04/07/2025
Savasana Isn’t Always Peaceful
Understanding rest in a dysregulated world
Savasana is often described as the most important pose in yoga. It is where we integrate, release, and arrive. But in clinical work, especially in yoga and/or yoga therapy, we learn quickly that savasana is not always restful. It is not always safe. And it is certainly not always the reward.
Stillness is complicated. For a nervous system shaped by trauma, vigilance, or chronic anxiety, lying supine in silence can expose a person to all of these states and leave them feeling profoundly vulnerable. Some will close their eyes when asked and appear at peace, while internally their heart rate rises, accompanied by the thought that something bad could happen if they let go. Others close their eyes only to be met not with calm but with increased rumination, rather than the inner quiet we might hope for in savasana.
If we are not trauma- and mental health-informed, or if we rely too heavily on generalised trauma-sensitive language without attunement to the moment, we risk ending an otherwise calming yoga class with an experience of fear and overwhelm that then taints the entire experience.
The solution is not to remove savasana. It is to understand the nuance of how to teach it.
First: eye position matters. For some, closing the eyes brings relief. For others, it triggers hyperarousal, as there is no external anchor for attention. To address this, offer a clear choice and explain why each option might be helpful. Closing the eyes can support an inward focus, while keeping them open may help someone remain present. The act of choosing, rather than being told, affirms autonomy.
Second: movement in savasana is not failure, and we need not hold rigidly to the idea that stillness is necessary. Subtle gestures—wiggling the fingers, shifting the pelvis, adjusting the breath—may be what helps someone stay with the experience rather than dissociate from it. You might note this option to the whole group, particularly if it is a class focused on mental health or trauma sensitivity, or you might quietly offer it to an individual who appears distressed.
Third: guided versus silent practice is an important consideration. Silence can be powerful, but only when the system is able to tolerate it. For someone new to embodiment, unstructured stillness can feel like abandonment. A quiet voice, gentle orientation cues, or the soft presence of breath-based language can provide a bridge and serve as a stabilising anchor. These cues do not distract; they contain. They can help reduce rumination and bring the mind into safer contact with the body.
And finally: savasana does not have to happen. In yoga and/or yoga therapy, fixed sequencing is not necessary. If the nervous system, or the person, is not ready, on a given day or in general—we do not override that reality for the sake of form. Instead, we honour the true teachings of yoga, such as ahimsa, and the layered work of developing mental steadiness. If integration feels important at the end of a class, there are alternatives: seated breath, supported child’s pose, or slow walking with awareness. The shape is never more important than the person inside it.
In a world where rest is rare, savasana can be radical. But it is not neutral. It must be offered with discernment, respect, and a willingness to meet what arises when the doing stops. That is where the work begins—not with the pose, but with our capacity to attune to its meaning for each individual.
Sometimes savasana is peaceful.
Other times, it is a confrontation.
Either way, it deserves our attention.
