trying so hard to appear more put together. Because the real strain isn’t the feelings (or gases) that move through us; it’s what it costs us when we try to suppress them.

My dog, Walnut, is an expert in not suppressing herself.

Tightening as a Way of Life

This post didn’t originate in a power flow class after a bean-forward chili; it came from a dance festival this past weekend called Interfusion.

I was telling my friend Erik about the experience and shared the joy and connection I felt. But I also told him about the underbelly: sadness around women I connected with that didn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped, and judgment about how I spent my time and energy in the paradox-of-choice of events like these.

When Erik admitted he felt similar things, I saw the power of recognizing that an oxytocin-filled weekend could also be a place of sadness and anxiety: I felt less alone, and so did he.

Most of us learn to manage how we’re perceived fairly early in life. Schools, workplaces, and relationships of all kinds all teach us to put our best foot forward, often at the expense of something more human. We sand away the grittier parts of our experience in favor of how we think we should be. (For more on should-ing, see my last post.)

We feel jealousy at a friend’s wedding but only talk about how happy we are for them. We get passed over for a promotion and skip over the sadness, jumping straight to “congratulations.”

It’s human to have these mixed feelings; perhaps the only more human thing is to judge ourselves for having them. I should be grateful for what I have, or I shouldn’t be ruminating about the mediocre and expensive food while on vacation (anyone else?). The burden isn’t the feelings themselves; it’s when we scold ourselves for having them.

From Me-Problem to Us-Reality

Try this on in your own experience: When we reveal the parts of ourselves that seem unlovable, others rarely recoil. Mostly, they don’t mind. Sometimes, there’s a new closeness. And, occasionally, they’re a little impressed by our courage.

Over time, I’ve seen how much unnecessary suffering comes from self-monitoring, and how freeing it can be to let it go. The body was designed to move things through. The strain comes from resisting that movement, gaseous or not (sorry, couldn’t help myself), and remembering we are not alone.

This realization first came when I talked with others about how hard it is to meditate. That being constantly distracted, spending the whole time thinking about my grocery list, or barely being able to count to two in a breath-counting exercise wasn’t just a me-problem, it was an us-reality.

And there’s a big upside: Worrying less about our ordinary human moments can give us more energy for what actually matters: for appreciating a non-management job or enjoying the wedding, festival, or yoga class.

Finally Being Real

Several years ago, my friend Emily helped me see how much I had been covering over.

We were having lunch during the long aftermath of a severe concussion and the accompanying anxiety and loneliness. My usual habit of cleaning up my messy experience had fallen away. It turned out Emily loved that version of me.

At one point, her husband João walked into the restaurant, and the tone shifted to pleasantries. Emily stopped him and said, half-joking, half-dead serious: “Don’t interrupt—Alex is finally being real for once.”

We laughed at the truth of what she was saying. Not just that it’s OK to not be OK, as the famous book says, but that by choosing to be real, we were more connected, not less.

“The Work” of Being Human

Of course, it’s natural to worry about how someone might judge us based on limited information and to want to cultivate different behaviors or ways of thinking.

Yet I’ve seen again and again that when I’m willing to name what I’m actually feeling or experiencing, there’s more space, not less.

The author Byron Katie has a simple formula for working with self-criticism, which she calls The Work. I’ve adapted it as a simple set of questions for the next time you feel like hiding something, or that a feeling doesn’t belong:

Is it just me who feels this?
Can I absolutely know that it’s just me?
How do I react when I believe that thought?
Who would I be without the thought, or what might change if I felt it wasn’t just me?

More often than not, we’re operating in shared human territory, and these questions can help us sense the freedom that comes when we realize it.

Less Holding, More Ease

Simply put: I’ve found that life gets simpler when we stop turning ordinary human experiences into personal failings.

Want a concrete practice? Next time you pass some gas at yoga class or at work, don’t rush to hide it. Gently admit it, perhaps even the embarrassment, and see what happens.

I know this is edgy, but we don’t connect more with people by pretending we don’t have mixed feelings or these bodies of ours; we connect by welcoming the human parts of ourselves.