Being a fitness instructor with limited mobility is incredibly challenging. Layer in the fact that I teach mostly Pilates and Lagree, and it becomes even more complicated. Joseph Pilates famously said, “You’re only as young as your spine is flexible.” For someone with about five free vertebrae left, that quote can make me feel pretty fucking old.
The funny thing is, I never let it dissuade me. I went on to get certified on all apparatus and learned the appropriate modifications for my body. Having a physical limitation makes you acutely aware of your strengths and weaknesses. That awareness is something I’m constantly navigating. Sometimes I need to tune in deeply and other times, I need to tune out and just let my body do its thing.
Early in my teaching career, before I found my voice and learned verbal cueing and imagery, I relied heavily on demonstration. As a visual learner, it felt natural. But that meant I avoided teaching spinal articulation—flexion, extension, the very movements that are foundational in Pilates. I stayed in the safety of neutral spine.
Over the past few years, I’ve pushed myself out of that comfort zone. It may not sound significant, but every time I cue a crunch, roll-down, or chest lift, I feel like an imposter. These are movements I can’t do, never will be able to do, and don’t actually know how they feel in my own body. I can imagine the sensation of articulating each vertebra onto the mat. I imagine cat/cow feels incredible. But I will never experience it.
I find myself sometimes in awe of clients with full mobility. But I’ve learned to ask questions and be curious about how they experience certain movements. As both a student and a teacher, I’ve become deeply aware of how language shapes experience. Cues like “this is easier” can unintentionally create a sense of inadequacy. I never want a modification to feel like a lesser option.
What I’ve learned, through my own practice and through my clients, is that those who modify are often the strongest in the room. Walking into a class knowing you’ll need to adjust movements takes mental strength. And anyone who’s held a plank in my class for minutes on end knows that’s as much a mental battle as a physical one.
Programming crunches or roll-downs doesn’t make me an imposter. It reminds me that my job isn’t to perform every movement, it’s to empower my clients. People will do what they can. My responsibility is to help them choose movements they are not only physically capable of, but mentally proud of. Sometimes that means modifying.
In the past six months, I’ve been more intentional about reframing modifications. Often, they aren’t easier, they’re more effective, more controlled, sometimes even more challenging, and most importantly, safer. For example, during high-kneeling arm series, I remind clients that choosing to sit may actually increase the challenge. Sitting removes the ability to rely on momentum or lean back; it demands control. When I frame it that way, even my strongest clients choose to sit so they can move slower, build precision, and find a deeper mind-muscle connection.
When I teach, I constantly filter my cues through the lens of how they would land on me. I’m acutely aware of each body in the room—low backs, sensitive wrists, shoulder injuries, poor sleep, life stress. My job isn’t just to instruct movement; it’s to create an environment where people feel empowered to honor what their body can do that day. Because capacity ebbs and flows.
Being in tune with your body is the most important part of any fitness class—at least the ones I teach.