Today’s guest post is from Aubrey, a 27-year-old woman who recently went through a divorce.
I blame Bikram.
I’d just spent a year in Iraq, not wanting to come home to face the music. I cried secretly in the bathroom as I reread bookmarked pages of the now-cliche Eat, Pray, Love and wondered if I could ever bring myself to end my marriage. Failed attempts at marital counseling had led me to binge eating and retail therapy, pacifying my guilt for even contemplating the d-word. I sought quick happinesses to quench my perpetual sadness.
My friend, Laura, had a free pass to her Bikram yoga class. Knowing how depressed I had become, she invited me to join her for my first-ever yoga experience. In a freaking SAUNA. I went, and I nearly passed out just from standing in the room for an hour. I felt physically sick, a manifestation of how I’d felt for nearly two years.
I don’t know if it was the cleansing effect of the yoga, or perhaps a dehydrated hallucination, but everything became clear to me. I thought about the six years we’d spent together, in reality nearly five of them spent apart. We’d married young, wanting to be stationed together in the Army, and then grew up and apart, independent of one another. We became so different we didn’t speak the same language. The spark was gone, and we were both in a state of utter denial. I craved a connection I’d lost, knowing it wouldn’t come back to me again. Finality.
That night, I asked for a divorce. I couldn’t stand the heavy silence anymore. I couldn’t cry; the hot yoga had sucked all moisture from my body. Maybe that’s why I was able to articulate without breaking into sobs.
I’ve never attempted Bikram again.