Over a year ago, a student asked me to write about how yin yoga can help lower back pain. I began writing and quickly found myself caught up in the technicalities of physiology, biomechanics and biochemistry, eventually confusing myself more than clarifying anything at all. The human body is infinitely complex and intelligent.

Last year, I experienced several months of debilitating lower back pain myself, and the experience deepened my understanding of pain and healing while affirming much of what I had already observed through my work as a bodyworker. This post is the first in a three-part series exploring some of the insights, questions and reflections that emerged through that experience.

Often, I hear my students and clients say something like, ‘I was just putting my sock on and my back went’. In my opinion, back pain does not ‘just happen’.  Aside from acute injury, back pain often develops through layers of stress, compensation, tension, fear, habit and overload rather than appearing entirely out of nowhere. There are numerous publications explaining the complex mechanisms and physiology of pain and its relief, I am not here to paraphrase what has already been explained by experts in the field. Instead, I would like to share my view on how yin yoga not only has potential to offer some relief from back pain, but how it can also support prevention.

Back pain is often more than structural

Many adults will experience lower back pain at some point in their lives. It can be debilitating, and it can be both the cause and the result of stress.

In September 2025, I suddenly experienced extreme pain in my lower back that made even simple movement difficult. My immediate thoughts were practical ones: my work is very physical, I am approaching menopause, and my body is changing. The mobile massage service I offered involved repeatedly lifting my massage table in and out of the car, carrying heavy bags of towels and oils, and climbing stairs throughout the day. Until then, I had felt capable of sustaining that load.

All of this was true. But after several months of rest, reflection, and therapeutic support, I came to understand that my back pain was also a manifestation of deep mental and physical burnout. Years of living in survival mode had quietly taken their toll, and eventually my body demanded change.

Our body responds to our thoughts, both conscious and unconscious. When we perceive a potential threat — even before we are aware of it — a cascade of automatic physiological responses begins. One of these is muscular activation, preparing the body to respond or move away from danger.

When these muscles remain in a constant state of contraction, we often experience this as tension in the body. Over time, this can reduce mobility, which can then further reinforce both tension and pain.

In my classes, I often use the terms “stress response” and “fear response” interchangeably. The stress response refers to the more general physiological state of the autonomic nervous system, while the fear response highlights the emotional quality that can trigger it.

When we think of fear, we often imagine specific, obvious triggers — flying, snakes, spiders — experiences that are usually occasional and clearly defined. But the kind of fear I am referring to is more subtle and constant. It is the quieter, everyday fears that often go unnoticed:

What if I can’t pay my rent this month?
What will happen to my child if they don’t succeed at school?
If I don’t do well, am I still lovable?

These subtle, yet pervasive fears arise from our most basic survival needs: food, shelter, the protection of our children, and the need to belong. Such instincts have remained unchanged throughout human evolution. What has changed is the world in which we experience them, which in modern life can feel very different, and often more complex.

Over time, these patterns of stress shape our body and how we hold it physically.

Fascia and tension patterns.

Fascia can be described as a web-like connective tissue network that surrounds and integrates every structure in the body. It is rich in collagen and elastin, and highly innervated with sensory nerve endings.

In the past, it was often overlooked in anatomical study, cut away and discarded as having little significance. More recent research has begun to shift this view, revealing fascia as a living, responsive system involved in communication, force transmission, repair and structural integrity throughout the body.

I have attended multiple Myofascial Release (MFR) trainings, using the method of John F. Barnes. He posits that consciousness is distributed throughout the body’s fascial network rather than existing in the brain alone.

Sceptics would argue that this is a misinterpretation of the science and that instead, our experiences are mediated through the nervous system and affect how we hold tension in the body. Whichever version sits easier with you, modern research shows that the fluid-filled network of fascia is a vital mediator for communication within our bodies.

Something that has become clearer to me over the years of my exploration, is that the body and how it responds and adapts to the environment and our experiences is individual, multi-layered and nuanced.

I personally relate better to the more poetic and philosophical explanations given to our embodied experiences…the science is interesting and important, but the clinical lens sometimes leaves me cold with more questions than answers. The anecdotal research that asks broader questions and delves deeper into our existence resonates deeply within me.  For me, truth can be felt in the body beyond intellectual understanding and is something I feel, through both my experiences of working with other people and in my own healing experience.

Yin yoga is more than stretching

I sometimes think it is a shame that Yin is referred to as yoga, as this may prevent some people from coming to a class, imagining that impossible feats of flexibility are required.

In my classes, I guide “yinsters” into long-held passive stretches and invite them to sense the body from within, noticing sensations of tension, relaxation, breath, movement and emotional state. All of which, increase our internal awareness.

As with traditional yoga, we create shapes with our bodies, but not in a controlled, aligned way. Rather than striving for an ideal shape, we are looking for a gentler, more individual expression of the pose — one we can comfortably remain in for several minutes. If we are creating tension to ‘hold’ the pose, this works against the purpose, which is to understand and move beyond the tension.

For many of us, the holding of tension is more than physical, often intertwined with stress, emotion, memory and protective patterns. Sometimes tension performs a necessary function of protection and so it can be more useful to recognise and respond appropriately to this; than to simply push toward tension-free bodies. The process is more of an allowing than a forcing, more of a surrender than control. Tension can be information, insight into how we are living our lives.

In the Myofascial Release (MFR) and yin teacher trainings I have attended, we were taught that sustained passive loading (such as effortless stretching) hydrates tissues and supports fluid movement within muscles and joints.

Anyone who has practised yin regularly may be familiar with the full body response that can come with releasing a stretch. For example, you may be stretching the left hip, but upon the release of the stretch, the ‘softening’ or relaxation is felt rippling through the entire body. This is the felt experience of the connected web of facia.

Too much emphasis on the science during practice keeps us in our analytical mind, making it harder to for us to settle into the direct embodied experience. For this reason, I limit technical language during my classes. By experiencing some stillness and silence, we create space for a deeper dialogue with the body, which can give us deeper understanding than intellect alone.

I tend to align more with Paul Zinke’s assertion that yin is more of an art than an exact science. It invites us to embrace our individuality and to work with what is currently present.

So How Can Yin Yoga Help Back Pain?

Lower back pain is rarely caused by one single factor alone. For many people, it emerges through an accumulation of stress, tension, overload, fear, immobility and disconnection from the body over time.

Yin yoga offers something radically different from the pace and demands of modern life. Through long-held passive postures, conscious breathing and stillness, the practice encourages the nervous system to move out of states of chronic protection and into greater regulation and rest.

Physically, yin may help improve mobility, reduce excessive muscular tension and support healthier movement and hydration within the fascial system. But perhaps more importantly, it invites us to listen to the body rather than continually override it. When we heed the early warning signals of the body, we may prevent further discomfort and pain.

In a culture that often encourages us to push through discomfort and disconnect from our needs, yin creates space to slow down, soften and become aware of the deeper patterns we may be carrying — physically, mentally and emotionally.

I am personally suspicious of any technique or practice that claims to cure everything. In my experience, there are many different paths that can lead us towards healing. The path we choose depends on the individual, their circumstances, and their relationship with their own body.

I also believe that supporting our wellbeing often requires more than one approach.

For me, yin yoga is a beautiful, kind and gentle practice that can create conditions which support healing, regulation, awareness and change.

What is your experience of yin yoga and/or back pain? I would love to hear from you.