From my very first downward dog, I was hooked. But training as a yoga teacher led me to a miserable world of false promises, exploitation and near-total burnout. Could I find my way back to the mat?
In a steamy room in a high-end London gym, I roll on to my right side and open my eyes. A soothing Aussie drawl emerges from the darkness, telling me to sit up, bring my hands together and remember the universe is fundamentally supporting my soul. Everyone here has taken a lunch break from our media, PR or marketing jobs to take this class. Our bearded guru, A, speaks as an Eddie Vedder song plays in the background and I feel a deep sense of relief. For a minute there is peace. In two more, we’ll be ripping off Lycra in the highly charged changing room, before rushing back to our desks with a tiny portion of soup from the chain next door. But for this one minute, three times a week, I feel calm. I feel calm because A looks me in the eye and says everything is going to be OK. I’m not thinking about how my body looks, if the boy I fancy is in the office today, how anyone else’s body looks, what my boss thinks of me … I am simply in the moment. I’m 23 and this is my introduction to yoga, the moment I found myself ready to sign up for everything it could offer me. I had no idea it was the start of a 10-year rollercoaster of giddy highs, miserable exploitation and physical and emotional burnout.
I was enchanted by “the yoga world” and mesmerised by yoga teachers in general. The incense, the candles and the vague platitudes about the meaning of life were intoxicating. I was at the end of my first relationship and a year into an exciting job at a running magazine. I had no idea what I was doing and felt perpetually out of my depth. I was facing my first ever houseshare after years living with my boyfriend, and I was putting all my anxiety into running. My increasingly unhealthy relationship with food and exercise needed a channel, so why not make it spiritual? Yoga wasn’t just a hobby, it could be a way of life. More than anything, I needed focus. And while most sensible people my age were experimenting with ecstasy and staying out all weekend, I was hellbent on finding my highs elsewhere.
