The rest of my body is no better. Leaning down to pull on shoes or to nuzzle my cats is eliciting grunts. You know the ones. The unmistakable grunts of an old man.
A couple of weeks back I did some googling and that’s when I found her: Adriene. The woman who proved to be my tormentor. The woman who I verbally abuse on a daily basis. A woman I wish I’d never met but fear I can’t live without.
I was immediately struck by Adriene’s physical beauty, the disarming smile and the way she talked so casually of cruelly, as if yoga really was something I could do. Indeed, in the early stages of our relationship – that being the first 20 seconds or so – I couldn’t have enjoyed her more. But as sure as autumn follows summer, things began to change. And change quickly.
She began to request I contort in ways that my body objected to. It’s churlish of me to complain about this, it was after all an online yoga session, but the things she began to say were intellectually challenging.
At one point she said, “Breathe deeply through your belly.”
“What with? My stomach lungs?” I hollered back.
At another point she entreated me to undertake a complicated surgery. “Open your heart up and let it spiral into the sky,” she said.
“What the hell? You’re a maniac,” I yelled.
I turned a blind eye to these appalling understandings of human biology and a desire to disfigure me because she said lovely things in soothing ways. “Thank you for joining me on this yoga journey,” she whispered as the video ended, “you did well just turning up today. I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow.”
“Goodbye, Adriene, I fawned, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, too.”
And so, night after night, I join Adriene.
One evening I had enjoyed a few drinks – quite a few drinks, if I’m honest – and I came home to see Adriene. Altogether tipsy the yoga was enjoyable, and Adriene’s nonsense was no longer irritating but delightful. All cutesy I said, “Yes, I will bring my mind’s eye to the base of my spine, Adriene, no problem at all. Anything for you.”
Many of us have had relationships that only come alive with booze, and this is one of those. The next night, and sober, we reverted to problematic and unhelpful behaviours.
“F*** you, Adriene!” I screamed. “If I put my palms flat on the floor I will snap like a Kit Kat. Why must you always hurt me?”
Ignoring me, she just continued on, as if I’d said nothing.
“You never listen to me,” I yelled later in response to a side stretch that risked ripping me entirely in half. “Can I please listen to the commentary of the cricket if I promise not to look at the telly?”
Again, she continued on with a form-perfect downward dog, her beautiful face saying ridiculous things, imploring me to self-harm and depriving me of a Kane Williamson half-century.
Last night I noticed the logo on her videos says, “Find what feels good”. But I’ve already found what feels good: sitting on the couch drinking scotch. Yet each evening I come to Adriene looking for something else.
So here I am, at a crossroads. Do I make this relationship work, or do I pack my bags and wave goodbye?
You know the answer to that. I must keep going. I’m the cliche of a victim in an abusive relationship. Adriene might not treat me right but if I keep trying to be better things will change! I might become more flexible and growl less when put under pressure! It’s not her, it’s me!
Yes, Adriene and yoga come with a bucket-load of pain and verbal nonsense, but it’s the pain and nonsense that I need. And, on the one in a million chance I ever actually meet Adriene, I’ll curse and swear at her under my breath and try to press charges. But I will also honour her with her love language, which is almost certainly some god awful grainy green juice. This is my journey.
Namaste, everyone, nama-bloody-ste.
