The Ex Factor

I met my 1st husband while I was backpacking overseas in my early twenties. We had one of those crazy connections, the kind, at least for me, that are incredibly rare...I've had about four.  He had a girlfriend back in the States waiting for his return home and was planning on marrying her. We began to have a passion-filled romance but I assumed it would end when he went back to the U.S. No skin off my back, I knew it was a temporary love affair. Despite our "understanding" he arrived in the States, called it off with his longtime love, and waited for me to return a few months later to proclaim his desire for us to build a relationship together.
It was fun and beautiful when it began, but from the moment he introduced me to his parents, things went downhill. I wasn't quite the nice, demur Jewish girl from a good home they'd been hoping for; and to be honest, they weren't my cup of tea, I actually hated tea. They were conservative and inauthentic and worst of all, my free-spirited, dreadlock adorning hippie boyfriend turned into a pathetic, pussy of a momma's boy before my eyes. His parents became a huge issue of conflict for us and we started fighting all the time about everything. Even though I was still the hot, untameable freak he fell madly in love with, he now wanted me to be different, he needed me to change and be a "good wife". He made lists telling me how to behave..."4) when you see my parents, you must approach them with a smile and hug them both. 5) you need to start wearing suits; skirt or pant suits." Yes, these exact words! I still have the list! Never mind that I managed a health food store and might have looked a bit ridiculous coming into work dressed like a corporate lawyer...douche bag! I just couldn't get it right with him and when things got real bad, he would compare me to his previous girlfriend, Sweet Betty Cocksucker, now she was perfect. I should have run away before we got married but instead I stayed and died a little more everyday; fading, withering, crumbling into just a shadow of my old self. I tried to fit in, to be what I imagined they all wanted me to be but I couldn't do it. He eventually left and moved back in with mommy and daddy but here's the topper, he and Betty Cocksucker got married 6 months after our divorce was final. But wait, wait...they married on the same date that him and I married a few years earlier, like a do-over or something deranged like that. Its all for the best, really, but this is where the yoga stuff comes in...
I start doing yoga and fell in love with a fellow yogi. We both had a daily practice and the yoga room felt like "our sacred space". It was a quiet, sensual place for us to connect in a raw and organic way with each other. I felt supported by the community, they actually seemed to be falling in love with the idea of us finding each other there and it was all so serendipitous.  The dreaminess ended one evening when his darling ex-wife showed up and set up to practice yoga directly in the row in front of me. What the fuck was she doing in "our space"?! I watched her the entire time, she was strong and graceful and what the fuck was she doing here? See, as painful as it was to admit, my boyfriend was not over her; he was still in love with this woman, the mother of his children and wife of 12 years. She had left him and without getting into too many details, he believed they had the "perfect" marriage. Now, everyone brings baggage to a relationship but mine was hundreds of miles away married to his Betty Cocksucker. My boyfriend's however was right here with us, how cozy! All my insecurities came rushing in during that class, not only because my gut told me he wasn't over her but because of what had happened in my prior relationship. My husband had gone back to his ex and I couldn't help but remember and be afraid that the same thing would happen again with this guy. After class, I approached the teacher and voiced my displeasure. I told him not to welcome her and not to encourage her to be here. I begged for him to ask the ex to never return and explained that this was "our sacred space" now, she didn't belong. He was understanding but she was there the next week and I believed my requests had fallen upon deaf ears. Again and again she returned and when the same teacher I'd asked for help took her mat, placing it just inches from mine, I realized the nightmare was just beginning. For months, I took myself through poses but always kept an eye on her. I'd see her struggle and I'd step right up, not allowing my body to shake or quiver in the most intense moments. Each class I'd set out to prove I was better and stronger by holding a pose longer or softening so deeply to show my flexibility that I'd be temporarily paralyzed for the remainder of the day...I wasn't practicing yoga anymore but I was engaged in an all out battle, an intense competition with this woman. (Note: I'm pretty sure his ex had no idea she was actually involved in any competition with my lunatic self.) It was heart-wrenching. I'd completely lost my practice to this woman and now I was terrified I would lose this man I'd slowly come to love.
As the months rolled on, I began teaching at the studio. I loved it! I was able to reignite my passion for yoga through this process and though my boyfriend and I struggled a lot, we managed to stay together. His ex-wife was still there but she never attended the classes I taught and I felt less distracted by her presence. One day I was asked to sub a class and just as I was about to start teaching, the door opened and in walked the ex. My heart jumped and plopped down into my stomach, no fucking way!!! Okay, she wouldn't stay once she saw me, no way, uh-uh, nope...wait, ooooh, she was staying, holy crap. The nerve! Now what? I had to give love to all the students, I had to focus on being a conduit for healing, I had to be a teacher. As class began, I broke out into a serious sweat even before the students had a chance to finish their 1st Sun Salutation. I watched her as I led them through a series of flows but tried my best not to focus too much on her presence. It was difficult but I got through the class and was able to feel the love and gratitude for the students there. At the very end, everyone lay in Savasana and with great trepidation I approached her. I didn't know what would happen, maybe she'd smack me in the face or just get up and leave, but I went there. I gently placed both of my hands on her head and reached into the depths of my heart and dug in for all the love I could find to give her in that moment of contact. She lay there, and in stillness allowed me to love her. Despite the fact that I wanted to hate, to be angry; it just wasn't there anymore. And wouldn't you know it, 5 years later and his ex has become my friend, my dear wonderful friend.
This was a turning point in my life and as a yoga teacher. I realized that in order to be a good yoga teacher, one must teach from the heart. And if the heart is full of anger and/or fear, then we are incapable of bringing what I believe is a central ingredient to the students; pure love. This was also a time in which I came to understand that the yoga room is indeed a sacred space for us. It is a place to practice; to laugh and cry, to find love and heal heartache, to build friendships and sever unhealthy relationships, to explore our genuine selves and find acceptance in who we are today, and yes, to share this space because indeed it is our sacred space, all of ours.

~namaste


~ the thoughts and opinions expressed above are solely mine and are in no way a reflection of those who are more highly evolved